Lelya woke to a ray of sunlight falling across her face.

  Beside her, one arm thrown behind his head, Bogumir was asleep. The morning light turned his chestnut curls to honeyed gold, and Lelya spent a few seconds just watching him—the relaxed features, the faint smile that didn’t vanish even in sleep.

  Three weeks. They had been together for three weeks, and every morning she woke with the feeling that the world had changed. Not easier—but warmer.

  She leaned in to kiss his shoulder. Bogumir didn’t open his eyes, but the smile widened.

  “Spying on me,” he murmured.

  “Admiring. Those are different things.”

  “For a vampire with my hearing, they’re the same. I can feel you breathing. And the way your heart beats faster when you look at me.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “That’s an advantage.” He rolled toward her and pulled her close. Lelya pressed her nose into the curve of his neck, breathing in his scent—warm, familiar, hers.

  Later—much later—they lay tangled in the sheets, and Bogumir idly threaded his fingers through the strands of her red hair.

  “You’re thinking about work,” he said.

  “How do you know?”

  “The crease. Every time.”

  “Miroslav says I’m ‘suspiciously happy’ for a minister of foreign affairs.”

  “And you? What do you think?”

  Lelya turned to face him. She looked into his blue eyes—the same ones that had irritated her on the first day. Now they seemed like the most beautiful eyes in the world.

  “I think this is the first time in my life I’m not afraid of being happy. I used to think happiness was something you had to earn. With you, it just is.”

  “Lelya.”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  The words dropped into the silence—simple, honest, unadorned.

  “Me too,” she said. “I love you.”

  He smiled—not the ironic smile he showed the world, but a real one, vulnerable. The kind she only ever saw when they were alone.

  “Five hundred years,” he said quietly. “Five hundred years I thought I knew what this was. Turns out I didn’t.”

  Lelya’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. She reached over and glanced at the screen.

  Radimir: “Urgent. Come by when you’re up.”

  “Work?” Bogumir asked.

  “Radimir. He says ‘urgent.’ Normally he adds a subject line. This time it’s just ‘urgent.’”

  She sat up on the edge of the bed, typing a reply. The happiness hadn’t gone anywhere. But something else had settled in beside it—a premonition.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Radimir’s office was buried in papers. Not his usual working clutter—something else. Stacks of documents on the desk, on chairs, even on the floor. Three tablets displayed different maps simultaneously. Radimir stood by the window, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

  “The final reports from the independent observers came in,” he said. “All fifteen interviews.”

  “And?”

  “All fifteen—the same story. Not a single complaint about repression. No mention of political prisoners. Even the ones who remember the annexation—and these are mages, they’re several centuries old—say the wounds have healed. Autonomy preserved. Traditions alive.”

  “Independent journalists with no ties to us or the Citadel,” Lelya repeated. “Their word will carry a lot of weight at the Council.”

  “Exactly. If the Citadel tries to play the ‘oppressed people’ card, we have an answer.”

  Lelya paced the office, weaving between the stacks of documents.

  “But something else is bothering me. We’ve been tracking their preparations for months. Historians, work with the House of All Winds, consultations with experts on ancient treaties. They’ve poured enormous resources into this narrative. And what—they’re just going to walk into the World Council with pretty words?”

  “Maybe they’re counting on emotions. Wulf knows how to work a room.”

  “Wulf is smart. He won’t risk a big play unless he has something up his sleeve.” Lelya frowned, studying the map. The eastern border, the territory of Lilith’s people, the shamaim stone deposits. “We’re missing something. Something important.”

  “You think they have a Plan B?” Radimir asked.

  “I think we’re only seeing part of the picture. And I think we should take precautions. Reinforce the eastern border. Just in case.”

  “Are you expecting a military provocation?”

  “I don’t know what to expect. That’s the problem. But if the Citadel is planning something on those lands, it’s better to have more eyes and hands on the ground.”

  “This needs to go through Varvara and Svarog.”

  “Then let’s bring it up. Today.”

  * * *

  Part 2. The Council Meeting

  The Supreme Council of Monolith convened in a reduced session.

  Varvara, Svarog, Roslava, Radimir—and Lelya. No one else was invited: the conversation was delicate.

  Lelya laid out her reasoning. The independent observers’ reports. Months of Citadel preparations. The gap between the resources invested and the expected outcome.

  “And that’s why I’m proposing we reinforce the eastern border,” she concluded. “No army—just more patrols. In case of anything.”

  Silence.

  Varvara tapped her fingers against the table—her habitual gesture when she was thinking.

  “Svarog?”

  The minister of defense shook his head.

  “I see no grounds for it. The Citadel isn’t massing troops along the border. There are no signs of preparation for a military operation.”

  “That’s exactly what concerns me,” Lelya said. “They’re preparing something, but we can’t see what.”

  “Or they’re simply preparing a speech for the World Council.” Svarog shrugged. “Historians, narratives, pretty words—that’s their style. Wulf is an orator, not a general.”

  “And if you’re wrong?” Lelya asked.

  Svarog looked at her—calmly, without irritation.

  “Then we’ll respond. Monolith’s army is the strongest in Alma.”

  “But while you’re responding, they’ll have time to do damage.”

  “Minister,” Svarog’s voice hardened slightly, “are you suggesting I redeploy troops based on a hunch?”

  “I’m suggesting we take precautions.”

  “Precautions require resources. We have no cause for redeployment.”

  Lelya turned to Varvara.

  “Chief Mage?”

  Varvara was silent for a few seconds. Then she said:

  “Svarog is right.”

  Lelya felt something cold tighten inside her chest.

  “We can’t act on the basis of premonitions,” Varvara continued. “If the Citadel sees reinforcements on the border, they’ll know we’re nervous. That gives them an advantage at the negotiating table. Lelya, I value your vigilance. But right now your job is to prepare for the World Council.”

  “And the border?”

  “The border is Svarog’s concern. Not yours.”

  Lelya wanted to object, to insist, to argue. But Varvara’s gaze was unyielding. The discussion was over.

  After the meeting, Bogumir was waiting in the corridor.

  “How did it go?” he asked, reading her face.

  “They didn’t listen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I have no proof. Just intuition. And intuition isn’t an argument for Varvara.”

  Bogumir was quiet for a moment. Then he took her hand.

  “Maybe they’re right. Maybe the Citadel really is just preparing a speech.”

  “Maybe.” Lelya opened her eyes and looked at him. “But I have a bad feeling. A very bad feeling.”

  “Are you often wrong about your feelings?”

  “Rarely.”

  He squeezed her fingers.

  “Then let’s hope this is one of those rare times.”

  But hope is thin comfort when everything inside you is screaming danger.