Ares' POV
Front row seat. Best view in the house. And not a single soul knew I was back.
Well—except the ones that mattered. Which was exactly two people: Me. And now, him.
Arthur.
I leaned back in the unmarked chair I'd stolen from the edge of the room, legs crossed, black hoodie half-zipped, a smirk already etched on my face like it was part of me.
The second Isla Durova's name rang out, I almost clapped right there and then. But I waited. Because the real show hadn't started yet.
No, this was the moment worth watching—when my perfectly sculpted older brother was called to join her on stage. And that poker face of his cracked just a little. Just a twitch. Just enough for me to taste it.
There they were, side by side. Shaking hands like civil heirs, masking the fact that they probably wanted to strangle each other. Their expressions were carved in stone, but their eyes? Their eyes were shouting war songs.
I started clapping.
Slow. Warm. Mocking.
People around didn't notice. Why would they? To them, I was just another student who slipped in late. But Arthur noticed. Oh, he felt it. His eyes scanned the crowd like a silent wolf, and when he finally found me—
Bingo.
He raised his brow. A silent you've got to be kidding me.
I grinned wider, flashing my dimples like a threat wrapped in charm. Gave him a slow nod. That indicated more of like 'Well, hello Brother.'
Welcome back, brother.
Let the chaos bloom.
Arthur turned back to the stage like he hadn't seen me. Like he hadn't just spotted the ghost of the family name come to life in a school chair. Classic him. Always too calm. Too perfect. Too predictable.
I drummed my fingers lightly against my knee.
So he's still good at pretending. Fine.
But pretending doesn't work when the rules change.
I watched the Queen of Daggers beside him. That's what they were calling her now, right? I could see why. Those eyes—sharp, assessing, like she'd memorized every weakness in the room. And the way she stood next to Arthur like she didn't care if he was heir to fire or frost.
Smart girl.
I liked her already.
Not in the sugary, roses-and-confessions kind of way—hell no. But the way you'd like a blade that gleamed in the dark. Dangerous. Precise. Quietly bold. The type of girl who could slit a throat while making it look like art.
This pairing was going to be fun.
I leaned forward just a little, chin resting in my palm as I studied Isla again. She didn't know I existed. Not yet. But she would.
Sooner than she'd like.
She reminded me of something. A spark on dry leaves. Pretty to look at until the whole forest caught fire.
And Arthur? He was already standing too close to the flame.
Tick-tock, brother.
Let's see who burns first.
The applause was fading now, swallowed by closing remarks and forced smiles. The show was done, the crowns handed. But I wasn't here to clap. I was here to watch.
And I'd seen enough.
I stood slowly, casually, my boots silent against the polished floor. No need for a dramatic exit—silence had always been louder when used right. My hoodie slipped back over my head, shadows folding around me like a second skin.
Arthur didn't look back. Not once.
But he felt me. I knew he did.
I slipped past the last row of chairs, nodding lazily to one of the clueless council boys who looked like he couldn't survive five minutes outside a gated mansion. He nodded back, like I was just another senior. Just another guy at the conference.
Exactly how I liked it.
I pressed open the side door and stepped into the hallway—empty, echoing. Still smelled like old textbooks and secrets. Same school, different ghosts.
Pulling the coin from my pocket, I let it spin once between my fingers.
"Sanguinem custodi. Silentium vincit."
I didn't need to be announced. Didn't need to be remembered.
The shadows would do the talking.
And when Arthur finally caught up to the truth—
I'd already be ten steps ahead.