Page 154 of Elemental Becoming

The Warlord settling back into place.

Rowena notices immediately, her grin fading. Sera’s hand slips quietly against the small of her back.

“Master Revic,” I greet evenly.

“My apologies for interrupting,” Revic says smoothly, inclining his head respectfully toward Sera and Rowena before returning his attention to me. “But several noble houses have already asked me about securing private audiences with the Spiritborn before the week’s end.”

Of course they have.

I suppress the urge to drag a hand down my face. Rowena mutters a curse under her breath.

“That was fast,” Sera says quietly.

“They waste no time,” Revic replies.

My lips press into a thin line.

Across the ballroom, I can still feel Amara through the bond. Her emotions brush faintly against mine—amusement, affection, traces of lingering concern from Lyra’s panic.

And now this.

Nobles already circling. Already trying to secure access to her. Political alliances. Influence. Power.

Gods, I hate it.

“Which houses?” I ask.

Revic folds his hands neatly behind his back. “House Grendin. House Marinth. And Lord Hale has already requested a private supper within the next few days.”

“Lord Hale already had a private supper with her while we were still at the outpost.” Irritation burns low beneath my skin. “He does not need another one.”

The memory surfaces immediately after.

Lady Evelyne slipping into my quarters believing I would be there. Amara seeing her. The hurt on her face before I could even explain.

Gods, I hated that. I would have thrown Evelyne out myself if I’d been there.

“They’re treating her like an opportunity,” Rowena says sharply.

“They are treating her like the Spiritborn,” Revic corrects carefully. “And many are eager to secure favor before the political landscape shifts further.”

His words don’t make me feel any better. If anything, it makes it worse.

My gaze drifts instinctively across the ballroom again, searching for Amara through the sea of dancers and candlelight. I find her near the Kaelens’ table, Lyra still clinging to one of her hands while Garrick looks entirely too pleased with himself.

Amara laughs softly at something Mama Maeve says. The sight hits me straight in the chest.

She looks happy. Relaxed. Gods, I want to keep it that way.

Revic lowers his voice slightly. “Most of the requests appear harmless enough,” he says carefully. “But several seem . . . strategic.”

Of course they do.

The realm is beginning to fracture, alliances shifting beneath our feet while the Shadeheart grows stronger every day. And now Amara stands at the center of it all—the Spiritborn, the symbol everyone wants tied to their side before the storm truly arrives.

And every noble in this room knows it.

“They’ll wait,” I say flatly.