"Apologies are not currency to be hoarded nor weapons to be wielded, they are bridges, fragile but necessary, between hearts too proud to admit they care."
The garden was mostly empty now, save for Marcus and Juno, who had drifted to the far side of the marble walkways, close enough to intervene if politics turned bloody but far enough that they could feign ignorance of whatever might unfold between their king and me.
Which left me here alone with Alaric as he stood close, closer than he usually allowed himself, his storm-gray eyes searching for mine with a quiet intensity that made my pulse jump. He seemed strangely unsure, and for a man who could summon the weight of armies with a command, that hesitation was disarming.
"Elias," he began, his voice rough in the way gravel becomes smooth only under years of pressure, "I owe you an apology."
That startled a dry laugh out of me. "You? Apologizing? I may faint."
