“Opal will be joining us during these meetings from this day forward.” A statement—indisputable. I didn’t care to fight it. Not even when Dade looked straight at me, expecting as much. He arched a brow when I did nothing but stare, then relaxed a fraction in his chair. “Good.”

Opal’s gaze lingered upon me, though I didn’t look at her. I peered up at the damp ceiling and wondered what in the stars these idiots were going to do to make sure an attack of such magnitude never occurred here again.

I shouldn’t have cared so much. It was over. But it was impossible not to when I struggled to see past the reasons the war might have happened in the first place.

Guilt and duty were a ruthless combination.

“The queen acted out of desperation for her daughter, and she sought vengeance for her mate,” Dade said, referring to Opal’s mother, who’d conspired with the human royals of Errin to rid Dade and many of us from this continent.

Dade was right. He had killed Queen Nikaya’s husband, the late king of Sinshell.

I held no issue with letting Opal’s mother be, but I took umbrage at merely leaving the human royals to show us what else they might be up to, and I voiced as much. “Regardless, we need to speak with Nikaya again,” I said. “Ask her if there is anything more she might know and what she can maybe find out about Errin.”

“I will,” Opal said with steely promise thickening her words.

My nose twitched as I looked at her and found her studying me intently.

Dade stirred his tea. He made a show of it as he tapped the teaspoon against the rim of the teacup hard enough to nearly crack the porcelain.

He might’ve been softening at the edges, but I knew if I studied his female in return, he’d snap. Not wishing to place him on his ass in front of her, I smirked and averted my gaze. I held no interest in Opal. I held no interest in anyone aside from what I could glean of use from them.

And the kingdom of Sinshell’s swan princess had proven to be far more useful and trustworthy than I ever could have imagined.

It was different now, the energy surrounding her—or lack thereof. As if the ancient glowing she’d performed on that battlefield from sheer heartache alone had stolen much of her magic from her.

I saw no harm in asking, and even if it caused some, I still wanted to know. “Your gold,” I said, glancing back at Dade’s mate briefly. “Can you still weave it?” She knew I referred to the ability she’d inherited from her Gracewood ancestors. The ability to produce gold thread within garments.