Phei's slow internal smile widened into something feral and glittering, a crescent moon of pure, delighted malice rising behind his eyes. 'You are ahead of the curve, sure Danton. Sure, you are at the head of the curve like a man already measuring the coffin while the mourners argue over the floral arrangements. How droll. How exquisitely, absurdly droll.'
"I should get back to him, Prince," Cassiopeia said, pitching her voice lower now, letting a note of performative tension creep in. "He'll come looking for me if I'm gone much longer."
"One last thing." Harold's voice was cool steel. "Tonight — is tonight going to be the night?"
"No. He's tired. So am I. I'll lie next to him. Let him hold me. We have days on this island. The Prince's right. We don't rush."
A small pause. Then — carefully, as though the words cost him something — Harold produced actual praise.
"You are handling this well, sis."
"I'm aware... I sure do not need your praise, brother."
