Premier? I say through our bond.

His expression doesn’t change. Instead, he tightens his jaw and takes a step down from the dais with me. Just go, he replies.

We take a few steps down toward the whirling dancers.

He pauses for a moment, my arm still in his tight grip. His trembling quickens. When I look over at him, his eyes are closed and his face sickly pale, as if he’s steadying himself for the next step.

I glance out at the crowd. People have noticed us now—a few murmurs come from the gathered nobles.

Down below, Caitoman’s smile fades a little at the sight of his brother’s face.

Constantine, I say, this time daring to use his name.

His eyes snap open—bloodshot, unforgiving. He fixes his hard stare on me. I’m fine, he replies through the link, his voice almost a snarl. Then he forces himself down another step.

He falters.

A louder gasp sweeps through the crowd as Constantine stumbles and kneels right on the steps, his robes draping across the terraced stone. In the blink of an eye, Caitoman is at his brother’s side, taking a knee beside him to offer him his arm. The guards around us shift their stances. And instinctively, I turn toward the Premier, as if I genuinely believe in my role to protect him. My wings spread.

Constantine stays where he is for what seems like a long moment. I kneel on his other side, meeting Caitoman’s gaze briefly before looking back at the young Premier.

“Can you walk, brother?” Caitoman asks him in a low voice.

Constantine grits his teeth and tightens his grip on his brother’s arm. “I can,” he replies. “Step away.”

Caitoman just shakes his head, then stands up to motion at the nearest guards. “Take the Premier back to the palace,” he says. “He’s unwell.”

At that, though, Constantine forces himself to his feet with every ounce of strength he has. His strain pulls our link taut. He straightens, turns his piercing gaze on his brother, then sweeps his stare out at the crowd. Everyone has stopped to watch him.

Take my hand, Constantine snaps through our link.

I take his outstretched arm and pull him to his feet in one move. He sways again, leaning against me, before gathering his strength and stepping down past his brother. Caitoman watches him with a wary gaze.

Down below, I can see that small pockets of the crowd who had looked away during the toast are now murmuring among one another. Still others crane their necks, eager for another look at the Premier’s pale face. Most look stunned into silence. Even the music has stopped.

No one has ever seen Constantine falter before.

Constantine lifts his chin high and nods at the crowd, then smiles, holding his hand out at them in greeting. There’s a nervous wave of smiles in return. The musicians remember their place and begin to play again. Gradually, the dance starts where it left off, and by the time we reach the bottom step, they’ve all begun spinning around the dais again.