Thunder rolled across the palace like the warning growl of something ancient waking up. The sky had turned the color of bruised iron by late afternoon, clouds boiling low and heavy, promising rain that would soak through stone. I had spent the morning moving between the princes, checking wounds that were not visible, testing the new resonance of the bond. The circle felt different now—stronger, yes, but also more fragile, like a rope that had been spliced from many strands and might still pull apart if tugged too hard.
Aiden sent for me at the height of the storm.
A servant delivered the message in a low voice, eyes averted: the crown prince awaited in his private quarters. No explanation. No pleasantries. Just the summons, sharp as a blade.
I went.
