"Hm, somehow the blood suits you, you know," Livia said, wiping the side of her lips with a lazy flick of her hand. Her teeth still shone red when she smiled, unapologetic as ever.
Darius stretched his legs in front of him, settling back against the trunk of an old ash tree. He didn’t bother to clean his face; there was no audience here that warranted appearances. The copper tang still lingered on his tongue, grounding in its own way.
He had slipped into one of the garments kept in a nearby cache—plain woolen trousers and a fitted tunic that laced at the chest. Livia, as ever, had chosen the most ill-fitting tunic in the pile, a washed-out green thing that hung from her frame like a curtain. She lounged beside him, thigh to thigh, the two of them basking in the calm that always followed a successful hunt.
"How flattering," he drawled, half-hearted and warm.
"I try," she said, brushing a dark curl behind her ear. "So, are you finally going to tell me what’s had you so tight-jawed since yesterday?"
He considered feigning ignorance but shrugged instead. "Nathan returned."
Livia’s face lit. "Truly? He’s back?"
"He arrived shortly before noon. I let him rest in the west wing. He’s thinner than last we saw him, but in one piece."
"About time," she said, sitting up straighter. "When shall we all convene for supper, then? It feels like it has been years since we’ve shared a meal without council eyes burning into our backs."
He gave a soft grunt of agreement. "Tomorrow, perhaps. Once he’s slept off the road."
"You think I wouldn’t notice? You’re dodging the rest of it. Something’s amiss, cousin. You’ve always had the decency to share."
Darius offered a vague smile. "Nothing that won’t sort itself out."
Livia didn’t push. She rarely did when he closed the gates like that. But the silence that followed wasn’t quite comfortable either. She tilted her head back against the tree and let out a long breath. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel(ꜰ)ire.net
"Everything with Dawnbreak seems so... easy," she murmured at length. "Too easy."
His brow furrowed, gaze turning to the canopy above them.
"I mean it," she said, tone quiet now. "Alpha Thalia built Dawnbreak with her own teeth. Came from some lesser branch, married upwards, then took it all by force and treaty. Now she sends these wolves of hers, and every one of them walks like they carry her voice in their mouth. Calm, pleasant, deferential... but sharp. I don’t trust that."
Darius didn’t interrupt. He knew better.
Livia continued, "It unsettles me how little weight was given to the Crimsonclaw matter. You saw it—shock, yes, but after that? They act as though it were nothing but a curious detail. Not even Verec batted more than a lash. Do you recall how much blood was spilled when Thalia accused Crimsonclaw of trespass three years ago? And now they arrive here, learn an ambassador walks among us with that mark, and treat it like gossip?"
He gave a slow nod. "You’re not wrong."
"We are cut off from sending word to the Alpha," she said. "If anything truly goes amiss, we’ll be the last to know and the first to bleed."
Darius looked over at her. "I’ve had the same thought."
They were quiet for a time again, not awkwardly so. The hum of insects rose in the cooling air, and the forest began to darken, touched by dusk.
"I’ve had my eye on Riven," Darius said, more to himself. "He speaks less than Verec, but I find him harder to read. And somehow, more open at the same time. It’s a strange kind of sincerity. He says little but listens like it matters."
Livia scoffed lightly. "Which is more than I can say for most." She tucked her knees up beneath her, brushing soil from the hem of her tunic. "Still, I do not like how far this has gone without friction."
"I do not like how easily the Dawnbreak party melds into our corridors," Darius added. "Nor how quickly certain ears have turned to them."
They both knew the truth of that. Politics in Ironshade was not swift, and not subtle. For change to come without warning, without even a whisper beforehand, was enough to draw suspicion.
"I suppose we must trust the ground beneath our feet until it crumbles," Livia said dryly. "But I shall not pretend the path is firm."
"Nor shall I," Darius murmured.
He stood then, brushing bark from his sleeve. The light was dwindling now, stretching long between the trees in golden slants. Livia didn’t rise at first, but when he offered his hand, she took it.
"Back to our duties, then?" she asked.
"Back to the castle," he replied. "Evening draws near, and it will not run itself."
She sighed, not unhappily. "Come then, my liege. Let us go put out the fires before they burn something else down."
They set off together, side by side again, letting the trees fall behind them and the castle rise ahead.
They walked at an unhurried pace, their boots soft against the dampening earth. The forest thinned as they neared the outer walls, where the moss gave way to cobbled stone and low lamps flickered to life along the path. The castle loomed ahead, its towers shadowed in gold by the sinking sun.
Livia stretched her arms over her head with a soft grunt. "I’ve half a mind to steal wine from the cellar before supper."
Darius offered a smirk. "Half a mind too much, I’d say."
As they reached the castle courtyard, a sharp whistle carried across the paving stones. Livia paused and turned her head.
A young scullery girl was waving from the kitchen entryway, apron dusted in flour. "Lady Livia! The cook says your orders for the garden greens-"
"I’ll be along in a moment," Livia called back, raising a hand. She turned to Darius. "Seems I’ve been summoned."
He nodded once. "Go on."
She squeezed his arm lightly. "Try not to brood too hard while I’m gone."
He didn’t reply, but he watched her go.