Maybe that was what the Governors wanted: all of them so bored and desperate to end this meeting that they eventually agreed to terms that weren’t to their advantage.

There were a few holdouts, still. Ruhn’s father being one, along with the mer and the witches.

One witch in particular.

Queen Hypaxia spoke little, but he noticed that she, too, listened to every word being bandied about, her rich brown eyes full of wary intelligence despite her youth.

It had been a shock to see her the first day—that familiar face in this setting, with her crown and royal robes. To know he’d been talking to his would-be betrothed for weeks now with no fucking idea.

He’d managed to slip between two of her coven members as they filed into the dining hall the first day, and, like an asshole, demanded, “Why didn’t you say anything? About who you really are?”

Hypaxia held her lunch tray with a grace better suited to holding a scepter. “You didn’t ask.”

“What the Hel were you doing in that shop?”

Her dark eyes shuttered. “My sources told me that evil was stirring in the city. I came to see for myself—discreetly.” It was why she’d been at the scene of the temple guard’s murder, he realized. And there the night Athalar and Bryce had been attacked in the park. “I also came to see what it was like to be … ordinary. Before this.” She waved with a hand toward her crown.

“Do you know what my father expects of you? And me?”

“I have my suspicions,” she said coolly. “But I am not considering such … changes in my life right now.” She gave him a nod before walking away. “Not with anyone.”

And that was it. His ass had been handed to him.

Today, at least, he’d tried to pay attention. To not look at the witch who had absolutely zero interest in marrying him, thank fuck. With her healing gifts, could she sense whatever was wrong inside him that would mean he was the last of the bloodline? He didn’t want to find out. Ruhn shoved away the memory of the Oracle’s prophecy. He wasn’t the only one ignoring Hypaxia, at least. Jesiba Roga hadn’t spoken one word to her.

Granted, the sorceress hadn’t said much, other than to assert that the House of Flame and Shadow thrived on death and chaos, and had no quarrel with a long, devastating war. Reapers were always happy to ferry the souls of the dead, she said. Even the Archangels had looked disconcerted at that.

As the clock struck nine and all took their seats in the room, Sandriel announced, “Micah has been called away, and will be joining us later.”