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The second one entered the hall nothing like Selina—she came in like a blinding ray, certain the whole world had to turn and look. He, on the other hand, walked in quietly, like a shadow slipping inside. The door didn’t even creak. I only noticed him when Caldwell turned slightly and said:
— Kaiden.
A young man in a long white cloak embroidered with golden symbols of the old cult stopped at the threshold. His hair was chestnut, soft, slightly tousled, but his eyes… dark gray, calm, far too calm for his age. He wasn’t looking at us, but rather through us, and only then shifted his gaze to Caldwell.
— The Lord guided my steps here, — he said softly, yet clearly, and his voice sent a chill down my spine.
— Allow me to present: Kaiden, son of healer Lauris, — Mr. Caldwell announced. — Or, to put it in terms you’ll understand better—Samuel Price.
— Samuel… — I repeated quietly, barely believing my ears. Sam. Damn it, it really was him. Only now, standing before me wasn’t the skeptic with his endless arguments in history class and his constant “prove it.” It was a young man whose voice carried the certainty of a fanatic.
Selina was the first to break the pause. She tilted her head slightly, her silvery hair slipping softly from her shoulder, and a venomous note flashed in her smile:
— Ah, how touching. Even your unbelief seems to have been left behind with that old life, Sammy. Now you talk as if a holy prophet himself descended into this hall.
Kaiden—Sam—didn’t blink, didn’t so much as shift his expression. His gaze stayed calm, and in that calmness there was something terrifying.
— Words of truth don’t need your approval, Lady Ilvaris, — he replied evenly, like he’d cut the words with a blade. — We are not here by chance. We were gathered because it was the will of the Higher Ones.
I clenched my teeth, knowing this was the start of it. Selina didn’t even twitch an eyebrow. She was still staring at Elianora, as if from the very beginning her real goal wasn’t these religious quarrels, but pressing her—forcing out even a single wrong move.
Mr. Caldwell, apparently sensing how quickly the air in the hall was heating up, slapped his palm against the back of a chair. His voice rang firm:
— Enough. We’re not here for bickering. — His eyes swept over us, lingering on me and Elianora. — I think it’s time to introduce you as well.
His gaze slid to me.
— Prince Taleus Stiveir, — he said, pronouncing each word distinctly, as if testing how heavy they would fall into this room. — To you, he is the heir of King Alen. To me, — he paused for a moment, the corner of his lips twitching in the faintest smirk, — he will always remain Michael Stevenson.