12. Chapter Twelve: Luka

Chapter Twelve – Luka

T he next nine days see Luka falling into an unfortunate pattern: spend a sleepless night listening to the soft moans and sighs of a different consort being greeted by Cathalan's evening presence, and then wake to the sound of feet shuffling outside his door (the guards changing their shifts), be escorted to breakfast some half an hour later, only to be forced back into his rooms until noon, when it is time for their next meal and their next trial. When they finally resume, the tests are, despite Luka's fears, relatively easy. They range from tasks as simple as identifying the correct silverware to use at a meal (the forks are on the opposite side where they would be in a Siacchian dish, though Luka catches himself before making that mistake), to identifying which mare has been lamed and how recently, to surviving poisoned meals. Luka, and all the suitors but for one man, pass with ease.

Beyond Cathalan's nightly visits to other consort-hopefuls, which Luka listens to despite himself, wondering if he should be jealous that Cathalan has yet to bless him with his presence, especially when Fedryn makes embarrassingly high-pitched breathy little moans, Luka's schedule remains unchanging. The only thing out of the ordinary is, rarely, the doors to the neighboring rooms creak open as Cathalan takes a suitor back to his own chambers, the two giggling all the way. Luka hears their voices through the door (which he presses his ear against for information gathering purposes, nothing more).

Luka is given no moments of privacy. Even when he goes to bathe, he is sent with an escort. His eyes wander down mysterious hallways hungrily, but, of course, there is no sign of Theo.

Sometimes in the late hours of the night when his thoughts fold to weariness, he wonders if he's simply too late, and if Theo has already been executed.

Five times, various servants come to the entrance of suitors' chambers. Their voices are audible through the walls as they declare themselves having been sent by the other heirs. Some boom while others cajole, tempting the guards from their posts. Once, a woman arrived, shrieking about a fire – or perhaps she was choking on something – but before the guards could rush to aid her, Darri ordered them to halt. "We protect the consorts of the future king," he said. "If there is a fire, we will burn."

Every time the servants come, the guards send them away. The heirs will have to do much better than that, they chuckle.

It is only once, in what must be the dead of night, that a door to the room next to Luka's creaks open. Soft snores blanket the hallway, though they abruptly snort off as a cry sounds, shrill and piercing. Luka huddles in the corner of his room as the shriek breaks into a muffled moan, and then, most dreadful of all, silence.

"I've got him!" a guard says.

"No – keep him alive, you fool –"

Quiet drapes itself over the night once again.

I should go closer to the door to hear them better.

But Luka cannot move from his spot on the bed, his hands clapped over his ears.

At least get a weapon, you fool, chides a voice that sounds so much like Theo.

Luka picks up the holy book on his nightstand, hands shaking. He stares at the door, at the yellow splash of candlelight leaking through the cracks. Shadows of movement play, and he waits for someone to draw closer to his room.

"Sorry, Darri – er, Sir," a guard says.

"We can't interrogate a corpse, you blind snake. Send the body off for examination. I don't recognize this one."

"And the suitor?"

A long pause.

"Send a letter to her parents. They knew the risks."

Luka claps a hand over his mouth. Her . It must have been one of the women. The blonde or the brunette – but what did it matter? Surely she knew this might have ended in her death.

"Get the attacker to our doctors. I want a dissection of the body."

"Sir?"

"I don't recognize this face. And this clothing…"

"He does look foreign."

Luka closes his eyes. The skull mask of the Wolf's Teeth blooms behind his lids.

When the other guard remains silent, the first says in a voice so soft, Luka almost doesn't hear: "Darri?"

"Speak to no one of this. I will tell the Third Blessed Prince. If I learn word has gotten out about the killer, I will… I will have to tell the Scorned Prince, understood?"

"S-Sir! I – yes, I understand."

"Good. Now get these bodies out of here." The man – Darri – pauses near Luka's door, and Luka's body stiffens. The beast rolls close beneath his flesh, like a shudder that can't break free. His arms tighten around himself, skin darkening with red fur.

Darri continues, "Etara, this water has been spiked with lovelace. You should drink nothing when you're on duty."

"It is my own wineskin – I didn't think… I'm sorry."

"Just get these bodies out of here, Etara. We'll speak on this in the morning." A sigh. "We just need to hold on a little bit longer. The rains will come again. Then this will all be over."

Someone grunts and then there is a terrible noise – the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor. Luka closes his eyes.

Foreign.

The Wolf's Teeth.

He touches his own dark locks and wonders if it was the brunette that was killed.

She did look a bit like me.

The following evening, Luka is summoned to the Third Blessed Prince's quarters.

Cathalan's rooms are a long winding hallway and three left turns and one right away from Luka's. The guards attempt to confuse him by leading Luka in a circle, passing walls of pastel creams and yellows, turning around after they've entered a door, but leisure has only hungered Luka's mind, making it eager for information. Luka notes every misdirection with ease.

The walls change as they walk, fading from old cobbled-together rocks to soft sandstone. The colors warm and the windows shrink to smaller than bread boxes. To bring life into what should be a dark, lightless hallway, the ceiling lifts and expands, rising into archways decorated with fine carvings and paintings of a sprawling desert overlooking a glittering oasis.

Finally, they reach a set of white painted doors guarded by four men.

"Sir," the first says, nodding to Luka's escort.

"The Third Blessed Prince has requested an audience with this one," says the man behind Luka. His voice is familiar – Darri.

The guards exchange low, murmured chuckles. The doors swing open and Darri leads Luka inside.

The chambers are lit with candles and oddly warm and dark. A sitting room greets him first, with a large archway leading into the bedchamber. There is no sign of Cathalan, though there are another pair of stiff-shouldered guards. Darri must dismiss them with a silent hand signal, for they hurry from the room as if relieved.

Luka looks around. Still no sign of Cathalan.

Behind Luka, Darri sighs. "Third Blessed Prince?" he calls.

Distant giggles bounce through empty hallways. Darri and Luka follow the source of the noise until they turn the corner and Luka must shield his eyes against the glow of a full moon shining through a set of open glass doors.

"Really?" Darri mutters as Luka blinks. When his vision adjusts, he finds Cathalan leaning against a pale white balcony, overlooking a private oasis of gleaming blue water and swaying trees. His back is to Luka and Darri, and he is naked but for a tiny slip of cloth tied around his waist, baring his broad, muscled shoulders and arms. And he is not alone.

"Oh!" squeal two women Luka doesn't recognize. The first is completely naked, her pale skin turned milky against the moonlight, her nipples puckered. The second wears a translucent piece of blue fabric that does little to cover her. She is crouched at Cathalan's feet and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand delicately as they approach.

"Third Blessed Prince, the company you have requested," Darri says through gritted teeth.

Cathalan turns with a lazy smile, though his eyes widen when he sees Luka. Luka is careful to keep from looking below his shoulders, though he can see Cathalan's little waist-cloth does not cover him – at all.

"Luka!" Cathalan says. "My apologies – I was distracted."

"I can see that." This time, Luka can't help but to look over Cathalan's body – which is finely honed with lean brown muscle, and… perfectly proportional.

"I don't want to be rude. Let me say farewell." Cathalan doesn't give Luka time to reply as he crouches to give the woman at his feet a prolonged kiss. Luka watches their tongues with some measure of interest and dismay.

After the two women have been dismissed and Cathalan has slid into a silk robe he leaves open, Cathalan turns a bright smile on Luka, springing to his feet and spreading his arms. Darri tenses, his face wrinkling with disapproval as the Third Blessed Prince sweeps Luka into an embrace. Luka returns the action hesitantly. Despite the warmth of the night, Cathalan's skin is cool. Soft.

"I'm sorry it's taken so long for us to speak," Cathalan says. "Would you like some tea? I had it imported from Siacchi – before the siege."

Luka blinks, still taking in the chambers. Even as a child, he was never permitted access to this part of the palace.

"Oh! Are your eyes still adjusting to the darkness? Sorry about that. I'm so sensitive to light, so sometimes I forget. Darri, would you mind –"

"It's alright," Luka says, attempting a smile. "And yes, I'll take some tea."

"Perfect!" Cathalan says. He turns to the balcony side table, practically shoving Darri away when the guard attempts to pour Luka a cup. "None of that, Darri! How am I supposed to prove my worth to my potential future spouse if I can't even manage to serve him a cup of tea."

"Ca – Third Blessed Prince, please –" Darri begins, sounding almost exasperated.

But Cathalan is already pressing the warm mug into Luka's hands. For a moment, their fingers touch, and Luka almost wishes he felt something jolt down his spine at the contact. He waits for butterflies to leap about in his stomach. But all he feels is the warmth of the tea and Cathalan's expectant stare.

Luka takes a sip. "It's delicious."

"I'm glad you think so. I'd like to make you as comfortable as possible, despite the circumstances." Cathalan moves as if to return to his spot by the railing, but then shakes his head. He casts Luka a smile as he begins to pace instead.

"Well, Luka, I've good news for you," Cathalan says grandly.

"News?" Luka says. It's hard not to tense as his mind automatically flies to Theo, his head on a metaphorical chopping block.

"I've decided –" Cathalan begins as Darri clears his throat. The Third Blessed Prince shoots his guard a look before continuing, "I've decided you needn't bother with the rest of these trials."

When Luka gapes, Cathalan waves his hand. "You're quality, Luka," he says. "There's no need to prove it more, now is there? You made your mark on this castle, even after the short time you spent here in childhood."

"That's –" Luka splutters.

"Delightful, isn't it!" Cathalan sips his tea. "Now that that order of business is out of the way, tell me – I know we hardly got any time to chat before – how are things? Your mother is well, I take it?"

Luka stares at the Third Blessed Prince, processing. But Cathalan's face gives nothing away. In his mind, Luka shapes a Cesse board. Cathalan has made an unusual move – but it's nothing Luka can't recover from. He takes another long swallow of the tea. It's a little too bitter to be considered proper Siacchi tea, but its flavor is deep and summons memories of afternoon drinks with Cassian. Luka says, "She is well enough, last I heard."

"Well enough considering the Kiteran attacks?"

Luka's eyes flicker to Cathalan's. He observes the man's face, looking for any hint of guile. But Cathalan only smiles expectantly, looking at Luka like he always did when they were children: as if he has just shared an inside joke and is waiting for Luka to burst into laughter or applause or both.

"In a way, I think she anticipates their attacks," Luka says finally. "She has always wanted to test her wits against something more… violent."

"How terribly un-Siacchian of her."

"She sees it as a game of Cesse, and though it is her hand moving the pieces, she does not wield the blade herself, which leaves her fingers clean of blood." Most of the time.

"And your sibling?"

"My – my sibling?" Luka blinks at Cathalan. If he knows Linne is pregnant, does he already know of Cesscounthe's fall?

"Your mother gave birth since you were last here, did she not?"

"Ah, yes, erm – Cassian. He is well, yes."

"I know how excited you were to have a younger sibling. I tried explaining to you what a terrible mess they were, but you never believed me."

Luka chuckles softly. "Well, Cassian and mine's relationship has always been a bit different when compared to the relationship between royal heirs."

Cathalan nods. "Sure."

"I don't think Cassian would try to murder my potential spouses, for instance."

Cathalan laughs and Darri casts another dark look in Luka's direction. But Luka ignores it as he shares a grin with Cathalan and wonders, if maybe, he has been making a mistake. He inhales deeply, trying to calm his heartbeat –

Theo.

Luka startles, not sure why the man has to always intrude on his thoughts like an angry animal. He tries to take another deep, calming breath, but finds that the Kiteran's stern presence only grows stronger. His scent, salt and the forest and something male and smoky but somehow always welcoming, fills Luka's thoughts.

And his nose.

Luka blinks as he looks at Cathalan again, this time in a different light. As Luka inhales a third time, he pays attention to the details only his beast would have noticed.

Cathalan smells faintly of Theo.

A strange sensation vibrates in Luka's throat, and it takes Luka a moment to realize that it's a low growl.

"What do you think, Luka?" Cathalan says, and Luka blinks back to reality. "Oh, hello there."

Luka shakes himself, suddenly realizing he now stands only an arm's length from Cathalan, his hand outstretched. The dim light makes it hard to see how Luka's nails have changed from human to beast, but Luka still jerks back all the same, his nervousness an icy shock.

"Sorry," Luka says. "You had uh, some dust." He gestures mindlessly to Cathalan's face.

Cathalan rubs a thumb over his cheek, glancing down at the finger. Luka is relieved to see that Cathalan does, indeed, have an odd streak of dirt across his cheek.

"Not very royal of me, is it, Darri?" Cathalan mutters. "Any other bits of dirt I should be worried about?" he asks Luka.

Luka swallows as he takes a step closer. As Cathalan turns left and right so Luka can better examine his face, Luka inhales again. The Third Blessed Prince smells like Luka's Kiteran.

Anger strikes him like a fist, and only years of training keep Luka from acting on the feeling.

What have you done with him? Tell me where he is. If you have hurt him –

Luka cuts off the fanatical thoughts. The rage attached to the words is so powerful, it feels almost foreign.

"Luka?" Cathalan says. "No more dirt, then?"

Luka shakes his head and Cathalan lowers his arms. When he moves toward Luka, Darri shakes his head, lips pressed tightly.

"You know, Luka, you were the only one who always treated me just like Cathalan," the Third Blessed Prince says. "All the others always saw me as the prince first. Whether it be guarding me from myself." He glances at Darri. "Or guarding others from me."

"I'm sure no one needs protection from you," Luka says.

Cathalan chuckles, the noise oddly dark. "But what do you get from me, Luka?"

"What do you mean?"

"Obviously your mother sent you here to secure relationships with the South. She sent you likely knowing the dangers of courting me, but here you are all the same." Cathalan frowns. "But I've always found that a person's true desires shine a light into their very soul, you see. So tell me, Luka – what do you want?"

Cathalan walks around Luka, his stride tracing a wide half-circle. Darri trails behind, a scowling shadow.

"What do I want? Obviously my goals align with my mother's."

Cathalan cocks his head as if listening to another voice. "Luka. We're friends, aren't we?"

Luka wets his lips. "Of course."

"Then don't lie to me."

"Alright." Luka sighs deeply. Suddenly, he is so tired. "What do I want? I just want to go home. I want the people I love to be safe." He wants to feel Theo's arms around him again. He just wants to know that his little brother and his future sibling will live happy, fulfilling lives.

Cathalan pauses, standing with his back to the railing and the grand oasis below. The trees, leaves silvered beneath the moonlight, sway. "The people you love?"

"My brother, of course."

"And?"

"If you're speaking of Xyla, I told you – our relationship has long since ended."

"Luka, I do love to play coy, but this is the second time I have asked honesty of you. I will not ask kindly the third time."

Luka's eyes flicker to Darri, still half a step behind Luka, next to the door. The guard watches him, his hand hovering at his side – over the slender daggers sheathed at his waist.

"Is there someone else who has stolen your heart, Luka?"

"My heart is not something that is so simply taken."

"Right." Cathalan looks Luka over again, slower this time. Something flickers in his eyes – something akin to understanding? It's impossible for Luka to tell. "Your people have different mating customs, do they not?"

Shock hits Luka like a slap. "What?"

"What do they call them in Siacchi?"

" Impyassi, " Darri says. The word sounds wrong in the rolling dialect of the South. It doesn't carry the same hatred, only ignorance.

"I – that's not –"

Cathalan holds up a finger. "Don't you take life partners? That's why you split with that silly girl?"

"Don't speak so lowly of Xyla when you haven't even met her."

"Alright. But that's the reason she left you, correct?"

"I'm not sure why you're asking for affirmation when your spies clearly have already told you the answer," Luka says through gritted teeth. He backs away from Cathalan, his gaze shifting from the man he thought his friend to the guard looming behind him. "What is this? Why are you interrogating me like this?"

Cathalan's shoulders rise and fall in a slow sigh. "Luka, you are my friend. I have not lied to you. You just must understand I am in the precarious position of struggling with my siblings for the throne and understanding why the enemy has broken through our front lines."

"Enemy?" He must mean the Wolf's Teeth.

"All while my spies in the West, normally well received, have gone silent."

Luka goes still. The question falls from his lips like a stone, "Silent?"

"In the handful of decades in which the West and South have been allies, my spies have been allowed to roam, even when noticed, as a courtesy. But in the last month and a half, I have heard nothing. And now you are here, under your mother's orders – when she has apparently only continued to climb the social ladder. You can see why I might be a bit… concerned."

Luka holds his hands behind his back so Cathalan can't see how his fingers have balled into fists. Fur bristles on his forearms as the beast shoves itself to the surface.

I don't need your help, Luka snarls at the animal, forcing it back down.

"Siacchi has been under lockdown," he says when he can speak calmly. "So it would make sense you haven't heard from your spies."

"Luka, please, help me understand," Cathalan says. "I don't care if you are one of your people's beasts. That sort of thing has never mattered to me."

Luka rocks on his heels. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Tell me what's going on. I can help –"

But before Cathalan can complete his plea, something crashes in the distance. Cathalan's eyes shoot to Darri's, and it takes Luka a moment longer to parse the noise – and it is only when he hears the sounds of boots hitting tile that he understands.

Someone has breached Cathalan's royal chambers.

The following seconds pass as if time has turned to slow moving honey. One moment, Luka stands with Cathalan's guard at his back – the next, Darri has shoved Cathalan clear of the balcony, whirling to face the intruders as they burst inside.

As Cathalan stumbles, Luka only blinks in dismay, jaw falling open as half a dozen individuals wearing black cloaks and wielding terribly familiar knives burst into the Third Blessed Prince's chambers. The dark hallway makes it hard to track their movements, but the moonlight catches on their blades – and the bone-white of their masks.

"GUARDS! TO ME!" Darri roars as he draws his blades. He spins to face the first intruder – but his movements have been hindered by surprise. His first thoughts are not to defend himself, but his charge, and now a blade catches him in the gut.

Darri's eyes go wide. He coughs, blood seeping from his lips.

" No !" Cathalan shouts. His eyes flash as he looks past the invaders and the violence, out to where his guards should be standing in the halls –

Only there is no one there.

No.

There is no one left.

Amidst the ruins of the door, lie the bodies of Cathalan's guards. Luka would have thought them sleeping, if not for the frozen looks of surprised horror on their faces and the bloody gaping smiles at their throats.

Cathalan's jaw works as he reaches into the silky folds of his robes and draws a knife. "Get behind something, Luka," he says, words cold.

"But –"

"I have been charged with your protection. Get behind something."

Before Luka can protest, Cathalan throws himself into the fray. He joins Darri's side, pressing his back to the guard's hunched shoulders. Darri leans on the prince, his forehead damp with sweat as he lashes out at the attackers.

"These are not my siblings' people," Cathalan says as the pair take down one attacker.

"No."

Cathalan lashes out at a hooded attacker on his right. The individual ducks beneath the blow, but Cathalan is already moving, rising up with a knee. The attack lands true, and the man falls to the ground unconscious.

Darri, hindered by his injury, lashes out. The hooded figure before him easily dodges the blow, but when the attacker lunges to stab Darri a second time, Cathalan moves, faster than a striking snake, and cuts the woman's throat.

But already, one of the hooded figures races toward Cathalan's now exposed back. Luka's lips part to cry out with warning –

Only to realize there is someone behind him.

"Luka!" Cathalan shouts, his words colored with genuine alarm.

Luka grunts as the attacker moves to cut his throat. He flails, somehow catching the man at the wrist. The hooded man heaves, testing his strength against Luka's. And Luka – he calls out for his beast's inhumane abilities.

With a cry, Luka manages to shove the man away.

"Pay attention, Cath," Darri says as he blocks a blow meant for the prince.

Luka tries to duck beneath the next attack, but his feet tangle in a pile of pillows. He goes down with a huff – and his attacker is upon him.

Again, time slows as the knife soars down. Oddly, Luka remembers those days with Theo in the Kiteran tent. Theo, teaching him to defend himself.

Theo, eyes so gentle and kind.

How could he have ever thought Cathalan could replace Theo? It was always Theo who made Luka's heart rush, Theo who Luka woke with thoughts of in the morning, Theo who Luka went to sleep thinking about.

Theo, who loves him.

Theo loves me.

I think I love him.

I need to get out of here.

Luka catches the attacker at the shoulder. The knife skims his cheek, aiming for his throat, drawing a fiery path of pain down his face. As his blood falls, Luka glares at the hooded man – the hooded man with his braids and blond hair – a Kiteran.

Luka huffs and shoves, but he can't get the man off, no matter how much he bucks. The man's jaw flexes as he pushes harder, and the pain in Luka's face increases as the knife tip bites deeper – tracing a path down his jaw toward his collarbone –

Then the man goes slack, the life fading from his eyes.

Luka's attacker collapses on top of him, dead. His blade clatters to the ground.

A panting Cathalan stands behind him, bloodied knife in hand, his eyes bright and almost glowing in the darkness. His fine robes gleam with frothy scarlet. He extends a hand to Luka. "You are uninjured?"

Luka numbly nods, accepting the offering as the prince yanks him to his feet. He stares at the field of bodies strewn amongst the prince's chambers; the six hooded attackers have been slaughtered. Their blood seeps into the jewel toned tiles, hanging in the air like a dark cloud.

"I'm injured," Darri calls with a cough. "Why don't you give me a hand up?"

"Take a drink, Darri," Cathalan replies, eyes still on Luka. "You'll be fine in a few hours."

"Death will soon come for me." Darri falls to his knees near one of the bodies, the back of his hand pressed to his forehead. "I can hear her scales sliding over the sandstone now."

"Oh, hush."

"I think he needs medical attention," Luka says urgently, gaping at the gore and then Cathalan. His eyes fly from Darri to the dead bodies on the floor as he whispers, "Who were they?" The words are only a half-lie.

Cathalan's eyes flicker. "That was my next question."

He approaches the man he knocked unconscious, rolling him onto his back. With his knife, he shoves aside the man's hood and mask, revealing a face full of Kiteran features; the blade-like nose, the high cheekbones, the lighter skin.

Cathalan exchanges a glance with Darri, whose lips are now wet with blood.

"Are you – are you alright?" Luka asks Darri, who waves him off as he scrubs the red from his chin. The amount of blood on his face seems to keep multiplying. Darri swallows and nods.

"Wake up." Cathalan kicks at the unconscious man. "We have some pressing questions for you."

The man splutters into consciousness, his eyes glazed as he gazes about the room. He looks about a decade older than Luka, and other than the blooming bruise on his temple, uninjured – though it's difficult to tell if the blood staining his dark robes belongs to him or his victims.

"Who are you?" Cathalan asks, leaning low. "Why did you try to kill me?"

The man's glazed eyes grow focused. His attention flickers from Darri to Cathalan – to settle on Luka.

Luka stills as his theory is confirmed. The Wolf's Teeth have followed me even into the Third Blessed Prince's sanctum.

If so many lives weren't lost, he would have laughed. What idiots.

"Don't look at him. I know he's pretty, but you need to focus on me right now." Cathalan snaps his fingers.

Luka's would-be assassin returns his attention to the Third Blessed Prince. His lips curl.

"Cath –" Darri starts to say as the man spits on Cathalan's face.

Cathalan laughs as he wipes away the saliva. "Never my favorite seductive move of choice, wolf-scorned. But I appreciate your efforts to get into my good graces."

" Cath –" Darri says again, eyes going wider.

"Aren't you going to let me just interrogate the man?" Cathalan grumbles, his attention swinging to his guard –

As the assassin rears back, seizing a blade lying next to his fallen brethren. His face contorts into an ugly snarl as he moves to stab the prince.

"No!" Luka shouts, throwing himself forward. He seizes Cathalan, trying to pull the prince from harm.

But he is far too late.

The blade sinks into Cathalan's neck. The Third Blessed Prince's eyes go wide, the alarmed cry in his throat shrinking to a terrible gurgle. Luka yanks the man away from his attacker, tears brimming in his eyes.

Darri quickly finishes off the assassin, his teeth bared. "Bastard."

"Cathalan!" Luka shouts. He looks at Darri. "You have to do something!" He presses his hands to the weeping wound of Cathalan's neck.

Darri crouches by Luka's side, looking the Third Blessed Prince over. The anger in his face melts to a shocking calm. "Are you sure about this?" he says.

"Of course I'm sure!" Luka says. "He's going to die!"

But Darri isn't looking at him. "Cath?"

Cathalan lays one cold hand over where Luka has pressed bloodied fingers to the hole in his neck. His eyes drift to Luka's. "Do you trust me?" he whispers.

"You really want to have this conversation now? "

"Luka," Cathalan says. "Do you trust me?"

"Are you some sort of an impyassus beast, too? Because I'll still be your friend, obviously – just hurry up and heal yourself, if you are!"

Cathalan chuckles, little bubbles of blood bursting from his lips. "Luka," he starts again. "I can only help you if you trust me and I can trust you. There are very few that I can rely on right now, and if you prove to be unworthy, then I will have to remove you from the palace."

Luka licks dry lips. He keeps the pressure on the wound at Cathalan's throat, staring down at his old friend, thinking of the man Cathalan has taken captive. "Has this all been a test, Cathalan? To see if we can believe in each other?"

When Cathalan only closes his eyes in reply, Luka sighs. Despite it all, it is the truth when Luka says, "Yes. I trust you."

Cathalan's smile is weary. "Good. Come closer."

Luka leans low, so close that his ear skims Cathalan's lips.

"I know those Wolf's Teeth assassins came for you. I know that everything has gone wrong in Cesscounthe."

Luka's heartbeat doubles. He closes his eyes as the answer comes then, sudden and all too clear: Octavian… and my mother. They likely sent assassins to all of the possible locations Theo and I would go.

Cathalan continues, "And I want to help. I just need… I need you to help me first."

Luka swallows. "Whatever you need, you can have it, Cathalan."

"Thank you, darling snakelet," Cathalan rasps. He smiles. His lips are wet with his own blood, and his teeth look far too sharp. "Now… this will only hurt a bit."

Pain bursts in Luka's throat. Darri leans down to clap a hand over his mouth to muffle the cry that snaps from his lips. Luka struggles, but Cathalan holds him fast – and then the pain… melts to pleasure.

The world blurs around him as Cathalan's warm arms hold him up. All Luka knows is the sensation of lips on his neck, a tongue darting across his throat… and then a soft, warm voice saying: "Oh, Luka, old friend –I wish you had run."