For once, I hoped we’d have a quiet evening, as full of grief and silence as it was.

I couldn’t even enjoy the Rimian blood anymore, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the young prince. Thayen looked at us discreetly, his curious green eyes flickering with delight whenever Acheron spoke to him—the father-son bond was strong with these two, and it seemed to bother Danika a little. I doubted anyone else had noticed, but she glanced to the side, her nostrils flaring, whenever Acheron and Thayen chuckled about trivial things.

“He’s such a beautiful child,” Sofia murmured, smiling at the young Aeternae boy.

Indeed, aesthetically speaking, Thayen was a work of art. Taller than most kids his age, he carried himself with a certain regal composure. His green gaze pierced through pretty much everything, inquisitive and daring in its study. His hair was short and curly, in shades of blond and light brown, and he wore a gold band as his princely crown. He seemed to have gotten the best of both parents: his father’s nose, his mother’s lips and high cheekbones.

On top of that, Thayen was also extremely polite and amiable, brimming with knowledge and always wanting to know more. We’d spent the better part of the evening so far telling him about Earth and the humans, and about how we, as supernaturals, had achieved global balance with their species.

“Few people have seen him,” Valaine said to Sofia, smiling. “I suppose it is quite the privilege that you get to have dinner in his presence.”

“Thayen is the heir to the Nasani dynasty and the throne.” Acheron’s voice boomed through the dinner hall, bursting with pride. “He will make a fine leader someday. Won’t you, my boy?” He gave his son a playful wink, and Thayen nodded convincingly.

“I will do my best to lead the empire,” he said. “But I hope not to see that day too soon.”

“Why do you say that, my love?” Danika asked. I could tell from the look in her eyes that she doted on the boy. He was probably spoiled rotten, but he carried himself with grace and dignity. A privileged young Aeternae, but not one to reek of entitlement. I had to admit, I was impressed.

“Because that would mean you and Father wouldn’t be around anymore,” Thayen mumbled, his gaze dropping. Servants came around with pitchers of fresh blood, refilling our crystal glasses. He nodded thankfully and took a long sip from his.

“How so?” Derek replied, the corner of his mouth upturned into a faint smile.

Danika sighed. “One ascends to the throne when his predecessors are dead. Acheron and I would have to have passed for our son to take over.”

“Meh! It’s not set in stone!” Acheron exclaimed, jovial as ever. “We can always change the laws, expand the abdication conditions… We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“All these niceties aside,” Petra interjected, “I thought you should all be made aware: there are six Black Fever patients now. One was discovered this evening, in the laundry rooms. A carrier has been identified and quarantined, thanks to Amal’s efforts. Hopefully, the Rimian girl was the only one.”

Amal nodded slowly. “We will definitely need to run more tests over the next few days. The virus could still be in its incubation period. If we at least isolate the Aeternae she’s been in touch with, we might be able to prevent an outbreak.”

“What are the odds, in your professional opinion?” Danika asked, her brow slightly furrowed. Thayen followed the entire conversation with renewed interest, but I could also see glimmers of fear in his eyes—not that I could blame him. No one would want to come down with Black Fever.

“Rather slim,” Amal replied, and Petra exhaled sharply, leaning back into her chair. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but my studies so far show that the Black Fever spreads rapidly among the Aeternae. All it takes is being in the same room with the carrier, and you might be infected. It’s airborne.”

Acheron and Danika looked at each other for a moment, then back at us. We weren’t giving them good news.

“How is it spreading so quickly?” Corbin asked.

“Spores,” Amal replied, and Petra nodded in agreement.

“The virus replicates quickly. Amal’s microscopes are incredible. I’ve seen things I haven’t been able to see before. I’ve seen the black cells multiply. Every other hour or so, each cell releases a flurry of molecule-sized spores. Like a sneeze.”

“Which then travel through the bloodstream and pass through the lung membranes,” Amal added. “They’re exhaled. Unnoticeable. Untraceable beyond that point until someone gets infected.”

“And that is as far as we’ve gotten today,” Petra muttered, crossing her arms.

Kalon gave her a soft and encouraging smile, squeezing her shoulder. “You’ve made it this far, you mean to say. Up until a few days ago, you didn’t even know the Black Fever moved through spores. I mean, spores! That alone is a groundbreaking piece of information, don’t you think?”

“Masks would help, then,” Valaine said. She looked at Amal. “Right? If it’s airborne. Palace staff should all wear masks. And palace dwellers, too.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled around the dinner table. It seemed like a common-sense solution—it wouldn’t stop the Black Fever, but it could very well slow it down until Amal and Amane got closer to a cure.

“When is your sister coming over?” I asked, looking at Amal.

“Tomorrow morning,” she said. “I’m actually looking forward to it. Our heads together will yield more progress, for sure. Her chemistry knowledge is slightly sharper than mine, I admit. I’m more on the medical side of things.”

“So, you’re a doctor,” Thayen replied.

“Sort of. Yes.” Amal chuckled. “My specialties are medicine, biology, and engineering. My sister, Amane, is an expert in chemistry, physics, and mathematics, among other things.”

“And together they’re unstoppable,” Derek declared.

“What progress are you making with the Darklings?” Corbin asked Valaine, clearly not that interested in the Faulty sisters. Valaine shot me a brief stare, then focused on her father again.

“They’re definitely out to kill me, though we don’t know why.”

“Have you taken any of them alive?” Acheron asked.

Danika seemed tense, stiffly sitting in her tall chair with both hands gripping the gilded armrests. “I’m sure we would’ve heard something, if they had,” she said. “You captured Rimians, though… right? What are they called?”

“Red Threads,” Valaine replied. “Rebels. Revolutionaries. They claim no involvement with the Darklings.”

She wasn’t telling them everything—just like we’d agreed. There wasn’t much that Valaine and I could give them, since it all rested with Kalon and Esme now, and they were keeping their cards close to their chests, for the time being.

“And you believe them?” Danika asked.

Valaine shook her head. “No, Your Grace. We plan to begin interrogations in a couple of days. All the Red Threads we captured were severely injured. They’re under medical care as we speak. As soon as they start to wake up, we’ll begin taking their statements.”

“It’s ludicrous,” Acheron muttered, visibly disgusted. “We brought Rimia to a whole new level. Gave them businesses and jobs and plenty of funds… and this is how they reward us.”

“Darling, perhaps it’s time to invite the Rimian ambassador over,” Danika suggested. “I’m sure he doesn’t condone such behavior. We shouldn’t punish the many for the deeds of the few.”

I was inclined to agree, but it wasn’t my place to speak. The Aeternae didn’t want us butting into their business, so we didn’t. However, if our business were to inevitably intertwine with theirs, then the entire conversation would change. Until then, I kept my head down and focused on our investigations.

Esme leaned closer. “We’ll have to take it easy,” she whispered. “We need hard proof regarding Nethissis; otherwise, they won’t listen.”

“Agreed,” I replied.

Danika noticed us talking. Her eyes became smaller, her lips pursing slowly. We had her attention, and I did not like it. “Any progress regarding your friend?” she asked. It was the one question we didn’t want to answer.

Esme took the lead. “Nothing concrete so far.” Derek cleared his throat but said nothing. He and Sofia had agreed to stay out of this.

“I doubt you’ll get much,” Corbin grumbled without even looking at us, his elbows resting on the table. “It was just a horrible accident.”

Esme clearly wanted to say more, but she held her tongue. Kalon, on the other hand, seemed to be in the mood to piss the master commander off. “Don’t hold your breath,” he said. “The investigation is barely in its early days.”

It earned him a scowl from Petra, too, but Kalon didn’t care. He gave Esme a discreet, encouraging nod, then moved focus back to Corbin, whose eyes were hurling daggers.

“We’ll see,” the master commander replied.