Reivan was beginning to think that Sylpkx had the right idea about avoiding her past.

It wasn’t because he particularly cared about where she came from—no, it was because every single time someone from her past showed up, they arrived with enough baggage to crush a castle.

This time was no different.

The problem walked into his office in the form of a beastkin noble, dressed in a carefully measured blend of imperial fashion and tribal accents, the kind of look that said, "I understand civilization, but I could also rip your throat out if necessary."

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp golden eyes that bore an uncomfortable resemblance to Sylpkx’s own. His furred ears twitched slightly as he surveyed the room, his gaze finally settling on Reivan like he was sizing him up for a fight.

Reivan, who was still debating whether today was a sit down and think day or a get stabbed and deal with it later day, sighed internally.

The man spoke first, voice deep and steady. “I am Lord Khaedros of the Ironfang Clan. I come seeking the half-blood.”

Sylpkx, who had been leaning lazily against the bookshelf, froze.

Just for a second. Just long enough for Reivan to catch it.

That was never a good sign.

Reivan steepled his fingers, keeping his expression neutral. “That’s an interesting way to start a conversation.”

Khaedros didn’t look amused. “I did not come for wordplay.”

“That’s unfortunate. It’s my best skill.”

Khaedros growled—an actual growl. Not the metaphorical kind Reivan was used to from angry nobles, but a deep, rumbling warning sound. The kind that said, "You are currently alive, but that can change."

Sylpkx, to absolutely no one’s surprise, looked more entertained than concerned.

Khaedros’ eyes snapped to her. “You do not seem surprised to see me.”

Sylpkx smirked. “That’s because I’m not.”

Reivan raised an eyebrow. “Should I be?”

Sylpkx shrugged. “Depends. Do you like dealing with beastkin succession disputes?”

There was a long pause.

Reivan closed his eyes briefly. “I hate my life.”

Khaedros crossed his arms. “You speak as if this is a joke. It is not.”

“Oh, trust me, I know,” Reivan muttered. He glanced at Sylpkx. “Explain.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Sylpkx sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. You already know my mother was a princess of the Northern Tribes, right?”

Reivan nodded. “Yes.”

“Well,” she said, stretching slightly, “turns out my mother’s exile wasn’t entirely accepted by everyone. Some people still think she—and by extension, me—have a claim to certain things.”

Reivan stared at her. Then back at Khaedros. “This is a succession dispute.”

“It’s a succession question,” Sylpkx corrected. “Nobody’s fighting. Yet.”

Reivan massaged his temples. “And what, exactly, does Lord Khaedros want?”

Khaedros’ expression didn’t change. “To know if she will claim her birthright.”

Sylpkx let out a barking laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. No.”

Khaedros’ ears flicked slightly, but his face remained impassive. “You refuse without hearing what it entails.”

“I refuse because I don’t care,” Sylpkx said. “Whatever you’re offering, I don’t want it.”

Reivan had a very, very bad feeling about this.

Because Sylpkx was always confident. Always cocky. But this?

This wasn’t bravado.

This was avoidance.

Which meant whatever she was running from, she didn’t want Reivan to know about it.

Khaedros turned to him instead. “She may not care, but you should.”

Reivan sighed. “You’re not wrong. But explain it to me anyway.”

Khaedros nodded. “The Northern Tribes remain divided. Some have fallen in line with the empire. Others resist. The Ironfang Clan is among those who resist.”

Reivan already saw where this was going.

Khaedros continued. “A ruler with both imperial and beastkin blood could unite the factions. Could provide a bridge.” His gaze flicked toward Sylpkx. “That is why she is important.”

Sylpkx scoffed. “No. That is why I’m inconvenient.”

Reivan wasn’t sure what was more surprising—the fact that she had an actual claim to tribal rule, or the fact that she was completely against it.

And that raised the real question.

What had she left behind?

Khaedros turned back to Reivan. “You are a strategist. A man who deals in advantage and leverage. You know what an alliance with us could mean.”

Oh, Reivan did.

Having the loyalty of the beastkin clans would shift the balance of power entirely. He had been fighting nobles and religious forces alone—but with a tribal faction behind him, he would no longer be someone who could simply be pushed aside.

But there was a problem.

Sylpkx did not want this.

And Reivan had spent too long trusting her instincts to suddenly ignore them.

He leaned back slightly, measuring his words carefully. “This is a compelling offer.”

Sylpkx shot him a sharp look.

He ignored it.

Khaedros nodded. “Then you accept?”

Reivan smiled faintly. “I said it was compelling. I didn’t say I agreed.”

Khaedros frowned. “You would deny your own ally the chance to claim her birthright?”

Reivan glanced at Sylpkx. “Do you want it?”

She snorted. “No.”

He turned back to Khaedros. “Then that’s my answer.”

The beastkin noble looked genuinely surprised. Like he had expected Reivan to leverage this as a political move—which, to be fair, he normally would have.

But not when it came to his people.

Not when it came to her.

Khaedros studied him for a long moment, then exhaled. “You are an unusual man, Reivan.”

“I hear that a lot.”

Khaedros’ expression was unreadable, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he turned to Sylpkx. “You are making a mistake.”

Sylpkx smirked. “Wouldn’t be my first.”

Khaedros studied her once more, then nodded. “Then this is farewell. For now.”

He left without another word.

Silence settled in the room.

Reivan let out a long breath and turned to Sylpkx. “You have got to stop hiding life-altering political problems from me.”

She grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Reivan rubbed his temples. “Do I even want to know why you don’t want this?”

Sylpkx’s smirk didn’t reach her eyes.

“No,” she said. “You don’t.”

And just like that, he knew.

There was more to this than she had let on.

And eventually, it was going to catch up to them both.