Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 467. Tainted II
But what Angel was watching wasn't the words. Not the sound. He was watching their bodies. The spacing. The lean of the shoulders. The hands.
Seraphine hadn't touched Darius once since they arrived. Not once. Not a brush of hand, not a glance for assurance, not even a shared look of pride or unity. Nothing.
And Darius? He looked at her only when protocol demanded it.
There was no affection. Not even tension masked as affection. Just… vacancy. Coldness.
Angel knew how royals could fake it. Euphorion taught him that. The court was a dance of masks. But this wasn't performance. This was resignation. And that changed everything.
He didn't say anything, not yet. But his eyes lingered.
"Your Majesty," a voice called cheerfully from the side.
Angel turned, just enough to acknowledge the group of nobles now approaching the table. Dukes, barons, viscounts, each of them puffed with pride to have a moment with the King of Euphorion.
"It's an honor to host you in Pontus, truly," said one heavyset baron in a brocade coat two decades out of fashion. "We've heard so much of your victories in Zephyrus and Draconis."
"Such strategy," added another. "Euphorion has changed much under your rule."
Angel inclined his head. "The winds shift. We simply follow the direction that keeps our people warm."
A few laughed at that. Polite. Always polite.
A younger noble with bright eyes and a trimmed beard leaned in a little, emboldened by wine and curiosity.
"If I may ask, Your Majesty… rumor says your court is filled with talent and beauty alike. Don't you think about seeking a second wife?"
Rose didn't flinch.
Angel didn't miss the flicker in her fingers though, resting on her wine glass, tapping once.
He gave the noble a long look. Not threatening. But firm. Unreadable.
"There is no vacancy in Euphorion's throne," Angel said coolly. "Only seats waiting for those who prove themselves worthy. Whether by battle or devotion."
The air dipped slightly in temperature. The noble laughed awkwardly and stepped back. A quiet apology mumbled into his wine.
Rose smiled sweetly. Just enough to make it clear.
Angel tilted his head again, lips brushing the rim of his glass, letting his aura slip, not overtly, not magically, just presence.
It was like watching wolves back away from the fire.
Another noble tried his hand. "I wonder, Your Majesty… is it true you tamed the Flame of Zephyrus with nothing but a blade and power?"
"Two blades. One's broken," Angel corrected smoothly, "and a promise I kept."
The nobleman blinked, uncertain whether to be impressed or intimidated. The way Angel said it, low and steady, without even glancing at the man, gave it a weight that was hard to laugh off.
Another noblewoman in a deep plum gown leaned forward with a soft smile. "Your Majesty," she said, her voice sweet and practiced, "Is it true that Euphorion is seeking... further marital alliances? Perhaps for strategic expansion?"
Angel's lips curled slightly, not a real smile, but something crafted like a knife edge. "Euphorion only takes what it loves, or what it bleeds for," he replied. "And I've bled enough for one crown."
That made her retreat, subtle, elegant, but definite.
Yet more nobles gathered around. They weren't rude or greedy, not outwardly. But they all asked. Why was he here? Was it to open trade? To discuss military alignment? To begin recruitment for a shared frontier force? They pretended to be interested in diplomacy, in his thoughts on trade, or terrain reinforcements on the border… but Angel could see it clearly.
They wanted something.
An alliance. A favor. A future deal. Just a name on a scroll with his seal would boost their family name for three generations.
He gave none.
And as he watched, Darius's expression thinned. Not quite a glare. Just enough tension around his mouth, enough frost behind his wine glass, that Angel knew.
The Pontus King didn't like this attention.
He didn't like the way they leaned in closer to Angel than they ever did to him. The way they nodded, smiled, entertained the idea that perhaps… perhaps, this dark-eyed young king might be the real axis around which the world was starting to turn.
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