Warsong | Celeste Academy Series Book #4

Chapter Thirty-One ⚜ Tipping of the Scale

Rowe had always been calm. It was primarily due to his immense self-control and well-trained smile that he had no trouble laying solutions to matters—regardless of its urgency—with the trademark manner that the Twelve had come to know. He had gotten this attitude and demeanor as a result of being a sickly child on top of spirit being his element. His health had been fragile and the slightest bit of provocation would often lead to worrisome situations which was why he trained very hard on meditation.

Today, however, nothing was quite going his way.

And for the third time in his entire life, he lost it.

The first time it happened was back when he met Aneeka—she literally came crashing through his window with hell in tow, her guns pointed dead against his forehead as her eyes that shone the color of lavenders bore straight into his own. The second time had been during the death of his father when he had secretly snuck back into his own room to mourn.

And in the third, there were two reasons. Indeed, when it rains, it pours.

He never felt more at lost and angry in his life.

"High Lord," said his adviser.

Rowe casted an infuriated glance at him and saw that, despite the blank face and steady salute, his hands brushed against the buttons of his double-breasted coat shakily while his back was abnormally straighter than usual.

"This had better be better news, Shiloh," he told him, the dangerous bite clawing from his voice. His eyes were more than sharp enough to cut right past the poor man's head as his tensed shoulders rested back on his armchair, behind a disorganized table.

"I have sent the message to the other high lords and the king with regards to the matter," Shiloh replied serenely. His voice did not fail him at all. "I have also informed the city of Galen to check on the Chicovas while we depart in a few minutes. Count Brews from the country of Zorienna will also make his move to handle the initial site investigations of the place."

"No need," he said coldly. "Tell them to keep the Chicovan territory untouched and intact until we arrive. Let no one, not even a shadow, step into that place. I will inspect it myself."

"Yes, sire."

"What about the Covert Corps?" he inquired.

"Your Excellency." Shiloh's tone had been filled with uncertainty—as though he would not be pleased whether he answered or not.

The crease between his brows deepened further. His heart, which he had succeeded in slowing down a bit a few moments ago, once again sprang to fitful activity. The fists on his lap curled so much that the skin around the heirloom ring, Nevan Ether, had bubbled.

"I have never thought I'd get to see you ever lose your calm." A taunting voice ran arrogantly throughout the room as an unannounced yet all-too-familiar visitor invited himself inside. "If the other members were to see this, it'd be a spectacle."

Russet met emerald.

"Why did you come, Lord Corvan?" His voice had regained a more neutral tone, but the knife's edge was still present. He didn't want to entertain anyone else aside from himself. "My continent may have just lost its guardians, I wouldn't want yours to lose its heir."

Corvan scoffed, unbridled by the threat. "And Valeriana calls me hotheaded. I see you're far worse—snapping like a wounded dog."

"Then I'd prefer it you not deride me lest you want to be mangled." Rowe held himself back as he was, once again, on the verge of exploding.

"I am not deriding you. Stop being overly sensitive."

Rowe massaged the bridge of his nose and took deep breaths. This was normally Corvan's attitude and he'd be smiling in reply if it was any other day. However, the tables had turned. He wouldn't be surprised if Corvan thought he wasn't himself—because, truly, he wasn't.