High Lords’ meetings are meant to be exercises in discipline.

I stand beside my parents, silent and observant, reminding myself that I am here to learn—not to react. Politics demand restraint. So does power.

Spring arrives last.

Tamlin enters with his daughter at his side. His heir. I register the fact clinically—until my shadows stir without permission.

I force them still.

Her presence is… distracting. Spring’s magic hums softly around her, bright and alive in a way that presses uncomfortably against my own. When our eyes meet across the chamber, the reaction is immediate—and unwelcome. A pull. Subtle, instinctive. I tighten my control and look away.

This is nothing. It has to be.

The meeting begins. Voices rise and fall, old grievances aired like they always are. I listen, focus, ground myself in habit and reason. Still, I remain uncomfortably aware of her—of every shift in her posture, every quiet flare of Spring’s power.

I do not look at her again.

I refuse to.

When the meeting finally ends, I turn to leave, intent on putting distance between myself and Spring.

A soft sound reaches me instead.

Something strikes the marble floor and skids to a stop near my feet.

I look down.

A delicate bracelet lies there, woven with living vines and flecks of pale green stone, its magic unmistakably hers. I glance up in time to see her a few steps away, unaware of what she’s lost.

For a moment, I hesitate.

Then I bend, closing my fingers around the bracelet. Spring’s magic reacts instantly—warm against my skin, stirring something I do not welcome and do not release.

I straighten and call after her, my voice steady despite the awareness curling in my chest.

“You dropped your bracelet.”

She turns.

And with the bracelet in my hand, I step forward—already crossing a line I told myself I wouldn’t.