SEVENTEEN
DIPLOMACY
“We need to have another council meeting soon. The clans are becoming more divided with each new Shadow Force attack. We’ll never have safety for the realm if we are not united.”
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he mutters, his voice low with lingering frustration. “It’s part of the fucking game. I hate it.”
He drags a hand through his hair.
“You give them your blood. Your strength. Everything you have.” A muscle in his jaw jumps. “And still they circle like vultures, waiting for you to bleed just a little more.”
He shakes his head once, a grim, humorless thing.
“They want a perfect ruler,” he continues. “But they’re the ones creating division among us.”
I squeeze his hand, but the knot in my chest doesn’t ease.
The Earth Clan pulling back. The Water Court is stirring. Fear is spreading like cracks through stone.
They’re not just afraid of unrest anymore. They’re afraid of what’s coming.
A war against the Shadow Forces.
But fear changes nothing now. The war is coming whether the realm is ready for it or not.
Thane exhales heavily as we reach an empty table near the edge of the ballroom, the exhaustion in the sound no longer hidden.
A server passes carrying a silver tray of drinks.
Thane summons a small, effortless smile—the kind that would fool anyone not looking closely—and plucks a glass of whiskey from the tray.
Without hesitation, he takes a goblet of wine for me as well, his fingers brushing mine briefly as he passes it over.
He lifts the amber liquid to his mouth and downs half of the glass in a single swallow before setting it down.
“Are you alright?” he asks quietly, concern tightening his voice. He searches my face, tension still visible across his face.
“Thane, I’m fine. Really.”
“I can’t believe Lord Manon actually said that bullshit.” Irritation sharpens his expression again. “Asking for a demonstration like you’re some—”
He cuts himself off, jaw tightening hard enough that the muscle ticks beneath his skin.
“That bastard,” he mutters darkly. “Always looking for opportunities to advance himself by belittling others. Doesn’t care who he cuts down with his words to do it.”
His fingers press against the table, like he’s resisting the urge to shatter the whiskey glass sitting there.
But I don’t care about Lord Manon.
I care about what the nobles were implying.
I place my hand over his. His fingers stiffen beneath mine, then relax. The bond thrums quietly between us, taut with unspoken words.
“Thane,” I say softly, meeting his eyes. “Is it true? Is the Earth Clan really pulling back? Choosing not to fight?”
My voice falters for just a moment.
“My clan?”
“That’s what the reports suggest,” Thane says quietly. “I met with the council yesterday. We discussed it.”
The exhaustion in his voice catches me off guard.
“I plan to meet with Lord Calder Morric soon. We’re negotiating terms for a summit with the Earth Clan leadership.” He pauses briefly, his gaze drifting away. “I’m also arranging a meeting with Lady Aeris Duvane of the Water Clan.”
His brows draw together.
“We’re trying to keep the alliances from fracturing any further.”
“What about the Air Clan?” I ask.
The words slip out before I can stop them, driven by the unease in me tightening further.
Thane exhales through his nose, a short, tired sound.
“For now,” he says, “relations with them seem stable.”
He lifts the whiskey to his mouth again, taking another deep sip, then hisses through his teeth at the afterburn.
“Lord Oryn Strathir can be a pain in the ass,” he mutters. “Stubborn as hell when he wants to be. But he’s still working with us. He still understands what’s at stake.”
He runs a hand along his jawline, his gaze fixed somewhere distant.
“We can count on Air Clan at least. For now.”
Hearing about everything Thane is responsible for is one thing. Seeing it up close is something else entirely. The negotiations. The alliances. The endless balancing of personalities, ambitions, fears. Until tonight, I hadn’t realized how much of his life is spent holding everything together.
And through all of it, he makes space for me.
Thane steps closer and cups my cheek in his palm, the simple touch easing something tight inside me.
“Amara,” he says quietly, his voice soft with exhaustion and something deeper, “this is the worst part of the night. The fucking politics.”
He leans closer, enough that only I can hear him.
“I still have to go speak with more nobles. More guests. I don’t want you standing there listening to all of it, worrying, or getting bored out of your mind. This is your night too; you get to have fun.”
He pauses, his thumb brushing gently across my cheek.
“Unless you want to.” He offers a small smile. “It’s your choice.”
I lift my hand and cover his where it cradles my face, anchoring myself in the quiet strength of his touch for a moment longer. Then, gently, I draw his hand away.
“I think I need a break,” I admit.
The words taste strange on my tongue, but true.
“I’m still learning about this world, Thane. Tonight . . . it’s a lot.”
His thumb brushes my knuckles before he lets me go.
“Take whatever time you need, love,” he responds.
Through the bond, I feel nothing but quiet support. A small smile tugs at my mouth as I meet his eyes.
“Go impress your nobles, Warlord,” I say softly. “I’ll be fine. I’ll find Lyra. Or your sister and Sera.”
The faintest flicker of a smile crosses his face. Tired, but real.
He leans in, brushing a kiss just above my temple. But when he pulls back, something heated flickers in his expression, the same restrained hunger I saw earlier in the alcove.
“While I listen to these politicians drone on,” he murmurs, “I’ll be thinking about what I’m going to do to you later tonight.”
Before I can even catch my breath, he leans in again, capturing my mouth in one brief kiss. When he pulls away, my lips still tingle as thoughts of later flood my mind.
Yes.
Definitely later.
Without another word, he turns and walks back into the lion’s den, moving with a quiet, lethal swagger that makes my toes curl in my slippers.
And gods help me, all I can think about now is later.
I start toward the dining tables on the opposite side of the dance floor, still watching Thane disappear into the crowd, and nearly collide with Kieran.
“Hi!” I blurt out, immediately forgetting the tension from moments ago at the sight of my friend.
Kieran grins, all windswept charm and effortless confidence. It’s strange to see him dress like this—formal, polished, unmistakably noble.
His tunic is deep storm-blue, the color of gathering clouds before the sky splits open.
Silver embroidery swirls across the fabric in intricate wind patterns, elegant without feeling overly formal.
The Air Clan sigil stitched over his chest in silver thread glints beneath the ballroom’s golden light.
Even dressed like this, he still looks like a warrior.
The tunic stretches broad across his shoulders before tapering at his waist, and though his clothes are formal, they’re tailored for movement, meant for someone who refuses to stand still.
A silver belt clasp shaped like a falcon in flight rests at his waist, the wings frozen mid-motion.
His storm-gray boots, worn despite the elegance of the rest of his attire, only make the contrast sharper.
I raise a brow.
“Look at you, all dressed up. Who knew you cleaned up this well?”
Kieran tilts his head, his blue-silver eyes flicking over me with unhurried appreciation.
“You wound me, Thalor.” He places a hand dramatically over his heart. “I always look good. But I’ll admit, I was hoping for a bit more enthusiasm from you. Maybe a gasp? A swoon? A declaration of undying love?”
I laugh, rolling my eyes.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Mm.”
His gaze lingers just a second too long, the teasing in his expression slipping for the briefest moment. Then it’s gone, hidden behind another lazy smile.
“I suppose I’ll survive,” he drawls. “But if you ever change your mind—”
I roll my eyes again, though some part of me feels the meaning beneath the teasing and deliberately looks away from it.
“Keep dreaming, Vael.”
His blue-silver eyes travel over me again, taking in the deep red of my gown, the way the fabric curves against me, the braids pinned away from my throat and shoulders.
He lets out a low whistle. But then something in his expression softens.
“Wow,” he says quietly, no teasing left in his voice. “You look beautiful, Thalor.”
I glance away, smiling despite myself.
“I—thank you.”
“Well, now that we’ve established that you’re stunning and I’m offensively handsome, what do you say we dance?”
I place my goblet down on a nearby table and smile, taking his extended hand.
Kieran leads me to the dance floor, his grip easy and confident, like he’s done this a thousand times before. And when his hand settles against my back, I notice the placement immediately.
Mid-back. Respectful. Measured.
After a moment, he says, low enough that only I can hear, “Not like the last time we danced, eh?”
No.
Not at all like the last time we danced during the Summer Solstice celebration at the outpost.
That night, the air had been thick with heat and firelight, the scent of summer and smoke curling between us. The music had been louder, wilder—the kind of rhythm that made people reckless.
I had been reckless.
His hand had slid lower, fingers pressing against the small of my back as we moved. That night, I had leaned into him, fingers curling into his tunic as I pulled him closer, tilting my chin up, letting my lips brush his with just enough hesitation to make it look real.
Not because I wanted Kieran. Though he is handsome. And gods, the man could kiss.
But because Thane had been watching. Because I wanted him to see it. Because I had been angry and desperate enough to make him feel something. Anything.
And Kieran—gods, Kieran had known exactly what I was doing.
He had hesitated for only the briefest second before kissing me back, deep enough to make a point.