There were emergencies that no amount of strategic brilliance could outrank. A cult beginning an old ritual beneath a chapel was serious. A hidden network using children as ritual materials was serious. The Crown Prince becoming the intended answer to something beneath the Capital was extremely serious.

My mother waiting at the eastern gate after hearing rumors that I’d acquired a son, a Jinn brother, several wounded children, a captured priest, and possibly an entire charity foundation?

That was worse. Not because she would harm me. My mother loved me. This was a fact, a very reliable one, and also the exact reason I was afraid.

"Your Excellency," Captain Arthur said beside me, "the eastern gate is secured."

"Of course it is."

"The former Grand Duke and Lady Konstantin are waiting outside."

"I heard that."

Arthur straightened slightly, perhaps realizing he hadn’t offered anything useful. I couldn’t blame him. There were no proper military procedures for greeting one’s mother after she’d discovered through gossip columns and incomplete household reports that her only son had turned the Capital into a charity scandal with possible religious treason attached. A good commander could prepare for war. A good commander could not prepare for Lady Konstantin.

I adjusted my cuffs. They were already straight. I adjusted them anyway.

Abi watched from beside the archway, his face bright with the kind of excitement no one should display while another person approached what might be their social execution.

"You’re nervous," he said.

"I’m not."

"You’ve adjusted your cuffs four times."

"They’re poor cuffs."

"They’re Sonomian silk."

"Then the silk has failed me."

His smile grew unbearable, and Captain Arthur turned toward the gate with the solemn expression of a man trying very hard not to exist.

"Don’t look pleased," I told Abi.

"I’m meeting our parents."

"Our?"

"We’re brothers."

"I haven’t forgotten. I merely refuse to encourage you."

"You’ll be unable to stop Mother from accepting me."

I turned toward him slowly. "You will not call her Mother."

Abi blinked. "Why?"

"Because she’ll take you seriously."

For the first time since I’d known him, he looked faintly uncertain, which was oddly reassuring. At least one other person in this household understood the scale of the danger.

The eastern gate opened. My father entered first, looking exactly as he had the last time I’d seen him, which was both comforting and deeply irritating. His dark hair had begun silvering at the temples, but his posture stayed straight, his aura steady, his expression warm enough to make strangers lower their guard right before realizing the former Grand Duke of Sonomi had spent most of his life surviving the Lorillis Desert. He wore a travel coat in deep brown with no excessive decoration. Practical. Expensive. Entirely my father.

Behind him came my mother. Lady Konstantin never looked tired from travel, and today was no exception. She wore a long pale coat over a silver-grey dress, dark hair pinned neatly behind her head, no excessive jewels or theatrical marks of rank. She didn’t need them. The moment she crossed the gate, the entire courtyard became more orderly. The guards stood straighter. The servants moved more quietly. Captain Arthur looked as though someone had placed a sword against the back of his neck.

Her eyes found me, and she smiled. My stomach dropped.

"My son," she said.

"Mother."

She crossed the distance between us, and I braced for questions, for accusations, for a gentle and elegant reminder of every mistake I’d made since birth. Instead she stopped in front of me and looked at my collar.

"It’s crooked."

"It isn’t."

She reached up, adjusted it once, and stepped back. "Now it isn’t."

I looked down. Nothing had changed in any measurable way, but arguing would have been pointless. There were battles a good villain lord knew not to fight.

"Have you eaten?" she asked.

"Yes."

"What did you eat?"

I paused. My father’s lips twitched.

"A proper meal," I said.

"That wasn’t an answer."

"Tea."

Her expression didn’t change, which was somehow worse. My father stepped forward and pulled me into a brief embrace before I could decide whether escaping through the nearest window would be dignified.

"You look well," he said.

"I am well."

"You look tired."

"I’m busy."

"That isn’t better."

"I’m aware."

He patted my shoulder once and released me, his eyes sweeping the courtyard, taking in the extra guards, the covered lamps, the shadows stationed near the walls, the tense readiness of the whole household. His smile faded a little.

"So the rumors were incomplete," he said.

"Very."

Mother turned to Abi, who had somehow arranged himself into a proper posture, hands folded behind his back, expression respectful, even the violet gleam in his eyes dimmed. It was unsettling to watch.

"Lady Konstantin," he greeted, with a measured bow. "Former Grand Duke."

My father raised a brow. "My son’s new brother."

"Through a soul vow," Abi answered.

Mother studied him, not his clothes, not his face. Him. The pressure in the courtyard shifted, nothing overt, no aura flaring, no mana gathering, but Abi went still beneath her gaze all the same. Not frightened. Careful. That was new.

"You took a vow with Skandar," she said.

"I did."

"Without informing us."

Abi glanced at me. Traitor. I looked away.

Her gaze stayed on him. "Do you intend to keep it?"

"Yes." The answer came without hesitation, and something briefly softened in her expression before disappearing again. "Very well," she said. "You’ll explain the circumstances after breakfast."

Abi blinked, and my father smiled at him. "Welcome to the family."

He stared for just a second before his smile returned, smaller than usual. "Thank you."

I looked at him. He didn’t notice, or noticed and pretended otherwise. Either way, I decided against commenting. The courtyard already had enough problems.

"Where is Spiro?" my father asked.

William appeared at the main entrance as though summoned by the question. "Young Master Spiro is in the sitting room, Your Graces. He was informed you’d arrived."

"Good," Mother said. "And the other children?"

"Safe at the western property. The physician remains with them. No temple personnel have been allowed near the residence."

She nodded once. "Names?"

William hesitated, so I answered instead. "Mil, and two others from the intercepted transport carriage. Their names are being handled carefully until we determine how much of the network can hear through written records."

My father’s eyes narrowed. "Children are being hunted by name?"

"Possibly."

"And you thought this could wait until after your tea?"

"You were on holiday."

"We were in a harbor two days ago."

My mother’s voice stayed calm. Too calm. "You could have written."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. There was no defense that wouldn’t make me sound worse. "I didn’t want to disturb your travels."

"Skandar."

"Yes, Mother?"

"You are my child." The words were simple, no grand speech, no raised voice, and they landed harder than any reprimand could have. "You don’t disturb me by requiring help. You disturb me when I have to learn that you require help from a gossip columnist."

Abi made a sound suspiciously close to choking. My father looked away. William suddenly found the courtyard floor fascinating. I held my posture.

"Understood."

She looked at me another moment, then nodded. "Good. Now take us inside."

The main hall was quiet when we entered, quiet in the careful way only a house full of people hiding prisoners, secrets, and children could manage. Two guards stood near the western corridor, another pair at the staircase, staff moving around us with practiced calm. My parents noticed all of it, of course.

Mother’s gaze moved over the covered glass fixtures. "No bells."

"No bells," I confirmed.

"The windows on the southern wing are reinforced."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"A long story."

"Then tell it efficiently."

My father glanced at me with something that might have been sympathy, though it wasn’t nearly enough.

We reached the small receiving room just as Spiro stepped out of the adjoining sitting room, wearing a dark blue coat with silver buttons, his hair neatly combed except for one stubborn strand near his temple. His posture was straight. Too straight. His amber eyes moved from me to my parents and then he stopped, looking uncertain, not afraid exactly, but close enough to it. He’d spent so much of his life learning how adults might respond to him, what they wanted, what they expected, whether a wrong word might make someone send him away.

The sight annoyed me. Not Spiro. Never Spiro. The people who’d taught him to stand like that.

"This is Spiro," I said. "My son."

The room went still. My father’s expression softened immediately. Mother didn’t move closer right away, and I was glad for it. She understood.

I gave Spiro a small nod. "These are my parents. Your grandfather and grandmother."

His eyes widened. Grandparents were likely something he’d only encountered in stories, something other children had and he hadn’t expected to be offered.

"Good morning," he said carefully. "Grandfather. Lady Grandmother."

My father made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. Mother’s eyes softened.

"You may call me Grandmother when you’re comfortable," she said. "There’s no need to force it."

Spiro stared at her, then nodded. "Yes, Lady Grandmother."

My father crouched slightly, bringing himself down to Spiro’s level. "I’m Grandfather. But you may call me that whenever you want. You don’t need to decide today."

Spiro’s fingers curled around the edge of his coat. "Alright," he whispered.

"May I?" Father asked.

Spiro looked confused for a moment before realizing he was asking permission to touch him. After a beat, he nodded, and my father patted his head gently, no sudden movement, no teasing, no treating him like a novelty. Just warmth. Spiro’s eyes went bright, and he looked down quickly. I pretended not to notice. Some things deserved privacy even when they happened in front of everyone.

Mother stepped closer after that. "Have you eaten breakfast?"

"Yes."

"What did you eat?"

He glanced at me, and I resisted the urge to laugh.

"Porridge," Spiro said. "And bread. Father said I have to eat properly."

Mother glanced at me. I kept my face neutral.

"Good," she said. "You’ll continue doing that."

"Yes, Lady Grandmother."

"Are you sleeping?"

His shoulders stiffened. There, the question had found something. Mother noticed too, but she didn’t press. Instead she said, "If you wake afraid, you tell someone. You don’t need permission. This house belongs to you as much as it belongs to anyone here."

Spiro looked up at her slowly, then his gaze moved toward me. I nodded once. He swallowed. "Yes."

She touched his shoulder lightly. "You are safe here."