Page 53 of When Sisters Collide
The dream should have unsettled him, but it hadn’t. Alena walked through his dreams most nights, leaving behind an odd comfort tangled with bittersweet longing.
“It doesn’t matter what they want,” he said, voice tight. “This marriage is a farce to unite our kingdoms against the Empire. Defeating the Emperor and saving Galen is what matters. The rest can wait.”
Nik seemed ready to argue but thought better of it as Leukos turned away.
They didn’t always get along, but Leukos was glad to have him at his side again. When they’d reached Tiryns, both Megarians and Tirynthians had struggled to understand why he’d spared the traitor responsible for the massacre—let alone placed him on his council. Leukos didn’t care. Nik had saved his life and Alena’s more than once last summer. He trusted him.
And Theo, too.
The three of them had grown up together, inseparable as children—his true brothers.
Aegeus, his elder brother, had always been a distant figure, more myth than man. Constantly occupied with Silver Shield training or strategy meetings with their father, their rare encounters had been confined to stiff family meals at their mother’s insistence. Aegeus was the perfect son, the warrior prince and heir who could do no wrong in their father’s eyes. When he left for Kendrisia to battle the Rasennans, Leukos barely noticed. Even after his return, with Megara under siege, he had remained as distant as ever—a presence glimpsed only in passing.
Galen, by contrast, had been a brother in every sense. Thoughtful and kind, he had taken the time to be there for Leukos. Born without a Gift and shunned by their father and court, Galen had trained daily with the sword and immersed himself in the study of Megarian politics. He’d dedicated himself to becoming the advisor Aegeus would one day need, hoping loyalty and knowledge might compensate for his lack of magic. Yet their father had offered no praise—only their mother soothed the deep anger and hurt that festered inside him.
Galen and their mother had been Leukos’ whole world until their father’s plans tore them apart. From then on, Nik and Theo had filled the void. Training together under Pelagios, the three of them had forged a bond as strong as blood. And now, back in Achaea, their old friendship had returned with ease.
Nik still had much to prove in the eyes of the Achaeans, but Leukos trusted him again—thanks to Alena.
Snow crunched beneath his boots as he climbed the winding trail. He should have focused on the caves he passed, dark mouths in the mountainside, half-buried in frost and shadow, but his mind was elsewhere.
As always, his thoughts drifted to her.
Alena.
She’d changed everything.
She’d burst into his life like a blinding ray of sunlight—so optimistic, so curious about a world that hadn’t yet crushed her as it had so many others. He’d tried to keep his distance, but like magic itself, she’d embedded herself into his heart and soul, drawing him out of his despair. He’d meant every word when he told her she’d breathed life back into him.
The naïve girl with the bleeding heart and ridiculous auburn hair.
He’d wanted nothing more than to protect her, to shield her from the inevitable cruelty of their world, but she had suffered all the same.
Her sister had seen to that.
Now she was gone, and though he tried to focus on the rebellion, council meetings, and the upcoming wedding, his mind always returned to her.
Where was she? Was she safe?
She’d left to train and seek answers, but when would she return?
A familiar pulse of magic stirred within him, snapping his attention back to the present. Leukos slowed, eyes narrowing, and drew the torch from his pack. With a practised flick, he struck it alight, the flame flaring against the cold.
“Here,” he murmured, more to himself than to Nik.
“Are you sure?” Nik eyed the dark interior warily. “I don’t see what makes this one different from the dozen others we passed.”
“It’s here,” Leukos said, not bothering to explain. “Keep your eyes open.”
He stepped inside. The wind’s howl faded behind them, replaced by a muffled stillness that pressed against his ears. The cave was barren, just stone, a scatter of old twigs, and an unnatural chill that called to him.
At the back, he passed the torch to Nik without looking. “I’ll call for him. Be ready for anything.”
Kneeling before a flat slab of stone, he set down a flagon of wine. With a shallow breath, he unsheathed his dagger and dragged it across his palm. Blood welled up, dripping onto the grey surface.
He muttered the prayer, a shortened version of the one his mother had spoken at the palace altar each winter. Each word tasted like ash, an echo of rituals he no longer believed in.
“North Wind, master of the cold, with breath of ice and wings of dusk, you herald winter’s reign. In your season, we offer blood and wine. Come. Hear me.”
