Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
NIKANDER
Leukos shot her a dark look, frustration clouding his expression before he turned away with a sharp click of his tongue. Without a word, he strode from the room.
Nik let out a long sigh and dragged a hand down his face. If Leukos had lost control—if he’d touched Katell while she couldn’t access her magic—this entire meeting might’ve ended in disaster.
He glanced at his arm. The frost had vanished, revealing once more the North Wind’s ice-blue Mark shimmering beneath.
“We don’t know,” he said at last. Then, more gently, “But Alena’s not alone. She’ll be back.”
It was the best he could offer, and it seemed to reach her, at least enough that she turned away and sank onto the edge of the bed. Her fingers clutched the fur blanket, knuckles white, her left leg bouncing with restless energy.
“I didn’t take his offer lightly,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “Dalmatius. I was afraid Alena might still be out there. Little star, looking for me. All alone.”
The words pierced straight through him.
She swatted damp strands of hair from her face, her movements jerky. “But my Gift was out of control.” Her eyes met his, fever-bright. “And he offered to help.”
Nik dragged the lone stool closer, the scrape of wood on stone loud in the silence. He owed her more than distance and doubt. He’d let her walk away once, believing it was what she needed. But now, seeing her unravel, he couldn’t turn away again. Not this time.
He sat, leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees.
“Kat. Talk to me.” His words came out steady, though his chest felt tight. “What’s wrong?”
He tried to keep calm, but the tremor in her hands was impossible to miss. The restless bounce of her leg. The way her words shifted from guarded to panicked, as if she couldn’t find solid ground.
Something was very wrong.
She blinked at him, pupils blown. As if suddenly aware of her behaviour, she clasped her trembling hands together, trying to still them by force. “Nothing.” A lie. “I just need my belongings. They took a vial from me, and I need it.”
A vial?
Nik’s stomach dropped like stone. Dalmatius and the Sixth be damned, what had they been giving her?
“I’ll check after we’re done,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“I promise.” The words came easily, though the ache in his chest deepened at the sight of her. Worn thin. Frayed at the edges. He’d go straight to Charis, or Danaos, or anyone else who might know what she’d been given, and find that damned vial.
Katell shifted back, pressing herself against the rough stone wall.
She hugged her knees to her chest, curling in on herself.
Sunlight spilled across her body, gilding half her face while the other remained veiled in shadow.
The sight hit him like a blow. It was just like their last night in the arena.
Nik couldn’t look away.
“I added your freedom to the deal I made with Dalmatius,” she said, staring at her bare feet, her voice laden with memory. “I didn’t want to leave you back there, but you refused.”
Nik let out a bitter huff, shaking his head. “Is that what he told you?”
Her brow furrowed, confusion and anguish clouding her expression.
“You were always too good for the arena,” he said. “You and Sinope both. I’m glad you got away… even if it was with the Rasennans.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, her body trembled, and she raised a hand to her mouth, biting at a fingernail. A closer look revealed they were all chewed to the quick.
Nik shot to his feet. He had to get her help. Find a healer, someone—
“Will you visit again?” she asked.
The question caught him mid-step. He turned back. “Tomorrow, if you wish.”
He had training with Pelagios and the Tirynthian soldiers as always, but if she wanted him here, he’d make time. No matter what.
She gave a small nod.
“I’ll come by in the morning,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Not that anyone else will bother you. The palace is too busy preparing for the wedding—”
“What was that earlier? A new Gift?” she cut in, her gaze fixed on the ice-blue swirls peeking from beneath his arm guard.
Nik shifted, angling his arm away. It surprised him that she’d noticed. “Something like that,” he said lightly. “Get some rest. I’ll see you soon.”
With a final nod, he slipped out. Outside, he caught one of the guards by the shoulder. “Find a healer,” he ordered, voice low but urgent. “Have them look at her again. She’s not herself.”
The guard wrenched free, sneering. “I don’t take orders from traitors.”
His companion said nothing—just watched.
Nik’s jaw clenched. The urge to punch the idiot was overwhelming, but he held back. “And when the queen loses her most precious prisoner because you refused to call for a healer, what will you tell her then?”
The guard faltered, his bravado wavering. “I’m not to move from my—”
“Soldier,” a sharp voice snapped. Nik turned to see Despoina approaching, her steel scale armour gleaming in the sunlight. “The Megarians are our guests. Whatever they request, consider it a direct order from the queen herself. What did Lord Nikander ask for?”
Nik stiffened at the title.
“A healer, my lady,” the guard replied quickly, his tone suddenly respectful—a stark shift from the sneer he’d given Nik only moments before.
Despoina raised an eyebrow. “Then what are you still doing here?” Her words left no room for delay, and the guard departed at once.
“Come,” she said more softly to Nik. “The others are gathered in the council chamber, deliberating over the prisoner. Perhaps you can offer some clarity on her situation.”
Nik followed her through the open colonnade, the tall columns casting long, cool shadows across the vibrant mosaics beneath their feet.
Scenes of ancient heroes—Nestor raising his shield, Telamon locked in battle with the Amazons, Atalanta drawing her bow—seemed almost alive in the shifting light.
The air was thick with jasmine and citrus, a promise of spring only days away.
Tiryns, like Megara, thrived under a temperate sun, where frost and snow were distant memories and gardens bloomed freely.
The quiet between them stretched until Nik finally said, “I’m no lord, Despoina.”
She shot him a sidelong glance. “Our fathers hailed from ancient nobility in Argos. Until the current Megarian ruler casts you out, you’re an Achaean noble—and a lord—whether you like it or not. And if Prince Leukos calls you a friend, no one has the right to treat you otherwise.”
Nik looked at her, a flicker of gratitude stirring in his chest. While her brother remained distant, she had shown him nothing but kindness since his arrival. Clearly, his first impression of her had been unfair.
“Well, don’t go spreading the news of my title to all the Tirynthian ladies just yet,” he said in a mock whisper. “They wouldn’t be able to keep their hands to themselves.”
Her lips twitched in amusement, but she kept her composure as they reached the grand doors of the council chamber. The guards admitted them without hesitation.
Inside, the chamber rivalled a throne room—gleaming marble columns, expansive murals depicting the epic clash between the Sea God and the Grey-Eyed Maiden.
Each painted scene captured the intensity of their rivalry for Megara’s favour.
The back wall showed the Sea God triumphantly claiming Megara, while the Grey-Eyed Maiden, serene but resolute, blessed Tiryns with its famed olive trees and the Gifted architect who’d raised the city’s impregnable walls.
The moment Nik crossed the threshold, the tension was palpable. A heavy silence pressed down, stark against the distant hum of palace life beyond.
The Megarians—Theo, Pelagios and Xanthos—stood close on one side of the long wooden table, its surface painted with a detailed map of Achaea.
Across from them, Leukos stood apart, arms crossed, a deep frown carved into his face.
He wasn’t listening. Nik would bet anything his mind was still with Katell.
Nik could almost feel the weight crushing Leukos’ shoulders, heavier than ever. Only Queen Charis and the twins knew the truth of his Gift, and Leukos intended to keep it that way.
In Achaea, losing control over one’s magic wasn’t just dangerous—it was a sign of weakness, a curse from the gods. For a prince raised to be unbreakable, there could be no greater shame. And Nik, sworn to guard him, could only watch the cracks deepen.
His gaze shifted towards the far end of the room, where Queen Charis sat in a throne-like chair, resplendent in white and gold.
The gilded frame caught the sunlight and turned it blinding, forcing him to blink.
At her side stood Danaos, unmoving as ever, his expression carved from stone.
A semicircle of councilmen flanked them, their eyes sharp with judgement.
Nik took his place beside Theo. Despoina crossed to the opposite side, aligning herself with the Tirynthians.
“We found this in her possession.” Every gaze fixed on Danaos, more precisely, on the glass vial held between his thumb and forefinger. “Hidden behind her breastplate.”
Nik tensed. It was the very vial Katell had begged him to find. Even now, its contents pulsed faintly, a dark shimmer of magic coiled inside.
Charis leaned forward, the delicate trinkets in her hair clinking as she lifted her head for a better view. “What are they?”
Danaos looked among the councilmen for an answer, his jaw clenched tight. None came.
“Laran’s Tears,” Pelagios said at last, his tone grave.
The name didn’t seem to resonate with Leukos or the Tirynthians.
Pelagios continued, darker now. “During the war, King Pandion’s spies heard of these sacred pebbles said to heighten a Gifted’s magic. They were believed to be made from Laran’s blood.”
Danaos straightened, turning towards the queen. “If they strengthen magic, we should test them. They might serve our soldiers.”