Page 119 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

Rare black sapphire gems served as buttons on Garrik’s onyx jacket sleeve. The vision of masculine power. But indecision clouded his features as he debated whether to sit and wait or lean against the gold-stained wooden railing at the base of Ladomyr’s main staircase.

So, he paced instead. Silently grumbling about the added fabric constricting his movements.

He would much rather wear a simple tunic and pants. But there was something even more threatening about a beast in a suit of finery. Knowing that inside the pristine jacket, decorated with swirls of matte smoke-like embellishments, a dormant monster itched to release his talons.

And he would.

Tonight would just be the start.

After all, a blade in its sheath still poses as much of a threat as one drawn.

Trees that broke through the mountain skylights shaded Aiden, who leaned against one of ten considerable oaks growing within the blackstone walls. And settled against the staircase railing, Thalon’s critical stare followed Garrik’s pacing, even when he stopped to glower at a portrait of a blond male adorned in Kadamarian armor, crowned with a golden circlet.

“Might I make a suggestion?” It was Thalon’s voice echoing through the chaos of servants rushing by. Carrying plates of food or drink, some with table decorations or over-extravagant flower arrangements, others with linens, plates, or dinnerware.

“No,” Garrik answered, still glowering at the painting. At those russet eyes.

“An observation then?”

Garrik sighed and gestured vaguely. It was not a yes but also not a no.

“You’re nervous.”

Silently scoffing, Garrik turned, dropped his back against the wall, and crossed his arms in Thalon’s direction. “Of course not.”

Thalon’s answering smile was all-knowing, stealing a glance with Aiden as his baiting grin turned menacing.

Garrik leveled them a threatening glare.

“I think perhaps a certain fe?—”

“Finish that sentence, Thalon, and I will order you to guard the doors instead of dinner.” Garrik’s voice took on a sportivequality of warning, and Thalon dared … actuallydaredto open his mouth to speak, but instead, wisely, only shook his head with a sly grin.

Whether Garrik could admit it or not, Thalon was right.

Why in Firekeeper-filled-hell was he so nervous?

He had fought in battles of far greater risk than walking into a throne room for dinner, but none of them made his heart race quite like this.

Aiden pulled a golden watch from his captain’s black dress coat and checked it for the fourth time. “Twenty minutes late.” The watch snapped shut, and he pocketed it, disturbing the brass buttons, and dramatically sighed.

“Somewhere important to be?” Garrik arched a brow and mindlessly dawned his belt and sword sheath to his palm, and as he was beginning to guide it through his belt loops, Aiden’s shale eyes rolled in theatrical agony.

Shoulder-length ebony hair flattened against the tree, and Aiden closed his eyes with another drawn-out grumble. “I’m bloody hungry,” he whined.

The corners of Garrik’s mouth twisted, and he may have admitted to himself how much he had missed Aiden all those months.

Smokeshadows whorled in his palm. This time, the leather pommel of his sword groaned in his grip before he maneuvered it to be sheathed when he turned his gaze to their Guardian to say?—

A figure atop the staircase stole the air from Garrik’s lungs.

Followed by a loud clang on the floor.

The sword Garrik had moved to sheath … was at his feet.

Just laying there like a soldier on their first day of training; too young, too naïve, too inexperienced to wield a blade.

And the High Prince of Elysian’s sword—his starsdamned sword—was laying there.

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