Robert’s POV
I knew where my son was.
More importantly, I knew who he was with.
Aqua Waters.
Princess. Runaway. Temptation. Leverage.
The girl had attached herself to Steven with the kind of softness young fools mistook for devotion. Worse, Steven had attached himself back. He had always been too sentimental for his own good, too easily moved by warmth, kindness, and every other weakness his mother had allowed to take root in him.
If I wanted my son back, truly back, dragging him by force would only tighten his grip on the girl.
No.
Steven did not need to be pulled first.
Aqua needed to be removed.
And who better to retrieve a runaway princess than the family who believed she belonged to them?
King Triton would not care what I wanted for Steven.
Good.
I did not need him to.
I only needed him to want his sister back badly enough to tolerate my voice for the length of one conversation.
Worthington was hidden, guarded, and wrapped in Fredrick Worth’s careful little layers. I had no intention of wasting time clawing at a door designed to scream the moment something touched it.
But hidden places still needed veins.
Roads.
Deliveries.
Water.
Especially water.
And if Aqua Waters had found her way into Fredrick’s protected town, then perhaps the sea remembered a path land would rather forget.
I did not need to leave my office to disturb the sea.
I only needed the mirror.
The relic stood across from my desk, tall as a man and twice as old-looking, its dark metal frame carved with runes that only showed themselves when touched by Crown Aura. Old magic. Family magic. Leader’s magic. The sort of tool the oldest clans kept hidden for diplomatic summons, emergency warnings, and the rare conversations too dangerous to trust to ordinary channels.
Not everyone could use it.
That was the point.
Only those with Crown Aura could wake the glass properly. Only a recognized head of bloodline could send their presence through one mirror and reach another.
The families liked to dress that arrangement in words like order and protocol.
I preferred the truth.
Power recognized power.
Only fools obsessed over presentation.
I rose from my chair and crossed the room at an unhurried pace, the heels of my shoes clicking softly against the hardwood. Lamplight stretched in long amber lines across the office, catching on polished mahogany, glass decanters, and the edge of framed family documents displayed precisely where guests would notice them.
Human wealth always did make a room look respectable.
That was half the point.
A man should look civilized before he started making threats.
I lifted one hand toward the mirror and let my Crown Aura unfurl from my palm in a slow, controlled thread.
It was not fire.
Not exactly.
It was authority given shape. Bloodline pressure. The old Salvatore right to command, sharpened and refined until the air itself seemed to remember who ruled it.
The glass drank it eagerly.
Runes along the frame woke one by one, glowing deep red before darkening into something almost black. The mirror’s surface rippled, not like ordinary glass, but like standing over open water at night and realizing there was no bottom in sight.
Then the reflection changed.
Not into the whole throne room.
The connection was too narrow for that.
The mirror showed what the other mirror held.
King Triton’s face appeared first, stern and cold, framed by sea-blue light. Behind him, I caught glimpses of carved coral arches and the high back of his throne, enough to know he had taken the call seated like a king and not standing like a worried brother.
Good.
Pride was easier to work with than panic.
Water moved in blurred silver lines behind him, too distorted through the glass to map, but clear enough to suggest the palace veins of Atlantis still flowed around him.
Too pristine for my taste.
Too polished.
Too convinced of its own righteousness.
Triton’s expression soured the moment he saw me.
“Salvatore.”
I smiled.
“Your Majesty.”
“I did not accept this channel for manners.”
“No,” I said mildly. “I imagine you accepted it because you suspected I had something useful.”
His stare sharpened.
Good.
Straight to the wound, then.
I folded one hand behind my back and tilted my head slightly, as if we were discussing an ordinary inconvenience and not a missing princess.
“I heard you were missing a family member,” I said. “Aqua, was it?”
The waterlight behind him shifted sharply.
Triton’s jaw tightened.
“You knew.”
Not a question.
An accusation.
I smiled faintly.
“I knew enough.”
His stare turned murderous.
“Where is she?”
There it was.
Not is she alive.
Not have you seen her.
Where.
Interesting.
“She’s on land,” I said. “Alive. Unharmed, to my knowledge.”
Triton went still.
His jaw flexed.
“With who?”
“With my son.”
His expression darkened instantly.
“With Steven,” I clarified, because I wanted the name to land properly.
And it did.
“You let a Salvatore near her?”
I almost laughed.
As though the young ever truly did what they were told.
“My son,” I said smoothly, “is softer than you think.”
“Soft-hearted Salvatores still burn.”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Yes,” I said. “They do.”
His eyes narrowed further, displeased that I had not rushed to defend Steven in some emotional display.
That was the trouble with men like Triton. They expected monsters to look like monsters. Rage to look like rage. Wanting to show itself plainly enough to condemn.
I preferred subtler things.
“I’ll be frank with you,” I said. “I agree they should not be together.”
That caught him.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“You agree.”
“I do.” I moved back toward my desk and rested one hand lightly against the wood, letting the picture I painted feel calm, reasonable, almost reluctant. “My son is dating your sister. He has become attached in ways that do not benefit this family, and I imagine her attachment to him does not benefit yours either. Whatever this is between them, it serves neither of us.”
Triton studied me in silence.
I could almost hear him deciding whether honesty from a Salvatore offended him more than deceit would have.
“What do you want?” he said at last.
There it was.
Finally.
I kept my tone measured.
“Access.”
His stare did not move.
“To what?”
“Worthington.”
The name settled between us.
Triton’s expression sharpened, but not with surprise.
Recognition, then.
Good.
“You know where she is,” he said.
“I know the name of the cage.”
“Worthington is not Atlantis.”
“No,” I said. “That is why I called you.”
His mouth flattened.
“Explain.”
I smiled faintly.
“Knowing where a door is and being able to open it are not the same thing.”
Triton’s eyes narrowed.
I continued before he could decide whether to be insulted.
“Fredrick Worth’s protected little town is hidden, guarded, and difficult to approach without announcing oneself. My people can reach the region. Perhaps even find the edge of it. Entering it without permission is another matter.”
“And you believe I can open it?”
“I believe your people remember water better than mine do.”
That made him still.
Very good.
I let the silence stretch just long enough for his own thoughts to begin filling it.
“A settlement like Worthington still needs water,” I said. “Dense forest. Inland. A protected town built by a Worth. There would be a source nearby. A lake, perhaps. A hidden current. A route old enough that Fredrick may not have built all of it himself.”
“You are guessing.”
“I am calculating.”
“You need my assistance.”
“I need your current,” I said. “You need my reach.”
The water light behind him shifted slowly.
Contained.
Controlled.
The man did know how to rule his temper when it mattered. I could respect that, even while using it against him.
“There were reports,” Triton said at last.
I did not allow my smile to widen too quickly.
“Reports?”
“Old ones. From Atlanteans who left the sea and settled too close to Worth territory before Fredrick Worth tightened his borders.” His expression hardened with irritation, perhaps at the memory, perhaps at the fact that he was giving anything to me at all. “Georgia. Inland forest. A lake near the settlement.”
Useful.
Very useful.
“And a route?” I asked.
His jaw tightened.
“A coastal water route was mentioned. Not mapped. Not confirmed in recent years. If it still exists, it would lead toward the inland water.”
“Then my familiar can confirm it.”
“A snake.”
“A useful one.”
“You want a Waters blessing for your familiar.”
“I want temporary passage,” I corrected. “My familiar can find the door. She cannot breathe through it.”
Triton’s mouth flattened.
“And why,” he said, each word colder than the last, “would I assist your familiar in entering another family’s territory?”
“Because you did not ask whether she was alive,” I said quietly. “You asked where she was. That tells me you already suspect she is safe enough to retrieve, but not close enough to reach. I can give your suspicion shape. You can give my familiar passage. We both benefit.”
“I do not ally myself with Salvatores.”
“No,” I said evenly. “You ally yourself with necessity.”
A long silence passed between us.
Old bloodlines.
Old hatred.
Two men too practical to indulge it in this moment.
At last, Triton said, “If your familiar confirms the route, I will send men to the ocean approach with a blessed necklace. She will wear it there. It will carry my current, allow her to breathe beneath the water, and grant temporary passage through the route. Only in water. Only while the blessing holds.”
“Reasonable.”
“If your familiar acts against my sister,” he said, “the sea will reject her.”
I inclined my head politely.
“Fair.”
“And I want the exact ocean entrance once she finds it.”
“You’ll have it.”
His stare did not soften.
Not even a little.
“I should wipe your line from the earth,” he said.
I smiled at that.
There was something refreshing about honesty from enemies.
“And yet,” I said, “here we are.”
The water behind him stilled into a colder blue.
“I do not trust you, Salvatore.”
I smiled wider.
“You are not required to.”
The mirror dimmed.
Triton’s face blurred into shadow, then dissolved completely. The sea-light vanished, leaving only my office reflected back at me—warm lamplight, dark wood, and a man standing exactly where he meant to be.
I let the silence breathe for a moment.
Then I looked toward the phone resting on my desk.
Black screen.
Faint glow.
Speakerphone still active.
The mirror had not been my only audience.
I crossed the room, tapped the screen once, and lifted the device just enough to hear the clean, waiting silence on the other end.
“Viper,” I said. “Did you hear all of that?”
Her answer came instantly.
“Yes, Master.”
Smooth.
Alert.
Ready.
Good.
“Then you understand the shape of it.”
“Georgia,” she said. “Inland forest. Lake nearby. Old coastal route. Worthington.”
I smiled.
“Good.”
“Find the way in?” she asked.
“Confirm the way in,” I corrected. “Triton gave us an old memory. I need a present door.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Once you find it, you’ll remain near the handoff point and wait for Triton’s men.”
“Yes, Master.”
I could already picture her expression.
Stillness over irritation.
Obedience over impatience.
But only on the surface.
“And Viper,” I said, softening my tone just enough to keep her eager.
A pause.
“Yes, Master?”
“You know what to do.”
A beat of silence followed.
Then—
“As you command.”
I smiled at my own reflection in the darkened phone screen.
Triton thought he was placing a leash on my familiar.
Perhaps he was.
But men like him never seemed to understand that a clever creature could wear a leash and still choose where to sink its fangs.
The line clicked dead.
I set the phone down gently.
Then I typed the rest of what Triton had given me into a message.
Georgia. Inland. Dense forest. Lake nearby. Old water route from coast. Worthington. Confirm the entrance.
I sent it.
A handful of days.
That was enough time to place a spy, stir old blood, and call it family business.
And if Triton intended to prepare a counter-move beneath the sea, let him.
Games were always more interesting when both players believed they were the cleverer one.
---
Viper’s POV
The line went dead, and I stared at my phone for half a second longer before it lit again.
A message from Master.
Georgia. Inland. Dense forest. Lake nearby. Old water route from coast. Worthington. Confirm the entrance.
I read it once.
Then again.
Pieces.
Not a map.
Not certainty.
A state. A direction. A hidden town. An old memory from the sea.
Enough.
Master had already made the arrangement before he held every part of the path. That was one of the dangerous things about Robert Salvatore. He did not wait until a plan became perfect before moving people into place.
He moved first.
Pressed second.
Trusted the world to bend before it broke.
Annoyingly, it often did.
I let out a slow breath through my nose.
Finally.
I tossed the phone onto the bedspread beside me and stood.
The hotel room in Florida was too warm, too bright, too ordinary. Sunlight slipped through the curtains in flat golden bands, heating the cheap carpet and the edge of the dresser where I’d laid out everything I might need days ago.
Days.
Too many days.
Too much waiting.
Too much sitting still while everyone else got to move.
My jaw tightened as I reached for the passport resting on the dresser and flipped it open again, though I already knew every false detail printed inside it.
A different name.
A human smile in the photo.
A pretty little lie polished into paperwork.
Useful.
Necessary.
Annoying.
I snapped it shut.
At last, I had the call.
At last, I could move.
No more rotting on standby in some forgettable Florida hotel while everyone else got a front-row seat to the unfolding mess around Steven Salvatore. No more waiting for updates fed to me like scraps while Fang lounged in his new comfortable little position at Steven’s side.
A bitter smile tugged at my mouth.
Fang.
Old blood.
Old name.
Old usefulness.
That was what Robert had once seen in him.
Not strength. Not hunger. Not the clean willingness to do what the family required without flinching.
Fang had been useful because he was already there.
Because he knew the house.
Because Kathrine trusted the spaces he moved through.
Because Steven had grown used to seeing him near.
A familiar could go where spies could not.
Robert had understood that.
Fang had been placed close enough to watch the wife who had too much domain in that house. Close enough to notice changes in Steven. Close enough to report when the boy’s Salvatore side finally woke enough to matter.
And what had Fang done with that position?
He had chosen sides.
A bitter smile tugged harder at my mouth.
Soft-bellied, sentimental old snake.
Given a place near the center of everything and too weak to use it properly.
I had not been born into that kind of trust.
I had earned my place one useful act at a time.
I was newer blood, perhaps.
Less decorated by history.
Less sentimental.
But sharper.
Cleaner.
Better suited for the work Robert actually needed done.
Fang watched people and called it loyalty.
I watched people and found the seam.
That was the difference between us.
I slid the passport into my bag with more force than necessary and reached for the rest of my things.
Wallet.
Keys.
Phone.
Sunglasses.
All of it went where it belonged.
Order soothed irritation.
A little.
Not much.
My gaze lifted to the mirror across the room, catching my human form in full.
Dark hair. Fitted black top. Jeans. Neutral shoes.
Sunglasses rested neatly on top of my head for now, ready to hide the yellow, snake-like eyes that made humans stare a second too long.
Forgettable at a glance.
That was the art of it. Humans never noticed danger unless it arrived wearing a snarl.
I was prettier quiet.
Deadlier too.
I lowered the sunglasses over my eyes and studied my reflection as if I could look past flesh and see the snake beneath.
Florida sunlight gave me an excuse.
My eyes gave me the real reason.
Fang should have been discarded long ago.
The thought moved through me with old irritation, familiar enough to feel almost comfortable.
He had always seemed too hesitant to me. Too burdened by whatever pitiful little conscience he mistook for strength. Too easily softened by proximity, by memory, by the pathetic little bonds others wrapped around themselves and called love.
He was never built to do what needed to be done.
I was.
Fang slithered around powerful people and mistook proximity for importance.
I earned my place.
I kept mine.
A low, humorless laugh slipped from me as I pulled my bag onto my shoulder and crossed toward the window.
Outside, the Florida heat shimmered over pavement and parked cars. Palm trees swayed lazily in the distance, gulls crying somewhere beyond the buildings.
Bright.
Loud.
Sticky.
I was tired of it.
Georgia would be no kingdom, but at least it was movement. At least it was purpose. At least it brought me closer to the mission.
And closer to Fang.
That, I had to admit, pleased me.
Not because I missed him.
Hardly.
But because I wanted to see what had become of him.
I wanted to see this new little life he had made for himself near Steven. Wanted to see how comfortable he had grown. How important he imagined himself now that he played guardian instead of instrument.
Robert had used him to watch the boy once.
Now Fang had made himself the boy’s shield.
How noble.
How wasteful.
Steven might be gentler than his father, but he was still Salvatore blood. Still dangerous in ways he probably had not even grasped yet. And Fang, for all his foolishness, likely thought he was helping by curling himself around the boy’s life like some noble little guardian.
Pathetic.
Still... from a distance, I would enjoy seeing him.
Just once.
Just enough.
Then I’d decide whether time had sharpened him or only made him duller.
I stepped away from the window and headed for the door, my mood sharpening with every stride.
No more standby.
No more waiting.
I had a mission again.
I lowered my sunglasses fully into place before opening the door.
Florida sunlight gave me a clean excuse to hide my eyes from the world.
Not that the world deserved to see them anyway.
I wrapped my fingers around the handle, then paused just long enough to let the thought settle sweetly in my chest.
“Georgia,” I murmured, a devilish smile curving over my mouth. “Here I come.”
And dear Fang—
I slipped out into the bright heat and pulled the door shut behind me—
I can’t wait to see your new comfy position for myself.
Even if it’s only from afar.