Rion paused for one more breath before he pulled the magic away. Meora hugged the child, bouncing up and down and making soothing sounds.

“It’s okay,” she whispered as tears slid down her cheeks. “What’s wrong, my baby?”

After another moment, Nadir’s cries calmed, his little body jerking with hiccups. Rion studied the boy with cool detachment. Then he slid his magic away from the Torch. He felt its relief as he withdrew, and it continued bathing Nadir and his mother in a benevolent light.

The incident was soon forgotten as the ceremony came to a close—congratulations and refreshments were passed around the room. He noted the look on Meora’s face, a mixture of relief and confusion, as she showered Nadir with kisses.

But Meora hadn’t forgotten.

She stared across the room at Rion, fear darkening her expression as she pulled Nadir against her, some instinct telling her she’d need to protect him against his own father.

Rion wouldn’t forget either.

He’d controlled the Torch. Forced it to do his bidding. The former king of The Aurora had helped him, and Rion was too eager about his discovery to wonder why.

His gaze wandered to his father, sitting on his throne with the dark crown of the Aurora King perched on his head.

Finally, Rion had found a way.

Finally, Rion would get his crown.

CHAPTER 22

GABRIEL

APHELION—PRESENT DAY

This place has gone to hell. Everything has spun out of control between riots in the streets and the palace falling to pieces. Smoke hangs in the air and the sounds of mild explosions have become a part of Aphelion’s daily backdrop.

Through it all, my brothers continue to search for Atlas, sending reports to me regularly. Atlas is a royal who has never had to fear for his life. While he learned how to wield a sword with proficiency, my brothers were trained nearly to the point of death in every art of war imaginable, including tracking down an escaped prisoner. Since his magic is mostly ineffective against them, especially as a group, it’s only a matter of time before they close in on our former king. I pray daily for news, but I haven’t yet decided if his capture will come as a relief or simply another burden.

Without my brothers here, almost everyone around me is an incompetent fool.

“Gabe,” Tyr says softly from where he sits in a chair under the window. We’re in the king’s study. I’m so used to referring to it as Atlas’s, but is it really Tyr’s? I’ve envisioned this day so many times, but nestled in that murky fantasy was the idea Tyr would rise up and take his place as king.