“Whether she is capable is irrelevant.”

“I disagree, my king,” Fang said, shockingly serious. “Now that everyone knows of her gift, we need to know if it remains in order to better guess at what might befall us in future.”

Dade glanced at Opal, who nodded and sipped her tea. The king licked his teeth and sighed. “She has tried and has so far been unsuccessful, but it has been mere weeks since she released the glowing. What does it have to do with anything?”

Fang was now staring down at claw marks in the table. He was leaving this to me, then.

“If the ability remains, the gold stitched clothing Errin’s royals sent offshore to lure those vermin to battle with us could make them try their luck again.”

Dade captured my meaning, reclining back in his seat with less color to his cheeks. “You don’t mean…”

But Opal understood. “I’ve wondered it myself,” she admitted, trailing a long finger around the rim of her teacup. “If perhaps the goal was not merely to hunt and kill because they hate us and they’d been paid to do so, but to also find the source of the gold-woven clothing.”

Dade’s jaw went rigid, his eyes downcast upon the table. His stiff posture, the ire flaring his energy, made it clear he hadn’t spared much thought for this.

I didn’t rub the mishap in. For the better part of the past couple of weeks, he’d been healing alongside his princess—queen now—while also navigating the miserable task of cleaning up and rehoming the displaced who’d survived the bloody invasion.

But I did suggest carefully, “Something to ponder. I’ll see what I can pry from the prisoners while we still can.”

As it was, I’d made sure that only a few remained. They were quiet in the dungeon next door to the underground war room we sat in, no longer rabid and desperate for escape that would never arrive but slowly dying.

Fang eyed our king, the pastries forgotten.

I rose from my seat. “Until next time.”

Unexpectedly, Opal offered a warm smile.

Stunned, I didn’t return it, but I nodded quickly and took my leave before Dade’s worry became a storm cloud heavier than those outside.

TWENTY-FIVE

Aster

The sign upon Olivianna’s shop window said that it was open, so I let myself in to escape the rain.

I didn’t realize doing so would be a mistake until the wolf who had the seamstress pressed against the wall with his hand up her skirts stilled and flung familiar dark eyes over his shoulder. “Well, fuck.”

Unsure what to do, I stood frozen.

Olivianna peered over Fang’s shoulder with wide eyes, then laughed and smacked at his chest. “Put me down.”

“No need,” I said, then winced at the absurdity of saying such a thing and retreated toward the door. “I’ll come back later.”