Chapter 51 The Visitor
The Visitor
Colsar does not go far. The corridors shift as he moves, familiar and altered at once, the hidden kingdom giving way in quiet layers until the space opens into something more direct and more exposed.
The Sovereign is waiting.
He stands near the far end of the chamber, hands clasped loosely behind his back, his attention already fixed on Colsar before he fully enters.
“You move quickly,” he says approvingly.
Colsar does not answer that. “What is it?”
The Sovereign studies him for a moment. “Your brother is here.” He pauses. "The Thren."
Colsar goes very still.
“He arrived yesterday,” the Sovereign continues. “He said it was urgent that he speak with you.”
He holds up his hand as Colsar opens his mouth. "We have no standing conflict with the Threns, and he gave no reason to refuse him entry.” A pause. “He says he only came with a message for you. He left his ships on the coast. A show of good faith.”
A quiet sharp breath leaves Colsar.
“He asked questions,” the Sovereign goes on. “About you. About where you were coming from.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“Nothing,” the Sovereign replies evenly. “Only that I had received word you would be here soon.”
Silence stretches between them.
“Why would you let him inside our wards?”
The words come low and tight. The Sovereign’s expression shifts.
“Because of all the family that has mistreated you, you never once named him among them.” He watches Colsar closely.
“He said he came in peace. I answered none of his questions. I gave him rooms for the night. That is all.” A pause.
“He knows nothing of your wife. Or your children.”
Colsar’s hands flex once and then go still.
The Sovereign steps closer, his voice lowering. “But if you wish to decide what happens here, you must take on your responsibility fully.” He lets that sit for a moment. “Especially now that you have an heir.”
Colsar does not respond to it. “Where is he?”
The Sovereign studies him a moment longer. “The east wing.”
Colsar turns and a hand catches his arm, firm.
“You will not kill him,” the Sovereign says. “And drag this kingdom into war with the Threns.”
Colsar looks at him, something cold moving through his expression, then pulls free and walks.
The east wing is quiet in a way that feels considered rather than empty. The guards stationed outside the chamber straighten as he approaches but do not speak.
He pushes the door open and steps inside.
Teorin is already there. He stands near the window with a glass in hand, dressed in dark leathers layered with fur, the weight of it falling cleanly.
The liquid catches what little light reaches it.
He looks almost the same. Older, perhaps.
Changed in the particular way of someone who has spent time in difficult places and come back carrying them.
His attention moves through the room the moment Colsar enters, quick and precise, taking in everything.
He is searching. For her. Colsar sees the exact moment Teorin understands she is not here.
It passes through him fast, controlled, something tightening behind his eyes before it disappears.
Then his attention shifts to Colsar.
It pauses there. Long enough. The change is obvious. The glyphs, the heat beneath his skin, the eye that does not belong to what he once was.
Something like surprise crosses Teorin’s face before it is pulled back, contained and dismissed without comment. Then he looks at him fully. The ease returns as though it had never left.
He straightens slowly. A faint smile touches his mouth.
“Hello, brother,” he says smoothly.
Colsar does not return it. He stops a few paces away and takes him in without hurry. “What are you doing in my kingdom, Teorin? I thought you had your sights set on Rathmor.”
Teorin sets his glass down. “Where is she?”
Colsar gives nothing away. “Where is who?” he asks, almost bored.
“Asharin.”
The name moves through him at once. He keeps his face empty.
Teorin steps closer, tension pulling through his frame.
“The woman you abandoned while our brother nearly starved her to death. While her brother and his friends tried to rape and kill her.” He watches Colsar’s face for a reaction and finds nothing.
“The one who was so determined not to be apart from you that she tried to kill herself just to stay with you as a walking corpse.”
The words are painful to hear, though he refuses to let Teorin see that.
“The one you do not deserve,” Teorin continues. “I tried to tell her you would not come for her. That you are exactly what you have always been. Selfish. Cold.” A pause. “And still she was steadfast. I do not know what you said to earn that kind of devotion.”
Colsar lets it pass through him.
“I assumed she was with you,” Teorin says, his voice shifting, the controlled ease giving way to something that almost sounds like genuine urgency.
“I do not know if she survived. I do not know if she ever gave birth. But if any part of you cares for her at all, listen to me. She is in danger. Real danger. She will need to—”
“Let me guess,” Colsar cuts in. “She needs to bond with you to be safe.”
Teorin’s face darkens. “That is not why I am here.”
Colsar takes a step toward him. “Then say what you mean instead of circling it. Lies dressed up as concern have always been your approach. You earn trust so you can use it and break it when it suits you.” Another step, slow and unhurried. “That has not changed.”
The control fractures at the edges. Anger moves through Teorin’s expression and his posture shifts, weight redistributing in a way that is not quite a threat but is not far from one. “Careful,” he says.
“I told my father I would not kill you,” Colsar says, his voice quieter now, which makes it worse. “I am trying to abide by that.”
Teorin holds his ground. “How generous.” A cold laugh leaves him.
“You call that man your father because your real one never wanted you. He even preferred me, his bastard, over you.” He steps forward as well now, matching Colsar, refusing the ground between them.
“You still do not understand, do you? This is what he always wanted. He never bothered killing you because you were useful. Legitimate. Clean, even if you are a dog.” His voice drops.
“Sevrin is a feeder. He will never produce an heir no matter how hard he tries, and my own legitimacy has always been questioned. But you. You were always the answer to that problem. Whoever you married, whatever woman ended up in your bed, she was the means to an end he had already decided on. A vessel for the line he needed secured. Any woman would have served the purpose.” His eyes hold Colsar’s.
“That is how little you mattered to him.”
Something cold moves through Colsar, the particular ugliness of reducing it all to something so mechanical, a function his father had assigned him before he had ever had any say in it. He does not move for a moment.
Then he takes another step, close enough now that Teorin has to work not to step back.
“You came all this way,” Colsar says, his voice dropping to something quieter and considerably more dangerous, “to tell me things I already know about a man I stopped caring about a long time ago.”
Teorin’s jaw tightens but he does not retreat. “I came because she is in danger. Real danger, the kind your soldiers cannot handle.” He holds Colsar’s eyes. “I do not plan on stealing her. But she cannot die. If you would just listen—”
Colsar moves.
They collide hard, force slamming into force, furniture crashing behind them. Teorin shifts first, his eyes going black, his teeth lengthening as the change tears through him and his power lashes outward. The air tightens immediately, pressure building through the room.
Colsar meets it.
The glyphs along his skin blaze to life, heat running across his face and neck and arm. His left eye burns copper. His hand closes, and the air around Teorin constricts, heat flooding the room in a wave that does not ask permission.
Teorin’s body jerks under the pressure. “That is the thing about you, Colsar,” he snarls, his voice rougher now, “you only know how to be a fucking animal—”
Colsar tightens his grip. The room grows hotter.
Teorin holds, barely, and then forces out, “It does not matter how often you rut her, beast. Eventually she will see you for exactly what you are.” His mouth twists. “And she will leave. Mark my words, brother.”
The pressure surges.
A knock hits the door. Once. Then Arabar’s voice comes through, calm and clear.
“Majesty. Your father asked that I remind you the Thren cannot die today. That is his condition.”
Colsar exhales once. The pressure releases.
Teorin stumbles back and catches himself, blood already at his lip and jaw and hands. They stand facing each other, bruised and breathing harder, and Teorin studies him for a long moment before he smiles, slow.
“You do not even smell like her.” He watches that land. “After everything you put her through, you are not even with her.” His eyes move over Colsar. “Let me guess. You are here for that whore, Jessamy.”
“I should kill you,” Colsar says.
“But you will not,” Teorin replies, stepping closer again, his voice dropping back into something almost conversational, which is somehow worse than the anger. “Now listen to me. I need you to get a message to her. Her life is at—”
Colsar laughs, and there is nothing warm in it. “You have never had anyone’s interest in mind but your own. I am not interested in your lies or whatever game you are playing.” His power rises again, the heat pressing against the walls. “Get out.”
Teorin does not move. He tilts his head slightly, the way someone does when they have found exactly what they were looking for.
“Since you are determined to be a fool, I may decide to save her myself again.” A pause.
“Or I may not. But if I do, know that I may decide I do not want to give her back.” He takes one more step forward, unhurried, watching Colsar’s face the entire time.
“What is it they call it? First rights under Rathmor law. If the youngest sibling dies and the others are unmarried, by default your wife becomes my wife.” His voice goes quieter. “Your children become my—”
Colsar hits him with enough force to crack the table beside them in half.
Power slams through the room, heat pouring outward against the walls. His hand locks around Teorin’s throat and lifts him just enough to matter, the glyphs burning hotter, his left eye glowing like something that has forgotten it was ever anything else.
“I will kill you,” Colsar says, and there is nothing left in it that resembles restraint.
The doors slam open.
Shalvar soldiers flood the room.
And the moment breaks.