"Your son, Paul, fell not by savagery but by the sorcery that ensnared him during the summit," Jason interjected, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to resonate with the very foundations of the room. "A fate neither of us desired."

Biansky's eyes narrowed, and his lips peeled back in a snarl, revealing the sharp promise of fangs. "And yet, he died at your hands, King Jason. A fact not so easily forgotten or forgiven."

"Nor should it be," I acknowledged, allowing the weight of our shared ...