10. Chapter Ten: Luka

Chapter Ten – Luka

" W ho are you to the Third Blessed Prince, you anonymous suitor ?"

The demand leaps from the lips of the last man who was chosen to be Cathalan's suitor, a tall brawny individual with lovely hair. Fedryn. That's what Cathalan called him. He glowers at Luka and purses his full lips as if he knows the expression will only further highlight his already statuesque features.

Luka hides a smile, his answer already prepared. He had watched prior suitors approach Cathalan, and noted how differently the crowd reacted when one went anonymous –the air of mystery was too much for the people, and the prince, to avoid. Apparently it affected the suitors, too.

"I'm a suitor, the same as you," he says, "though for all that Cathalan seems to… favor you, it seems one of us will keep that title longer than the other." As Fedryn splutters, Luka manages to restrain a yawn as he glances at the moonlight filtering through the darkened windows; no, not moonlight anymore. Already, the pink blush of the sun fills the sky.

Dawn? No wonder I'm exhausted.

Dancing the night away has drained what little panicked energy Luka has left. Exhaustion tugs at him with eager hands, and Luka forces himself to think of Theo – of Cassian and his unborn sibling and all the others who will suffer should Luka fail now – and jolts back to reality.

Across from Fedryn, the two women lean their heads together. This close, there is something similar about their features. Sisters, Luka remembers. They speak in low voices about –

Luka blinks in surprise. They're talking about Siacchi. Cesscounthe.

"I hear they are fraternizing with the wolves," the blonde says in a nasally voice. Her brunette sister giggles.

"I hear they invited the wolves in so they could fraternize with them," says the brown-haired man.

"Don't be ridiculous," the brunette woman says, "they're clearly still at war with each other. And it's well deserved. Siacchi is the one who invited the attack."

Luka presses his lips together, but, thankfully, before he is forced to listen to a moment more, a flock of guards enter the room. They escort Luka and suitors from the elegant room, past the line of three individuals – they must be the other heirs – who have remained, unmoving, in the shadowed section beyond Cathalan's throne. Luka watches them from the corner of his eye, and they watch back.

That must be Chrill. Luka looks the enormous man over. Cathalan's elder brother, the Scorned Prince, rejected from the throne for reasons Luka was never able to uncover, was huge when Luka last saw him, and has grown only taller since. The man's eyes glaze past Luka, void of recognition.

And Kian . Cathalan's brother, born in the same month by a different mother, the one who looks so similar to Cathalan that they could be twins.

The final, the redhead with a knife-like smile, has to be Marlacyn.

Luka forces his sluggish thoughts to function: it is unsurprising to see that either those close to the throne or those close to Cathalan have remained to watch the whole ceremony. But where is Effa? Has she already made her debut… and failed? As eldest (besides the disgraced Chrill), she should have been the first to make her attempt at marriage.

But the woman is absent. Luka tries to sort through his weary thoughts to understand why. His mind can do little more than make sense of where the guards are leading them, so he forces his attention on their shiny armor and the effort he has to exert to place one sore foot in front of another.

They exit the throne room and enter a dimly lit hallway devoid of windows and lined with low candles. The air carries the light scent of smoke as they trail behind their guards.

"Might I ask where you are taking us, hessa? " asks the pretty female suitor with wide blue eyes and curling blonde hair. She offers a pink-lipped smile as she adjusts her sapphire robes, drawing attention to her narrow waist and wide hips.

The guard leading them doesn't even look back. There is something familiar about him – his dark hair and skin only a few shades lighter – and that slight pinch to his lips like he's just bitten into something sour. But before Luka can focus on his face for too long, the man jerks to a halt before a woman who steps from the shadow of a column.

"Fifth Blessed Heir," he says with a scowl.

"None of that now, Darri," the woman… it must be Lanai, for she is certainly not Effa, approaches with a flat look to her face. She wears her hair in three long intricate braids made to look like snakes slithering over her shoulders. Instead of the traditional robe, she wears armor similar to the guard, Darri. Lanai's eyes dart past the guard to take in Luka and the other suitors.

"So, this is his crop?" she says in a low voice. She takes her time surveying them, looking over the pretty blonde's full bosom, the dark brunette's curls, and then the two men's slender shoulders. Before her attention can reach Luka, Darri intercepts her.

"The Third Blessed Prince's potential consorts, yes," the guard corrects.

"Temper, temper," Lanai chides, flicking Darri's nose. "Weren't you supposed to advise against him choosing so many? Harems are a point of weakness; you of all people should know that."

Darri huffs but pulls away. Lanai has already moved on, heading toward another doorway. "I hope they last long enough for the wedding," she calls over her shoulder. She pauses to blow a kiss to the blonde. "I'll keep you safer than he ever would, klinessa ."

The blonde chuckles, the noise painfully high-pitched. She restrains her question until the Fifth Blessed Heir closes the door behind her. "Are the other heirs allowed to start already?"

Darri spares her a glance. "The sun is rising, is it not?"

"Well, yes," the blonde says quickly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I just didn't expect them to make their moves until after the first trial."

"They won't," Darri says. "They'll push their luck, but they'll follow the rules." He glares into the darkness the Fifth Blessed Heir emerged from, as if daring her otherwise.

Luka swallows.

Luka doesn't recall the previous Balivartian ruler having any siblings – they had all passed before he tried his hand at the throne. There was something he read, though… he only needs to remember.

"Come along," Darri orders. He glances back at the guard trailing them. "Fangs sharp now."

The guards plaster smiles on their faces when the suitors glance at them while their hands tighten around the hilt of their weapons.

Luka resists the urge to bang his head against the wall.

Of course. He would have seen it sooner had it not been for the cursed Siacchian censors. He always puzzled over those barred out sections of his Hessalarian texts, wondering at the customs that his people found too barbaric to allow for general consumption. It was only when he went to Linne of all people with his questions that he was able to glean more, and judging from the spark in her eye, that was only because she wanted to keep Luka in the running for a potential consort to the Third Blessed Prince. But even with that knowledge, Luka never would have thought Cathalan – the Balivartians – would allow something so… so barbaric.

Murder of a sibling is frowned upon.

Murder of a yet to be wed consort to prevent that sibling from ascending to the throne? In theory, frowned upon. In practice, swept under the rug.

Why didn't Cathalan accept all of those desperate for his hand? Perhaps if he had, he would have been unable to protect them – which would prove him too weak to rule.

Luka closes his eyes and exhales slowly.

Oh, Theo, what have we gotten ourselves into?

They are to take the first of the trials only a few hours later. Dawn glares weakly at them through shaded windows while Luka tries to discreetly rub weariness from his eyes –and the scent of Theo from his nose. Ever since the dance with Cathalan in the ballroom, the Kiteran lingers on his mind, like the place where Theo is kept is just a few doors away, but Luka's impyassus abilities aren't strong enough to lead him to his Kiteran.

Cathalan won't meet them to introduce their first trial, Darri explains as he opens broad, embossed doors for them to pass through. Audible complaints rise from the suitors, with Fedryn the most vocal, but they are quickly silenced as they enter a grand chamber.

It's nearly as large as the ballroom; the ceiling curls into a graceful arch, decorated with planets and stars. No furniture marks an alabaster floor beyond an elevated dial at the very center. The walls are windowless, and the only sources of light are the holes above them, cast in gold from the weak morning sun, leaving dappled pools of light on the smooth ground.

"Your first test will be written in the cosmos," Darri says. Though he raises a hand to his face as he does so, the guard behind Luka can hardly muffle a snort. Luka, despite his exhaustion, resists the urge to roll his eyes. It's just like Cathalan to have such theatrics when their lives are about to be threatened.

Darri walks to the dial at the room's center. "You will adjust these measurements here to show us the exact stars displayed on the day of your birth. Then you will read them to us – tell us your fortune, suitors, and how it shall align with our Third Blessed Prince."

The guard places a callused hand on the dial and turns, and the ceiling changes . It clacks, clacks, clacks as the stars shift, going from brilliant to dim, to brilliant, to dim, before finally pausing on a new formation. Darri gestures above them, his face perfectly blank as he says, "Like so."

Luka swallows. Stars are something Siacchians study for science, not fortune, and his mother was never explicit about the day he was born –it was not an occasion to be celebrated, after all.

"Who will go first?" Darri asks.

Fedryn glances at Luka, and Luka smoothes his expression over too late. You fool . Too long has Luka been away from the Cesse board; his ability to hide his emotions are as weakened as his ability to hide his impyassus .

But before Fedryn can volunteer him, the pretty blonde steps forward.

"Cassilia of the Viper's Wharf will go first," she says, placing a demure hand to her cleavage. She approaches the dial and says to Darri in a husky voice, "If you don't mind, hessa ?"

Darri jerks away from her so quickly, she might as well have been a sand viper. Cassilia's gentle smile remains, but the corners of her eyes crinkle with glee as she places a manicured hand on the dial, twisting with practiced expertise.

Nerves coil in Luka's stomach. He has never tested well – his tutors hammered that into him, and his mother made it all the more clear by shattering the well-crafted illusion of his perfect test scores – or lack thereof. He calms his breathing and tries to take careful note of Cassilia's movements; they remind him how he would place his hand over his Cesse pieces, with a quiet confidence that foretells his opponent's loss. He mimics the gesture behind his back, where no one else can see, until he feels confident. No one here knows who he is except Cathalan, and even the Third Blessed Prince can't know the day Luka was born. All Luka must do is speak a lie that the guards – no, that Darri –is looking for.

The stars above them twist, like a blanket turned inside out and shifted, until a new blazing expanse glows above them. Darri carefully steps into the shadows, moving toward the other entrance to the room, a smaller set of single doors.

"I was born on the night of the Two Devils and the Beguiler," Cassilia begins. "Foretold as a temptress and one who will have the fate of beginnings and endings." She meets everyone's gaze steadily as she speaks slowly and carefully, each word enunciated.

Linne would love her, Luka thinks dryly. Here are all the public speaking skills that Linne always wanted him to have, but that he always struggled with. He watches Darri's face as Cassilia speaks, searching for approval.

But Darri's expression is frustratingly blank. Cassilia continues her speech, telling them of how she is foretold to do great things. She points to a cluster of stars that look like a foot –"The crown," she says, nodding knowingly –and then to a selection of pinpricks that resemble a toe – "And the prince," she concludes, "which displays why I am to become the future Queen Consort." She offers them a tiny curtsy with that argument.

The brunette goes next, and her explanation is even longer than the blonde's. None of the constellations are the same as Cassilia's, though the blonde gives her a little applause when she finishes and the two squeal and hug.

To calm his worry, Luka prepares a Cesse match between each of the competitors. From their explanations, it's easy to guess how they would play: Cassilia would be quick to joy and quick to anger, the brunette would be slow and clodding, but more amusing –and Fedryn…

Fedryn is second to last before Luka. He approaches the dial with a confident swagger after a gesture from Darri. He twists the dial into motion and a new swath of stars glow to life. "I was born under the eyes of the Maiden and the curse of the Silent One," he begins. The quiet conversation between the contestants who went before him ceases. "Yes," Fedryn continues, confidence growing. "I was born under the same stars as the Third Blessed Prince."

Luka squints at the stars and clenches his fists. He has a plan. He just needs a little more time before he has to put it into action –

But Fedryn is already strutting away from the dial, smirking, his fateful stars glaring down at them. Luka blinks. Surely that wasn't a convincing enough argument –

A quick glance at the surrounding guards and suitors answers Luka's question: Fedryn's birth stars are more than enough for the man to pass this test.

Luka takes a calming breath as his eyes meet Darri's and the guard gestures Luka toward the dial. If I fail now, I will have to find another way to save Theo.

But I don't know any other way.

He swallows as he lays his hand atop the metal, allowing half a second of hesitation –

But before he can twist, Darri shouts with alarm, and the doors behind the guard burst open.

"Protect the consorts!" Darri cries as he draws his knives, meeting the first cloaked figure with a swift stab. The assailant flows beneath the attack, brandishing a two-handed sword, their face covered with a pale, white –

Bone mask.

The Wolf's Teeth.

Three more attackers dart from behind the first, sprinting into the room. Their heads jerk from side to side as they assess the occupants. Their attention darts from the two women, pausing longer on the men, before finally landing on Luka.

They immediately head toward him.

Luka's hands mill mindlessly against the dial, unsure if he's looking for weapons or a secret lever that will open a hatch for him to escape this nightmare. His fingers only twist and the stars above them change –and the attackers pause as shifting lights fall across their masks, startled.

It's not much time, but it's enough for the other two Balivartian guards to ascend with their knives. The first catches an attacker on the shoulder. The second sinks into the chest of one of the Wolf's Teeth.

The remaining assailant launches themself at Luka, sword gleaming in the false-starlight –

But before they can close the distance, they jerk to an abrupt halt. A small breath escapes them, like a gasp or a plea, as they fall to their knees. A knife gleams from between their shoulder blades –and there, standing over the prone body of the first attacker, Darri stands, hand still extended in a throwing motion.

"Subdue them –but leave one alive!" Darri shouts. A small cut bleeds on his cheek, but he is otherwise unharmed as he draws another two blades to help the other guards.

They work quickly now that they're no longer outnumbered, and in seconds, three of the four Wolf's Teeth are dead. The final lies on their side at Darri's feet, gasping for air as they clutch at their wounded stomach. But before Darri can secure their hands behind them, the attacker reaches for their mask.

"No!" Darri shouts, but before he can reach them, a terrible snap fills the grand hall as the last attacker seizes a piece of their mask and shoves it into their throat. Blood coats the white floors, soaking up the reflection of the stars.

"Shed my skin!" Cassilia shouts as she clings to her sister. "I thought you said the heirs wouldn't attack until after the first trials!" Despite her imperious tone, tears coat her fine lashes, and she and the brunette crouch on the ground as if they are too terrified to even stand.

"The heirs would never do such a thing," Darri says. He spits on the dead body before him, smearing the blood from his cheek. "But someone else certainly would."

His eyes dart to Luka, and a chill goes down Luka's spine. Did he notice how the Wolf's Teeth sought me out?

But then Darri's gaze flickers to Fedryn and the other suitors, the same sour suspicion remaining. "We need to get them to safety," Darri says without looking at his fellow guards. "Now. We don't know when the next attackers might arrive, and I'll be burned if I let someone like this keep Ca –keep the Third Blessed Prince from his rightful spot on the throne."

Though the other suitors pepper the guards with questions as they are escorted from the chamber, Luka is ridiculously grateful he doesn't have to explain the stars staring down at them as they exit.

They are led to chambers located deep within the palace. The corridors wind and weave in a way that's impossible to track. The adrenaline from the fight has erased Luka's tiredness, and his mind races. He doesn't have the time to try and learn how to escape from this place with Theo. Before he can hesitate, he sinks his nails – which have lengthened into uncomfortably long claws – into his palms, digging into the pain until he feels warm blood. As casually as he can, he dashes a finger against each wall, leaving a low and subtle marker. Darri glances back, but the guard's brow only furrows, fingers drift to the still bleeding wound on his cheek before looking away. Luka exhales in slow relief. He needs these markers to act quickly and get Theo out of here before things get worse.

And then what? whispers a terrible voice inside him. We came here for allies. Can we really just leave without them?

It isn't until the guards have led each suitor to their windowless, if lovingly decorated, chambers (Fedryn grumbles audibly over the lack of quality when he spots the shameless chamberpot tucked into the corner. He even tests the amount of dust on the extravagant furniture, and finds it unsatisfactory, apparently), and Luka has locked the door behind him, that he can finally breathe. That he can at last close his eyes and again summon his Cesse board. He paints each square with loving care in his mind, assembling the pieces and laying them out:

Here: Theo, captured by the people who could be ally or adversary.

There: Luka, having infiltrated their ranks, but with hooded attackers and unfriendly royals closing in, both desiring his demise.

The nearly healed wound in Luka's side pulses, as if wanting to stress the direness of the situation.

Luka presses his hands against his eyes and sinks into the bed. The room stinks of perfume. The mattress could easily fit three, four, if they were comfortable, and is covered in colorful silk sheets. A beaded oil lamp sways at the bedside table, flickering flame catching the glass beads and casting bubbles of red and green across the paintings on the windowless walls. The extravagance is so ridiculous, he almost doesn't mind the lack of exits. Luka forces himself to breathe deeply, sharpening his mind.

Ordinarily, such a challenge would thrill him. How should I make my recovery? What is the best next move, unexpected but deadly?

Those should be the questions he asks himself. That should be where his mind is focused.

But instead, all he can do is think of Theo. Theo, trapped in a box somewhere. Theo, suffering.

And it shouldn't hurt Luka, but it does.

A strangled noise escapes Luka's lips as he presses his palms harder against his closed eyes, watching colors swirl behind shut lids.

Besides, what's the point? It's not like I can do this alone.

I should have never loved Cesse in the first place. My training, all of my lessons, they were pointless.

I should have left Theo. I should have run –

A knock sounds at the door.

Luka jolts upright, leaping from the bed. He freezes, childishly hopeful that the inquisitor would assume him asleep or absent, and then leave. Silence stretches, and just when Luka's shoulders have sunk from his ears, the knock sounds again, quieter this time.

As Luka glowers at the door, a soft voice calls, "Luka. It's me. Let me in."

Cathalan.

When Luka doesn't move, Cathalan hisses, "I know you're in there. Don't ignore me, Luka. Not after that stunt you just pulled. Not after the attack. If my guards see me out here, they'll never let me hear the end of it – being unchaperoned is dangerous, you realize." Cathalan chuckles. "You might try to assassinate me."

Luka unlocks the door and the Third Blessed Prince rushes inside.

Cathalan, despite having spent the night's entirety wooing and dancing and the morning doing who knows what, looking no worse for wear. His hair has been mussed in a way that looks too purposeful to be absent-minded, and the bags gathering beneath his eyes only further accentuate the sharp lines of his face. He looks Luka's chambers over, taking in the grand bed and cell-like windows. He chuckles. "They've really outdone themselves here, haven't they?"

"Ambassadors are given more welcoming quarters," Luka agrees. Though they are more accommodating than what Luka experienced in the last month or so.

Cathalan picks up a book placed on the narrow bedside table. He frowns. "The Snake Mother Goddess? The subtle moves they make to convert." He shakes his head. "I'll see if we can find a Cesse board for you. I know how you get when you're left to your own devices."

Luka's cheeks warm. "It's been over ten years, Cath – er, Third Blessed Prince. I wouldn't presume you would recall all of my pastimes."

Cathalan snorts. "Pastimes? Are you kidding me? You nearly brained me with a history textbook when I implied that Slithers was the superior version of the game."

"Because it's not."

"Well, obviously if a similar version of the game exists in three neighboring countries, one has to be derivative of another. And the Kiterans are far too barbaric to lay claim to such a thing, which means it must be either Slither or Cesse – and Cesse… well, it's a bit too basic to be considered the original model, don't you think?"

The heat in Luka's face spreads to his neck. He says in tight, measured words, "If your Third Blessed Prince insists, he must be correct. After all, the reason for his blessing must be that he is always correct. Or something along those lines."

"Enough of that nonsense, Luka." Cathalan waves his hand. "We agreed to forgo those formalities."

"As children ."

"And here I am forgoing them again as adults. Please, Luka," Cathalan says, humor drying as he meets Luka face-on. It is then that Luka realizes that unsmiling, the Third Blessed Prince looks tired – no, exhausted. "I am pleased to see you old friend, but I must confess, I wish you had come at any other time."

Luka accepts Cathalan's extended arm as the prince pulls him into an embrace. Sweat and something slightly spicy fills Luka's nostrils. It's… nice, to be held. For so long now, the only person by Luka's side has been Theo or an enemy. To be touched in a way that doesn't spur Luka's fox into action is… well, just nice .

Cathalan pulls away. This time, when he grins, the gesture is meeker, similar to how he looked as a child. "I'm glad you're safe, and I'm sorry you've been wrapped up in this mess."

"I'm not," Luka says. "As I told you, my mother has sent me."

"Did she say how far you must jump in addition to how high?" Cathalan asks dryly.

Luka ignores him. "The situation in Cesscounthe is dire."

Cathalan tenses. "So this truly is not a trip of pleasure?"

Luka's eyes flicker away, to the dancing flame by his bedside. "No. I don't have such luxuries. I – we – Cesscounthe needs powerful allies."

"And Linne Lockehart heard of my father's demise and sent you rushing to my debut in hopes of snaring me and my armies?" Cathalan turns, his broad shoulders flexing beneath his robes. In the dimly lit room, the bejewelled fabric looks almost dull.

"I volunteered," Luka says, grateful for the opportunity to speak something other than sour lies. "Though I must say… I didn't remember as much about your marriage customs as I thought. Cesscounthe censored most of the violence in my textbooks."

Cathalan looks Luka over. "Believe it or not, but the trials are usually more… barbaric. I've toned things down for you."

Luka pales. "For me?" he says with mock levity. "I had no idea you cared so much."

Theo never made things easier for me. His stomach twists at the thought.

Cathalan chuckles. "For you – and my other suitors, of course. You should know that I have halted the trials. I cannot put you –the suitors –in such danger. Not while we're being attacked by mysterious forces."

"Will your siblings allow you to do that?"

"They'll allow it for a couple of days, at least. Long enough for us to get answers. My brothers and sister might be more conniving than I, but they have no choice in this matter. Their attempts might continue, but until I know who is doing this, I cannot risk your lives."

"So your siblings really are trying to kill your consorts?"

"Yes." Cathalan smiles. "They really are trying to kill you."

Luka can't hide his shudder.

Cathalan's cool hand finds his and squeezes once before he pulls away. "I'm sorry. I know this is… unexpected for you."

"We… our childhood friendship made me eager to come back… to you."

"So, you're swapping out that foxy redhead for me? Moving up in the world, aren't you Luka?"

Luka scowls. "Whatever information you have is outdated. Xyla and I have been finished for years."

"Her loss." Cathalan returns the goddess book to the table, following Luka into the corner. "And your mother is truly satisfied with the best outcome here? You, her crowning jewel, marrying a Southerner?"

"Of course. Why else would she have sent me –"

"Luka, I've seen how they treat the beasts amongst your people. Don't think I wouldn't expect the same treatment if not for the royal blood running in my veins." Cathalan presses his lips together, his fingers tapping against his jaw.

Luka tangles his hands behind his back to keep from reaching out, the sympathy alighting in his chest sharp. "Is it true then?"

"Is what true?"

"Don't play coy, Cathalan."

Cathalan bears his teeth. "I'm afraid that's need to know, Luka. For now, the rumors must remain rumors for your pretty little consort ears."

"Then you must know that rumors are not a strong enough deterrent to resist such an opportunity."

"And that is only how you see me? An opportunity?"

Theo's face flashes through Luka's thoughts as he shakes his head. He unlaces his fingers and gently lays a hand over Cathalan's. The man's skin is cool. "And a friend, Cathalan. Always a friend."

Cathalan does not move from Luka's touch, but he does not lean in either. "Strengthening our connections with Cesscounthe and Siacchi would be useful, but it will take some doing to convince our elders to remove their favor from Fedryn. Tying Hessalar with our southernmost counterpart would strengthen our country as a whole, more so than improvements to our international relations."

Luka nods, plastering understanding across his face. "I realize that. It's just… she's desperate, my mother. The Kiterans… they are brutal. I barely managed to pass their siege, and I lost many men to make it to the border."

Cathalan's eyes dart over Luka's exposed flesh – over the Kiteran robes hanging from his shoulders. "But you have emerged uninjured and adorned in their clothing."

"I needed to get your attention." Luka smiles, inwardly cursing as Cathalan's hand alights atop the wound on his ribs.

Cathalan is far sharper than he has any right to be. "Luka?" His concern sounds so genuine. So sweet.

Did Theo ever look at me like that?

"An old bruise. You didn't think my travels here were easy, did you?" Luka pastes an smile over his face. "Why, I had to borrow those robes I wore to woo you. I've indebted myself to win your favor."

Cathalan's concern lingers for a moment too long, his hand cool over Luka's side. Finally, he pulls away. "Indebted?"

"To one Vlia… oh, Thought. I don't think I got her last name." Luka waves his hand. "She provided me with the clothes I needed to get your attention. I was worried you might have… forgotten me. It has been years since we last saw each other."

"Oh, you always catch my attention, Luka." Cathalan's fingers ghost over Luka's chin before he turns for the door. "Just take care not to attract my siblings' –or those mystery attackers' –as well. I'm sure you understand the nature of this arrangement."

"I do." I do now.

"Good." Cathalan pauses, his hand on the door knob. "Even if you are not chosen as my consort, I'll keep you safe, Luka. I'll do anything in my power to protect you. As always." His eyes meet Luka's, warm and bright, almost glowing in the candlelight.

Luka swallows down bitter guilt. "As always," he repeats.

"Just stay in your quarters and follow the guards. So long as you remain here until the next rain, I can guarantee my ability to keep you safe."

Where should I avoid? Where are you keeping him?

Cathalan coyly smiles and completely misinterprets Luka's burning look. "My chambers are just down the hall and to the right, should you need any close protection."

Luka manages to say, "I'll keep that in mind," as Cathalan leaves the room.

Luka sinks onto his bed with a sigh, resting his now throbbing head on the pillow. I'll protect you, Cathalan said.

Theo never made such promises. Luka could hardly fathom what such protection must feel like – knowing he would be safe, always. At Cathalan's side, he would never need to worry.

I'll protect you.

What an oddly kind offer.