Page 85 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

But it was my mother who caught and held my attention—her expression stony, her shadows frozen in midair. And then⁠—

“Hello, Heiress,” Paris purred, voice rich with something like reverence. “Or I suppose it’s now Queen.”

The silence crackled. Slowly, Ma lowered her hands, signaling the rest of us to stand down.

My heart thudded. No mental reprimand followed—not because she didn’t disapprove, but because whatever game was being played here, she was already five moves ahead.

Beside her, my father’s jaw ticked. He, too, retracted his power, though his expression said it took everything he had not to cleave the masked man in two.

We were yielding.

Paladins didn’t yield.

Certainly not to masked intruders in our own house.

“Lonan?” Ma asked, voice cold as obsidian.

“Hello, old friend,” he said, like this was a reunion over wine instead of an invasion.

“Forgive the intrusion, hatchlings—I needed your Queen’s attention.”

“A letter would’ve worked,” Orion muttered, stepping protectively between Ma and the masked man.

“If she’d deigned to respond, perhaps,” the intruder countered.

“What happened to Paris?” I demanded. The name, the performance, the flair—it was all theatre. I wanted the man behind the façade.

He tilted his head toward me, those shadowed eyes glittering. “Ask yourself that again later, little historian.”

Nix’s growl vibrated the floor. “Orders, Ma’am?”

“Stand down,” Ma said evenly, turning away from the door to face the intruder fully. “We have noble company, Nix. Mind your manners.”

My stomach twisted.

Paris followed her into the hallway like a guest invited for tea. “Some things never change,” he said lightly.

“And some do,” Ma replied, her tone grave. “I’m not used to seeing you alone. How’s Leo?”

“Dead.”

The single syllable landed like a hammer. Orion froze, and Ma turned sharply, disbelief carved into her face.

“My condolences,” she murmured, dipping her chin. Her gaze sharpened to a blade.

“When?”

He didn’t answer.

Who the fuck is Leo? I asked down the line.

His brother, Ma replied silently. That was all. No further explanation.

Once we were seated in the private meeting room—gleaming hardwood floors, velvet drapes, expensive distractions—Paris sipped tea like he hadn’t just forced our shadows into submission. Ma straightened like a blade beside him.

“Well,” she said, the Queen now fully ascendant. “You bring news?”

“War is on the horizon,” Lonan replied.