Prince Lucien leaned closer again, and I could feel Alaric stiffen just from the change in air pressure.
“Abby,” Lucien murmured, voice low enough only I could hear, “you do know, technically, I’m older than Alaric.”
“Congratulations,” I muttered dryly. “You want a gold star or a lightning bolt?”
Alaric’s voice cut in a breath later, sharper this time. “Abby.”
“What?” I looked up, already tired of both of them.
His eyes weren’t just glaring now—they were focused entirely on me, storm-dark and quiet. “When this is done. When the Rift is sealed. We’re going to talk.”
Something serious flickered beneath those words. Less Duke, more Alaric. More man than title.
And that—well. That shut me up for exactly three seconds before I could summon the right amount of sass again.
“Fine,” I said,
