The chamber was overwhelmingly quiet and all together too loud. A quill was scratching against a piece of parchment to Azael's left, the sound so dry that he cringed to think of touching the paper with his bare fingers.

    From somewhere down the table, a foot was thumping periodically. Small flames towards the end of their life crackled upon a grated hearth, the wood that fed them already crumbling to ash. A light rain that had been present all day still pattered against the window panes.

    Azael glanced at the King's seat from the corner of his eye, suppressing his own need to fidget. He clasped his hands together, waiting for his father to meet his gaze, but King Mavron barely even seemed aware of where he was. No surprise.

    Azael's lips thinned at the sight of the King's far-reaching gaze, the same look that he'd worn for the past two-hundred and twenty-seven years. Not present. Disinterested. Utterly uncaring about the matters being discussed around him.

    The scratching stopped and Azael returned his gaze to the councilman as he set his quill aside. "I'll have these orders sent to the Isle as soon as our business is concluded," the councilman said to him. "And lastly, there's the matter of the Aerstar celebration."

    Azael's brows pulled together. Now this was a topic that interested him. Something was off about their plans this year. Usually, he and his father would travel to the Library of Drenusha to observe the traditional rites that had been in practice since the goddess Drenusha Ascended an Age ago.

    They should've left days earlier if they were going to make it to the Library on time, but he had been told not to prepare for the journey. Perhaps he would find his answers now. "What about it?" Azael prompted, realizing the councilman was waiting to be addressed.

    "I assume the King told you of this year's change in plans?"

    Azael looked back at his father. Mavron's empty blue eyes drifted to mirror his own, but the King remained silent. "No, I haven't been informed of any changes, except that we wouldn't be going to the Library. But Aerstar is tomorrow. A little late to be changing tradition."

    "The plans have already been seen to." Azael almost flinched at the unexpected sound of his father's voice, and the Fae gathered around them shuffled nervously, pretending not to be just as astonished as him. "We're hosting a ball. The priestesses will arrive tomorrow and oversee the religious rites throughout the day, and the ball will be held in the evening."

    "Why wasn't I informed?" Azael asked.

    "Because you are not the King."

    Azael slid his hands off the table and hid his clenched fists within his lap, pasting a void expression across his features. No, he was not the King, but that didn't change the fact that he'd been the one attending to most of his father's duties for nearly three centuries. "Is there a particular reason for this change?"

    His father didn't deign to give him a response. King Mavron slouched back in his chair with a dismissive flick of his hand, his gaze vacant once more. The councilman cleared his throat and answered for him. "A variety of reasons, your Highness, as I understand, but most prominently, I believe it is in the priestess's hopes that you and Lady Tissaia will come to an arrangement?"

    "Is Aerstar really the best time to be discussing that?" Azael remarked carefully. "It's one of our most holy and ancient traditions. Not a time for such trivial matters."

    "I'm merely repeating what I've been told. But of course, the matter is ultimately up to you and Lady Tissaia's discretion."

    "Hm. So, there's a ball and religious rites tomorrow, and some plans to be sent to the Isle of Lorn today. Am I missing anything?"

    "No, your Highness. I believe this concludes our business for the day."

    "Then if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to." Azael stood and the other council members swiftly followed suit, bowing at the waist when he left his seat and strode out of the room. He didn't bother to bow to his father as protocol usually demanded.

    Azael let the door shut with a heavy bang, ignoring the tall figure leaning against the wall beside it. He continued down the corridor and footsteps followed a pace behind him. The slight clanking of his armored companion was the only sound to breach the silence until Azael turned into a secluded stairwell, hidden behind thick velvet drapes.

    Only one window broke the darkness of the spiraling stone staircase on this level. Azael sat down beneath it, wedging his back against one wall and propping his knees up to fit his long frame on the narrow step. The drape rustled before his companion appeared again.

    Gaelen stared down at him, one brow arched over his dark eyes. "Well, your presence suddenly makes sense," Azael huffed. "I knew the Cahirim's fearsome Commander wouldn't come to the capital on a mere whim."

    Gaelen raised his hands in surrender and fell back against the opposite wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "You caught me, but I never expected you to be upset about a ball."

    Azael rolled his eyes and threaded his fingers through thick tendrils of dark blond, almost brown, hair. "I'm not upset about a ball. I'm upset that after all these years and everything I've done, my father still overrules every decision I make."

    "He is the King."

    "Believe me, I know. He won't let me forget it." Azael blew a heavy sigh and tipped his head back against the wall. "But by Hadeon's Hel, he doesn't even act like he wants to be King half of the time. I'm the one doing everything. He just takes the credit for it and continues to let his mind rot."

    The state of his father's mental wellbeing had long been in question, but no one had ever managed to persuade King Mavron to let himself be examined, and he showed enough signs of lucidity that they knew he wasn't truly insane. He just...didn't care.

    Maybe it was the guilt of his Queen's death. Perhaps he no longer believed himself worthy of ruling, but if that was the case, why hadn't he abdicated yet? And the third possible explanation: his reign had been doomed from the start.

    The Cadhael bloodline had ruled Asterria since the dawn of the Elder Age, and the daughter of the goddess Oriana had been its first Queen. To aid Queen Idalia in the keeping of the land, her mother had bestowed upon her a sword blessed by her hand. Orilight, the Light of Oriana.

    Ancient beliefs dictated that in the hands of Oriana's true heirs, the blade would always bear itself lightly and swing true, guiding its bearer to victory and peace. It would also glow a radiant golden, and had glowed in the hands of every Cadhael who ever bore it, except King Mavron. 

    Never once had he seen his father unsheath Orilight since his coronation, and that had been when Azael was only twelve. Three-hundred and fifteen years had passed since then, and Orilight remained unseen, with King Mavron forever bearing the shame of its lusterless last appearance.

    Azael had never believed it at first, but now, perhaps his father's reign truly was doomed. Perhaps Oriana had rejected him. She would have cause, after all, but it had come years after his father's coronation, not before. Had he been judged for what was to come or had he been lacking from the start? And what would that mean for Azael's own reign?

    "The Lochrens are coming, I assume," Gaelen said, more a statement than a question.

    Azael dipped his chin in response. "I've already been told the priestesses are hoping for a decision on that front."

    "Will one be made?"

    "Not if I can help it." Gaelen scoffed and Azael peered up at him. "What?"

    The male just shook his dark head with a faint smile. "You're the only male I know who isn't leaping at the prospect of marrying Tissaia Lochren. She's been promised to you for centuries now, and still you won't set a date." Azael averted his gaze to his hands and began picking at a few specks of dirt trapped beneath his nails. "Are you ever going to tell me what the problem is?"

    "Not likely."

    Gaelen huffed again. "As clever as you are, Az, sometimes you're the biggest idiot I know. She's powerful, wealthy, and comes with many favorable allies. She's a clever match, and an already approved one. She'd make an excellent Queen someday, and I'd give anything to have her brother's services accessible to the Cahirim. And I won't forget to mention Tissaia's beauty."

    Azael didn't refute the statements. They were true, and still a far cry from the true depths of who Tissaia Lochren was. But it wasn't enough. "And she's also haughty and spoiled, and a huge pain in my ass," Azael retorted. "I'll be expected to escort her to the ball of course, and dare not speak a word against her while she spends all evening listing off my shortcomings and nitpicking everything I do or say. It'll be a nightmare."

    A snide grin slid onto Gaelen's lips. "Maybe for you. I, for one, am looking forward to seeing it. There's bound to be some explosion of sorts whenever you two are around each other. Fire and stone, you know. It's unavoidable."

    Azael rolled his eyes once more. "Glad my discomfort will bring someone joy."

    "What if I promise to relieve you of her company for a few dances?"

    "I'd owe you more than even I can afford."

    Gaelen chuckled and offered him a hand. Azael let him pull him to his feet. "Consider it done. Now, you'd better stop brooding and make sure there will be rooms ready in case some of your guests arrive early. You won't hear the end of that one for sure."

    Azael grimaced and followed Gaelen out of the stairwell. He bid his friend farewell and set off in the opposite direction, recognizing the sense in Gaelen's advice. If he was going to be forced to spend hours in Tissaia's company, and most likely her brother's too, he could at least make sure they couldn't complain about their rooms.

    He already had the perfect ones in mind. They were adjoined to each other which the Twins would appreciate, and on the opposite side of the palace from his own, which he would adore. The corners of his mouth flicked up as he started down a flight of stairs in search of a servant with the power to see it done.