That sort of vulnerability should have gotten him killed years earlier.

She was the reason Xander was still alive. She had chosen to kill her other brothers before they could catch him. She had warned Xander if Damocles had started tracking him, and—despite seeing Xander dozens of times over the years—she always failed to put a Mors blast in his brain.

She wasn’t ready to lose him.

Knowing it was a risky, foolish thing to do, Discordia disabled the alarm and picked the lock. Her computer skills stretched that far, just.

“Thank you, Mistress Heraia,” she muttered as she opened the glass so she could slide her fingertips along the material of the cloak. Did she really want to wear it? Or had she been engineered to desire power? But no, she wasn’t like the other citizens of the Empire, programmed to know what to think or how to feel. The answer didn’t come easily.

Discordia drew in a shaking breath and unhooked the cloak from its hanger to slide it over her shoulders. She would take this moment for herself, even if the Archon never ended up giving it to her. If she couldn’t earn it.

The weight of it bent her spine. The crown would be just as heavy. She shouldn’t linger. If anyone caught her—

“It suits you.”

Discordia sucked in a breath at Xander’s voice. She hadn’t heard him come in. The only person who could sneak up on her. He leaned against the heavy wooden door of the hall, holding a small box in his hands.

“You can’t be here,” she whispered. “If Damocles realizes you’re on Macella—”

Xander laughed. Discordia marveled at the sound, how easy he made it seem. Laughter had been beaten out of them at that training school in Myndalia.

This was for her. Just for her.

“I sent a false trail away from the Three Sisters,” he said. “Damocles has a tendency of running off without thinking.” He took in the cloak on her shoulders. “I wanted to see it too. You ought to—” He pressed his lips together.

“I ought to . . .” she asked as he came closer.

Xander shook his head. “Teach Damocles to be less impulsive. When you cross me off your list.”

An ache went through her at his words. If she were practical, she would have reached for a weapon the moment he walked through that door. Finished it. Become the Heir, once and for all.

Eris was beginning to understand that feelings were not practical.

During their meetings over the years, Xander had never tried to pretend his life consisted of anything more than borrowed time. Any other brother might have taken advantage of this, tried to press for Discordia to betray Damocles. But Xander accepted his fate; all he’d asked for was more time.

And she had given it to him. She wanted to give him more.