"But I am not his son."
The words cut through the chamber like cold steel.
He let them hang there, heavy and undeniable, then approached the map again, slow and deliberate. The carved wolf he had pressed between the fortress and the capital now rested beneath his fingertips.
"I am the son of Selene," he said. "And I will not fall into their trap. Not for power. Not for revenge. Not even for blood."
He met each of their eyes, one by one. "We do this on our terms. Quiet. Strategic. If they want to crown a puppet, let them. I will be the knife behind the curtain. The shadow at their banquet. The truth in their myth."
Jareth, the younger of the two captains, stepped forward, brow furrowed. "If he walks in here with the king's blessing and his mother's leash, do we treat him as an enemy?"
Sasha was quiet for a moment.
Then: "No."
The men shifted, surprised.
