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She closed the distance and brushed soft fingertips over his brows, smoothing the furrow there. The slightest hint of peace within gave him an idea, and he endured the touch with his aim in mind, ignoring the pain and pleasure of it in order to see it realized.

No more idle waiting. He needed to reclaim his rightful place in this internal hierarchy and stay there. To claim a soul-crushing victory and seize the opportunity it offered. The game would be long, but it would be worth it.

Looking into a gaze as fathomless as the countless seas he’d consumed, her touch like the drag of broken glass over open wounds, he shattered the bated silence with his true voice. “Get your fucking hands off of me, you Celestial cunt.”

He grinned at the death in her eyes as a fist plowed into his jaw.

Brand’s head hit the floor with cracking force, the impact like waking up from a nightmare—welcome, but the terror had yet to dwindle.

Protests rang out, but his wasn’t one of them. Whatever he’d done, Brand probably deserved the physical assault to his person. He’d been trying so damned hard not to succumb to another episode, but the news of Bal and Nyri had stolen all reason, and he must’ve lost himself again.

Damn it.

“Magnus, don’t! It’s fine. He didn’t mean it.”

“Do you not have ears, witchling?” Mag was straddling him a second later, gripping the collar of his tunic. “Whatever that is, it’s not my fucking brother.”

Brand tried to shake the fog away, his head throbbing as warmth trickled down one side of his face. He couldn’t quite focus, two images of Magnus vying for his attention, one laid over the other and slowly shifting as they tried to join. Interesting that he felt better than he had in days while obviously suffering from a serious head wound.

“I have ears,” Lunara whispered with a hitch. “I have eyes, too. Look at him. That’s Brand.”

His brother gave him a good shake. “Speak.”

“Erm. I don’t…” Brand croaked, his throat raw.

Magnus growled in answer, dropping him like a sack of filth before he stood. “What in the weeping fuck just happened?”

There were others nearby, but all of his attention was on Lunara as she crawled across the floor and reached out. For once, there was no torment or aversion in her proximity. No crawl or instinct to cringe away. He felt…neutral about her.

Strange.

“May I touch you?” she asked, not quite meeting his look.

He nodded, too dazed for much else, his breath catching at the first contact of her fingertips on his forehead. She paled—paler than usual, he supposed—as warm tingles sank into his skin.

Burning Solyrian, the power of her. Without the taint of whatever was at odds between them, he could actually recognize it. Even the Imperial Son in him was impressed. She’d never seemed so real before, so forceful.

His heart turned over, the pang hitting like a hammer to the chest. Again. And again. He couldn’t help but lean in ever so slightly, letting the weight of his head settle more firmly into her palm.

Was it really true? For all he didn’t recognize her, was this actually his blessed mate?

When her lips peeled back, flashing a set of dainty fangs, Magnus stepped in. “Alright, enough. It stopped bleeding.”

“The bruising⁠—”

“Isn’t worth the last of your energy.” He gripped Lunara by the elbow and hauled her away, severing the kindling connection. “Have a wee sit. Fern?”

He wanted to drag her back, wanted that glimpse of peace again, but he was too stunned to move. Frozen. Locked up like every other time he’d seen a beautiful creature and thought there might be something more if he was less of a dolt.

A flash of green whizzed by, the Fae alighting on the bench beside Lunara with a goblet in hand, bandage around her arm. He swallowed as Lunara’s lips met the rim, something remarkably close to possession rising up at the sight of her feeding. At the rising color in her cheeks. His hands clenched, and⁠—

No.

The last thing he needed was to lose himself again.

Brand looked away, finding too many pairs of eyes focused on him for comfort. Hedda and Faldir flanked Lyriat, their weapons in hand. Thad was sprawled out on the bottom step of the dais, a bloodied rag pressed to his mouth. Magnus was pacing in front of Lunara and Fern, blocking them from view with every few steps, both hands in his tangled, blond hair.

Brand ground his teeth together against the mortification and steeled himself. “My sincerest apologies to all of you. I have no excuse. Thad, I…” He swallowed. “Are you well?”