The War Room felt more like a tomb than a meeting space, all cold iron and flickering flames. The King— Alaric— sat at the head of the big stone table, looking like a man who'd survived a thousand storms. The King's advisor and the Commander of the Iron Guard were gathered around him, looking just as grim.
Miles stood right at his father's side, his face a perfect, stony mask.
Krystian stood a few steps behind Miles, but he wasn't checking out the maps. He was busy staring at the back of Miles's —specifically at how his collar was just a tiny bit crooked. It was a nice little reminder that the "Ice Prince" was actually pretty rattled.
"It's is getting worse," King Alaric started, his voice deep and heavy. "The clues we have been tracking aren't so subtle anymore. It's a pattern. A pulse."
"The Obsidian Pact," the High Vizier whispered. Suddenly, the air in the room felt a lot colder.
Krystian leaned in. "Sorry, the what pact?"
The Vizier gave him a dirty look, but Miles spoke up before the old man could say a word. He didn't turn around, but his voice had that sharp, teacher-like tone he used when he was trying to stay in control.
"Listen, Krystian," Miles murmured. "The Obsidian Pact are leftovers from the First Era. They think the world shouldn't have kings—they want everything to fall apart into 'Entropy.' They basically eat chaos. We thought we'd starved them out twenty years ago by sealing up the deep mines."
"We didn't starve them," Miles's voice dropped, and for a second, he sounded as tired as he had at midnight. "We just gave them a basement to hide in."
The King slammed his fist on the table. "They found the Heart—the engine under this palace. If they mess with it, they'll flip the energy of the whole continent. Everything will stop. Just like that."
Krystian felt a shiver. "So that girl... Tara... she's mixed up in this?"
"She's a wild card," Miles said quickly, finally looking back at Krystian. His eyes were wide, almost begging Krystian to keep their secrets. "We don't know what her involvement to th Obsidian Pact is, if any."
"The Pact hasn't been seen in years," the Commander growled. "Why now?"
"Because the seal is wearing thin," Krystian piped up. He stepped forward, totally ignoring the Vizier's offended gasp. "Back at the market, we always say a seal is only as good as the box it's on. If the Palace is built on a bottle of chaos and that bottle is shaking... well, it doesn't matter how many guards you have. You're sitting on a volcano."
The King stared at Krystian. For a second, it looked like he might kick the commoner out. Then, he looked at his son. "Your scout certainly has a blunt way of putting things, Miles."
"He's observant, Father," Miles said. Krystian could hear a bit of heat in that icy voice—the same heat from the study earlier. "The Pact is moving. If we wait for a formal war, we'll be defending a pile of ash. I'm taking Krystian. We're going to pay a visit to the mines "
"That's a suicide mission," the Vizier argued.
"It's a necessary one," Miles shot back.
When they finally walked out into the quiet corridor, the weight of the whole thing started to sink in. Miles stopped and turned around, his back going stiff as a board.
"Krystian," he said, keeping his voice low. "About what happened earlier. In the study."
"You mean when you told me I was yours?" Krystian grinned, his usual bubbly energy coming right back. He stepped closer, watching Miles's breath catch. "Which part? "
Miles looked around fast to make sure no guards were listening. He reached out like he was going to grab Krystian's arm, but then he pulled back. "I was... exhausted. I didn't use the right words."
"Sounded pretty clear to me, Prince," Krystian teased, leaning in. "You looked like you were ready to freeze anyone who even looked at me. Is that part of the Obsidian Pact training, too? Guarding your territory?"
Miles's face turned a bright, tell-tale pink. He looked less like a prince and more like a kid caught stealing snacks from the kitchen. "I'm responsible for your safety. That's all it is."
"Sure," Krystian said, patting Miles on the shoulder. Miles flinched at first, but then he actually leaned into the touch. "Whatever helps you sleep! But you're shaking again, Miles. And we haven't even gone underground yet."
Miles looked down at his hands. Krystian was right. The Ice Prince was definitely cracking, and it wasn't because of the Obsidian Pact—it was because of the guy with the big smile and the honey-wheat bread.
"Tonight," Miles whispered, his eyes meeting Krystian's with a desperate look. "Don't leave my side. That's an order."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Krystian replied. "After all, I'm 'yours,' right?"