The first light of dawn didn't bring warmth to the Prince's chambers; it only turned the shadows from black to grey.
Ren hadn't slept.
He had spent the hours curled on the floor, his back against the foot of the bed, listening to the shift of silk sheets above him. Every time Cian moved in his sleep, the sapphire on Ren's neck would give a tiny, possessive hum. He felt like a dog waiting for its master to wake, and the shame of it was starting to burn hotter than the silver stitch in his hand.
His body ached from the cold stone.
His uniform, once pristine, was now wrinkled and stained with the blood from his nose. He looked every bit the "broken tool" the Sages had called him.
I have to get up, Ren thought. If I'm still on the floor when the guards come they might talk.
He started to push himself up, his joints popping, when the heavy oak doors of the suite groaned. They weren't blasted open this time; they were opened with a slow, deliberate arrogance.
Ren froze.
A pair of heavy, mud-stained leather boots stepped onto the rug. Above them was the charcoal-grey cloak of the Thorne household.
Kael.
The silent giant didn't look surprised to see him huddled at the foot of the Prince's bed. His expression remained as stoic as a cliffside.
In his hand, he carried a heavy training sword made of blackened iron. He stopped five feet away, his shadow looming over Ren.
"The Prince," Kael grunted. It wasn't a question. He was checking who's still alive.
"He's... he's asleep, Lord Kael," Ren whispered, scrambling to his feet and bowing his head. "He had a... a difficult night."
Kael's charcoal-grey eyes swept over the room—the scorched rugs, the shattered chair, and finally, the dark bruises forming on Ren's neck where Cian had gripped him. He didn't offer a word of comfort. He didn't even acknowledge the pain. He simply stepped closer, the sheer mass of his body forcing Ren to back into the bedpost.
"You're still alive," Kael noted. There was a strange tone in his voice—not quite disappointment, but a deep, heavy curiosity. "The last three didn't make it to dawn when the Prince spiked that hard."
Before Ren could answer, a soft, melodic laugh drifted from the doorway.
"Oh, Kael. Don't frighten the poor thing. He's already had his world turned upside down once yesterday."
Julian sauntered in, looking impossibly fresh in a deep-green velvet tunic. He held a silver tray with a single cup of steaming tea. He looked at Ren, then at the sleeping Prince, and finally at the bed.
"On the floor? Really?" Julian's eyes danced with a cruel sort of delight.
"Cian usually has better manners than to leave his belongings in the dirt. Or did you crawl there yourself, seeking a bit of warmth?"
Ren's face burned, he clenched his jaw. "The Prince commanded it."
Julian set the tray down on a side table, still intact, and walked over, his movement fluid and predatory. He reached out, his gloved fingers catching the edge of Ren's chin and tilting it upward. He inspected the bruises on Ren's throat with a clinical eye.
"He was quite thorough with you, wasn't he?" Julian murmured. His voice was low enough that it didn't wake Cian, but it sent a shiver of dread down Ren's spine.
"Tell me, little bird... while you were 'cleaning' the Prince's coat last night... did you find what you were looking for in the dark?"
It was a direct threat. Julian was reminding him that he knew about the midnight walk.
"I found nothing." Ren lied, his heart hammering.
Julian's thumb pressed into the bruise on Ren's neck, just hard enough to cause a jolt of pain.
"Lying to me is a dangerous habit. I'm the only one in this tower who isn't currently trying to use you as a lightning rod. You should be more... grateful."
Suddenly, the bed behind them, across the room, shifted.
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. The air grew thin, and the smell of ozone returned.
Cian was sitting up. His golden hair was a mess, falling over his eyes, but the sapphire-blue gaze was sharp and deadly.
He didn't look like a man who had just woken up; he looked like a god who had been interrupted from his divine duties.
"Get your hands off him, Julian." He growled.
The command was quiet, but it carried the weight of an executioner's blade.
Julian didn't flinch. He slowly retracted his hand, giving Ren one last, lingering look before turning to the Prince with a mock bow.
"Good morning, Cian. I see your 'Ground' survived the night. Kael and I were just debating if we needed to call the cleaners to scrape him off the floor. We had to come see for ourselves."
Cian swung his legs out of bed. He was barefoot, his silk trousers low on his hips. He ignored his friends, his gaze fixed solely on Ren.
"4092. Come here."
Ren stumbled forward, his legs shaking. He stopped at the edge of the bed. Cian reached out and grabbed the front of Ren's tunic, pulling him close until their chests were almost touching.
The Prince didn't say a word. He just closed his eyes and breathed in.
Through the "Bonding Lead," Ren felt it—the absolute, terrifying hunger. Cian wasn't checking on Ren… he was checking his void core. He was making sure the peaceful feeling from the night before wasn't a dream.
"He's stable," Cian announced to the room, though he didn't let go of Ren.
"The resonance is at zero. I haven't been this clear in years."
Kael stepped forward, his heavy brow furrowing. "Zero? That's impossible. Not after a spike that broke furniture."
"He's different," Cian said, his voice dropping to a possessive growl. He finally let go of Ren's tunic, but he kept his hand on the back of Ren's neck, his fingers brushing the iron collar. He hated how they were treating him like a pet.
"He isn't just a Ground. He's a sinkhole. Everything I throw at him just... vanishes."
Julian's emerald eyes flickered toward Ren's closed fist. He knew. He knew about the silver light. But he didn't say anything.
Instead, he smiled—a wide, beautiful, terrifying smile.
"Then we should celebrate," Julian said. "The Royal Hunt begins in two days. The Sages want to see the Prince in peak form. And since our little Ren is such a... capable sinkhole... he'll be joining us in the forest. Won't you, Ren?"
Ren's heart dropped. The Royal Hunt wasn't a game. It was a bloodsport where the elite students hunted mana-beasts to prove their dominance. A Null in the forest was nothing more than bait.
"He'll be by my side," Cian stated, his grip on Ren's neck tightening. "I need him close."
"Actually," Julian countered, his voice smooth as silk, "the rules of the Hunt state that a Ground must be shared if the Resonance of the group exceeds the limit. And since Kael and I will be pushing our limits to impress the Dean... we might just need to borrow him."
Cian's eyes flashed with a warning light. "He is my lead, Julian."
"For now," Julian whispered.
Ren stood between them, a piece of meat being fought over by three hungry lions. He looked down at the floor, at the spot where he had spent the night, and realized that his life in the North Tower was about to get much, much worse.
Because now, they weren't just using him to survive.
They were starting to want him.