CHAPTER 223: SHE IS A ROGUE, NATHAN

Darius fiddled with his fingers for a few seconds before he sighed. He was not sure how to keep this from Nathan exactly, he knew him too well. Darius would die for him, and Nathan would do the same without hesitation.

"She is my mate," he said quietly.

Nathan tilted his head slightly, one brow arching. "Serena?"

Darius nodded.

The silence that followed was not heavy, nor did it hang awkwardly between them. Nathan only leaned back in his chair, arms folded as he regarded his friend with the same measured calm that had soothed many a storm in years past. His gaze was thoughtful, not accusatory.

"Well then," Nathan said at last, "I did wonder what it was that put that peculiar look in your eye. I assumed it was some dreadful pastry, but this makes far more sense."

Darius blinked. "That is all you have to say?"

"What did you expect?" Nathan replied mildly. "That I throw my hands to the heavens and lament your cursed fate?"

Darius chuckled and moved closer to the edge of the seat and looked at the door briefly. Nathan was not that sort but it would have been funny to witness.

"A little part of me, perhaps," Darius said.

Nathan snorted and leaned forward, bracing his forearms against his thighs. "You forget I have known you since your feet barely touched the floor. I knew long before you did that some things in you were bound to echo the very path your father walked."

Darius looked away, his jaw tightening at the mention of Magnus. He had rarely spoken of him in such terms, yet it always lingered unspoken, like moss that clung to the stone walls of the manor and refused to leave. He licked his lips and looked away briefly, that was his father after all and he was like the man no matter what.

Nathan did not press. Instead, he added, "But you are not your father, Darius. And she is not your mother."

"I know that," Darius murmured. "Truly, I do. But the bond...Lunara help me, it is frightening how easily it pulls me under."

"Aye," Nathan said, his voice turning quiet with a thread of sympathy. "And yet here you are, not lost but treading water just fine."

There was a pause.

"I suppose you mean to settle then?" Nathan asked casually, reclining slightly. "Start nesting, turn into a bore like Cedar, perhaps?"

Darius gave a soft laugh. "I’ve only just begun admitting it aloud, and you have me planting roots already."

"I am merely preparing myself to endure the wretched poetry that will follow." Nathan grinned and then tilted his head thoughtfully. "Though I must confess, I have grown rather fond of a certain lass myself. Woman, I should say. She’s no blushing maid."

That caught Darius off guard. "You?"

Nathan smirked at his shock. "I know. The horrors. A scout taken by sentiment. But aye, she’s from Longdale. Sharp as a blade and doesn’t simper, which I consider a virtue. She teaches numbers to merchant boys and makes a fine meat pie."

Darius chuckled. "You speak of her like she’s both a sword and supper."

"And is that not the measure of a worthy partner?" Nathan grinned. "Mind you, I have not said anything proper to her. The courtship of a scout is a rather fraught affair, never in one place long enough to make a proper offer."

Darius smiled faintly, warmed by the casual affection in his friend’s voice. Nathan had always spoken of people with care. He never exaggerated or said anything false.

"Still," Nathan went on, "I would count it a good thing, that your mate is Crimsonclaw-born. You will find fewer troubles among their upper ranks if they are kin to you now."

Darius exhaled slowly. Of course, that would be his train of thought, he had no clue that that story was merely an illusion. Serena was not born of Crimsonclaw.

"I do not care about the politics of it," Darius said.

"Oh?" Nathan’s eyes twinkled. "You, who once plotted how many guards to station at the vineyard gates during harvest season?"

"That was different."

"Mm. I am sure." Nathan chuckled, then leaned back, his tone softening. "You like her, then."

"I do." Darius spoke plainly. "Even before the bond began its stirrings. There is... a stillness in her that disarms me, she is very kind. Her eyes are as bright as the paints I used to use when I was still learning the craft."

Nathan nodded, quietly absorbing the words. Then, as if recalling something, he looked to Darius with a more curious tilt of the head. "You never wrote about her."

"I did not."

"Because?"

Darius hesitated. His hands clenched slightly in his lap.

"There is something I should tell you," he began, his voice barely above a whisper.

Nathan straightened slightly, his gaze sharpening, though he said nothing. He knew that tone, Darius rarely spoke it unless the truth weighed heavily.

Darius ran a hand through his hair, then let it fall against the edge of the table. The fire in the hearth cracked faintly in the distance.

"She is not Crimsonclaw."

Nathan’s brows knitted slowly. "But, she holds the title, does she not? She wore their colours, walked among them at the gathering from what I heard and what you told me."

"She...does and she has. But she was not born to them."

Nathan sat back, but his expression did not flicker into shock. Rather, it settled into something watchful. "Go on."

Darius met his friend’s eyes and let the silence linger a heartbeat longer. Then two.

Darius inhaled deeply, he was not sure which way to say it. He glanced at Nathan, then back at the flames, their flickering light reflecting the turmoil in his thoughts. How did one wrap treasonous truth in palatable silk? It was not merely her secret, it was the council’s and his own.

He had not spoken it aloud until now, not even in solitude.

"She was... granted the Crimsonclaw title only recently," he began carefully. "An arrangement made for peace and appearances."

Nathan’s brows rose. Darius leaned forward, his voice quieter still. "She is a rogue, Nathan."