Page 131 of Elemental Becoming

“Only clarity, Lord Caelum,” she says smoothly, her voice carrying just enough for the surrounding nobles to overhear. “The realm is restless. It would be . . . unfortunate if the absenceof visible leadership were to encourage further division.”

An accusation wrapped in civility, sharp enough to draw blood without ever raising a blade.

Thane merely lifts his goblet once more, taking a leisurely sip as though her words are nothing more than smoke to be brushed aside.

His fingers stay loose, still threaded through mine, deceptively casual. But through the bond, I feel a quiet current of fury and focus, vibrating beneath my skin like the moment before a lightning strike.

Thane lets it stretch for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Long enough for discomfort to ripple through the gathered nobles. Another strategy.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“It’s true,” Thane says evenly, not a trace of defensiveness in his voice. “I have spent these past months at the outpost. I chose to be where the realm needed me most.”

He lifts his goblet again, sipping slowly, as if the entire room were beneath his concern.

“And I would make the same choice again. A leader must prioritize what is best for the realm.”

When he lowers the goblet, his smoke-gray eyes sweep calmly across the gathered nobles. Simply weighing them.

“Loyalty,” he says quietly, “is not proven in calm waters. It is measured when the tides rise. And when the storm breaks—”

Something lethal settles into his gaze.

“—I will know who stood with the realm, and who merely waited to see which way the wind would blow.”

Around us, the nobles shift uneasily. Some lower their gazes. Others tighten their grips around their goblets. The woman in crimson plasters a smile on her face.

Thane lets the silence hang a moment longer—long enough for the discomfort to settle in.

Then, without warning, his entire demeanor shifts.

The coldness vanishes behind an easy, polished charm, like a gracious host tending to his guests. A faint smile touches the edge of his mouth—disarming and entirely hollow.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says smoothly, “I should greet some of the other guests. I do appreciate you sharing your concerns with me. Rest assured, I’ll be sure to raise them with the council.”

His smile never wavers.

“Please enjoy the celebration.”

His tone is the picture of diplomacy. His words are a polite dismissal dressed in velvet. And before anyone can respond, he is already moving, already guiding me away.

DIPLOMACY

SEVENTEEN

“We need to have another council meeting soon. The clans are becoming more divided with each new Shadow Force attack. We’ll never have safety for the realm if we are not united.”

—VALEN’S JOURNAL

AMARA

“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he mutters, his voice low with lingering frustration. “It’s part of the fucking game. I hate it.”

He drags a hand through his hair.

“You give them your blood. Your strength. Everything you have.” A muscle in his jaw jumps. “And still they circle likevultures, waiting for you to bleed just a little more.”

He shakes his head once, a grim, humorless thing.