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Besides, Daven was right. They had officially claimed each other for the entire nation to see. And it had been beautiful. It had been everything Ryneth had ever longed for.

Especially knowing Mara and Tavi and the other boys had watched the live feed, a gift from his bonded, as Daven had called it.

He looked down at their hands, then turned Daven’s palm upward and pressed his own against it. Skin to skin. A faint blue thread sparked between their fingers, and he went still.

“There,” Daven murmured. “Better.”

Ryneth looked up at him. “You’re making that up.”

“I’m a prince. I’m allowed.”

Ryneth huffed a tired laugh and leaned in just enough that his shoulder brushed Daven’s chest.

Moargan stopped in the doorway, took one look at their joined hands over the kitchen island, and said, “If you two start dry humping in front of the liquor, I’m leaving.”

Cyprian laughed from the seating area.

Moargan walked in, barely sparing the kitchen a glance before crossing straight to him by the sofa. He leaned down, said something too low for Ryneth to catch, then took the glass out of Cyprian’s hand like he’d already decided he’d had enough.

“I could’ve done that,” Cyprian said.

“But you love it when I do it,” Moargan replied.

Ryneth’s mouth twitched. Then he looked down and realized his thumb was rubbing over the ring Daven had put on his hand.

The metal sat warm against his skin now, but for a second all he could feel was Daven’s touch from earlier. The slow press of his fingers. The way he’d looked at him when he slid it into place like it meant something sacred.

“Stop thinking,” Daven murmured. “Drink.”

Ryneth took the glass from him and drank. The liquor burned, but it steadied him.

Across the room, Theo sat near the terrace doors with Aviel beside him, both of them quiet. Theo still hadn’t touched his drink.

Ryneth’s gaze caught there and stayed a second too long.

For a few minutes, nobody seemed to know what to say.

Then Kylix leaned back on the sofa. “This moment feels fucking sweet. The killing was perfect.”

Moargan swirled the liquor in his glass. “And Attica is done. Bekn was the buyer. He ran the purchase through Attica, and Concordant covered the transport because Attica opened Helion to them. Bekn wanted to hurt the Imperial family badly enough to let them in. Concordant only wanted new territory.”

“Still pretending to be diplomats,” Helianth muttered.

“To be continued,” Kylix decided.

Moargan took a slow drink. “For tonight, let them pretend. The Concordant delegation is confined to diplomatic quarters, the ambassador’s under watch, the channels are locked down, and half the Luminary is already tearing through everything they touched.”

At the word ‘ambassador’, Vandor stilled where he stood beside Kylix’s chair.

Cyprian took a drink. “Romantic.”

“It is,” Yure said from the sofa without looking up. “Nothing says peace like surveillance.”

Helianth set his glass down. “I’m leaving.”

Cyprian looked up. “Already?”

“Some of us have better things to do than listen to Kylix talk about executions all night.”