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“Well, August has decided to single-handedly tear our enemy into bloody fucking ribbons. The man makes me look like a kitten.”
“Knew that part—can’t blame him. Next.”
“Reyna has been making her feelings about his leadership—or rather, his absence—crystal fucking clear, and frankly, it’s sowing dissent within the ranks.”
“Disappointing, but not at all surprising. I’ll have Dad lean on him about the next delegation meeting.”
“Good luck with that.”
“With Aren out of the picture, it’s the best option we’ve got.” When I winced, she mirrored the motion. “Sorry.”
I lifted a shoulder. “No point in beating around the bush.”
“Thank fuck for that. What else?”
“Ciaran brought me letters.”
Her still-manicured brows pinched. “Letters?”
“Yep.” I didn’t bother setting down my coffee before drawing a throwing knife and sending it straight into the letters pinned to the wall. It landed with a resounding thud.
“Give me the Reader’s Digest version?” she asked, even as she closed the distance.
“That bitch killed my calling on ‘Lonan’s’ order.”
“Again. I knew that bit.”
“Read them,” I said, following as she pulled them from beneath my blade, nonchalantly sipping her drink while her eyes skimmed the pages. She theatrically cleared her throat and knocked a fist against her sternum.
“With all due respect, while I acknowledge your resistance around the accords, it is of the utmost importance that we prevent the reunification of TGC until the proper time.” She scowled. “TGC? The Great Commander? The reunification of… what the hell does that mean?”
“Fucking beats me. And I can’t ask August because he’s back on a goddamn killing spree with the king of the dead—who still creeps me the fuck out, by the way.”
“This could be crucial, Freya. Tell him it’s urgent. If you don’t want to, Dad will.”
“I know, but when I’m not analyzing all of this—” I waved frenetically at the wall of chaos. “I’m assisting on missions, negotiating treaties, managing a goddamn analog intelligence network because these fuckers keep cutting us off at the knees, and apparently there really is no rest for the wicked, because now I’m tiptoeing around a marriage alliance with fucking Atreus of the fucking Northern Paladins.”
“What?”
“Yep—Cadoc says it’ll restore the balance between our people, thereby giving him the balls he apparently lacks to actually ally with us.”
“I appreciate the embellishments.”
“Thank you.” I started pacing, and Tessa naturally kept pace with my infuriating French-bulldog stride because of course she’d grown like the rest of our people and hit proper Nephilim height.
“You’re welcome. But… what about Cyrus?”
“What about Cyrus?”
“I mean…”
At my pointedly raised brows, she mirrored the expression and took a sip, the cup more shield than beverage.
“Cyrus spends all day, every day, in the goddamn throne room, pacing and kneeling at the fucking dais like it holds the goddamn answers. Or in the library, obsessing over some ancient Roman fucking soldier who stayed in Briton after they withdrew. Oh—oh—and this little tidbit—he still wants nothing to do with me.”
She grimaced. “Still getting the cold shoulder?”
“Pretty sure I saw penguins slide by the last time we were forced to share a space.”
