Chapter 76
Chapter 76
The scream doesn’t end the way everyone thinks it will.
Alaric doesn’t let go.
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The sound stretches too long, high and frayed, bouncing off the stone walls of the corridor until it scrapes against my skull. Ariel’s fingers claw at his wrist, nails scraping uselessly against leather and skin, her feet kicking air because there’s nothing under them anymore. Her weight jerks once, twice, panic finally real instead of practiced. Her breath comes out in sharp, broken bursts, each one uglier than the last.
The crowd freezes like they’ve been carved there. Mouths open. No one breathes.
I don’t move either.
I just watch his hand.
It’s steady. Not straining. Not shaking. As if he’s holding something that weighs nothing at all.
Wade makes a sound behind her. The kind that comes from deep in the chest when reality finally lands and cracks something important. He steps forward, then stops, like he’s remembered too late that he doesn’t get to decide shit anymore.
“Your Highness-!” Ariel gasps, voice splintering. “Please–please, I–I’m pregnant p>
I blink.
That’s new.
That’s desperate.
And it does absolutely nothing.
Alaric exhales through his nose, bored again, like she’s repeating a line he’s already heard and dismissed. He holds her there just a second longer. Long enough for the room to feel it. Long enough for Wade’s face to drain completely of color. Long enough for everyone watching to understand exactly who’s in control and how fragile that control really is.
Then he turns away from the window.
And drops her.
She hits the floor on her knees with a sharp crack, the sound echoing louder than her scream ever did. The air punches out of her chest. Her hands slap the stone, palms scraping as she folds forward, coughing, gagging, dignity shattering on impact.
No one rushes to help her.
The guards stumble in late, as if they’ve only just remembered they exist, forming a loose half–circle that doesn’t touch her. No one knows what the fuck they’re allowed to do anymore.
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Chapter 76
Alaric steps forward once, boots stopping inches from her shaking form.
“Enough,” he says.
It’s quiet. Flat. Not loud at all.
And the room obeys.
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“Stop interfering. Stop speculating. Stop touching things that no longer belong to you.” His gaze sweeps the crowd, sharp and assessing. “This ends now p>
Ariel sobs louder, clutching her stomach, voice rising and breaking as she tries to pull the room back under her control. “I–I was protecting the pack–she–she framed me p>
“Silence p>
One word.
She flinches like he slapped her.
Alaric turns slightly, angling his body without looking away from the crowd. “No one touches her,” he says, and then his eyes flick to me. Lock. Hold. Claim. “Not ever again p>
My stomach drops.
“And for those of you still confused,” he continues, voice carrying easily, “let me make this very clear p>
The pause stretches. Heavy. Deliberate.
“She is your future queen p>
The word lands harder than Ariel hitting the floor.
The murmurs die instantly. Not because they agree. Because they’re afraid.
My chest tightens, breath stuttering as something sharp and electric crawls up my spine. Queen. The title presses against old scars, against a past I didn’t ask for and a future I haven’t agreed to yet. My knees soften before I can stop them.
Shit.
I sway.
Cassian moves on instinct, hand reaching for my arm, grounding and familiar—
-but Alaric is there first.
One second I’m upright, the next I’m airborne.
He scoops me up like I weigh nothing, one arm under my knees, the other braced firmly around my back. The sudden shift knocks the breath from my lungs. My fingers clutch at his coat without permission, fabric.
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Chapter 76
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rough and warm under my palms. His chest is solid, heat bleeding through layers, heartbeat steady under my
cheek.
I hate how right it feels.
I hate how tired I am.
“Easy,” he murmurs, low enough that only I hear it. “I’ve got you p>
I snort weakly, words slurring around exhaustion. “You always say that right after terrifying half a room p>
A corner of his mouth lifts. Just barely. “Effective leadership p>
I don’t have the energy to argue.
The crowd parts without a word as he turns, bodies stepping aside automatically, heads bowing, eyes dropping. No one meets my gaze. No one reaches out. I cling to him, pulse pounding, the adrenaline draining so fast it leaves me shaky and hollow.
As we pass the edge of the corridor, I glance over his shoulder.
Wade is still standing where Ariel fell.
He looks… wrecked. Torn between rage and regret, jealousy twisting his features into something ugly and desperate. He watches us leave like he’s trying to burn the image into his skull. Like maybe if he stares hard enough, I’ll look back.
I don’t.
Behind him, the High Priest stands perfectly still, eyes sharp and unreadable, hands folded neatly in front of him.
I tighten my grip on Alaric’s coat.
Wade still doesn’t know the truth.
And now, I want him to. Thats the last mercy I could give him.
The storm traps us there.
The wind howls through the estate all night, rattling windows and ripping through the trees hard enough that travel is out of the question. The decision is made quickly, without debate. We stay.
I’m carried through halls I know too well, stone underfoot familiar even after all this time. Servants move ahead of us, whispering, already starting to clear rooms out of habit—
And I step back into my
old room.
The air hits me first.
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Clean stone. Dried herbs. Old parchment. The faint trace of oil paint that never fully goes away, no matter how many windows you open. My books are still stacked crooked on the shelf by the window, the way I always swore I’d reorganize and never did. My paints sit exactly where I left them, brushes stiff and useless now, bristles flared and ruined from neglect.
There’s a scarf folded on the chair.
Not neatly.
Just… there, tossed as if I am meant to come back.
The bedspread hasn’t been changed. Not smoothed. Not replaced.
My chest tightens so fast it almost hurts.
It’s like time stalled mid–breath.
Like someone froze this space and walked around it carefully, afraid to disturb the outline of who I used to be.
I take a step inside, fingers brushing the bedpost, skin finding the familiar grooves without looking. My throat burns. I swallow, hard.
Alaric sets me down gently, slower this time. His hands linger just long enough for me to notice–steady, warm, grounding–but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t explain. He doesn’t claim it.
I stare around again, heart knocking unevenly against my ribs.
“This room.
My voice comes out rough. “No one touched it p>
Alaric’s jaw tightens slightly.
“No,” he says.
I let out a breath that turns into something close to a laugh. Short. Shaky. Uncomfortable. “He did this,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.
Alaric doesn’t disagree.
I shake my head slowly, eyes stinging now. “He couldn’t protect me,” I say quietly. “Couldn’t stand up for me. But he could do this p>
Preserve a ghost.
I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.
Outside, the storm tears through the estate, wind rattling the windows hard enough to make the glass tremble.
Inside, everything is still.
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Chapter 76
Too still.
And I realize–uncomfortably–that this room wasn’t kept for me to come back to.
It was kept because Wade never figured out how to let me go.
I don’t move right away.
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Alaric stays near the door, arms crossed, shoulders broad enough to block it if he wants to. He doesn’t rush me. Doesn’t crowd me. Just watches like I might bolt or break apart, and he’s calculating which one he’d survive better.
I hate that part of myself that notices how unfairly hot he looks standing there in low firelight. Like violence and restraint had a baby and taught it manners.
I clear my throat. “So,” I say, because silence feels like a trap. “This is awkward p>
His mouth twitches. “Only if you make it p>
I snort and turn away before my face does something stupid like smile.
I drift toward the window, fingers brushing the shelf beneath it. Dust coats everything in a thin layer, untouched but not abandoned. There’s a canvas propped against the wall, half hidden behind old sketchbooks.
I pull it out.
The paint is cracked in places. Old. The colors are muted from time, but it’s still there. Still mine.
Alaric’s boots sound behind me. He stops at my shoulder, close enough that I feel heat radiating off him.
“You painted this?” he asks.
I nod. “A long time ago p>
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Just looks. Really looks. His gaze tracks every brushstroke thought it’s a map he’s trying to memorize.
“You’re good,” he says finally. Flat statement. No praise, no surprise. Just fact.
I shrug. “I didn’t that paint much before p>
Lie.
I paint all the time. I just don’t keep them. It’s easier to destroy something than explain why it exists.
“Hm.” He glances at me. “When we get back to the Imperial Pack, I’ll have an art studio built for you p>
I laugh before I can stop myself. It comes out sharp and disbelieving. “You say that like it’s already done p>
“It is,” he replies, completely serious.
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I shake my head, suddenly very interested in a crack on the floor. “You don’t have to p>
“I know.” He pauses. “I want to p>
That shuts me up.
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I step back, putting distance between us before my chest does something inconvenient like ache. “I should… clean up p>
“There’s a bath already drawn,” he says. “Fresh clothes on the chair p>
I grab the clothes and disappear into the adjoining washroom before I can think too hard about how well he knows my habits.
The bath water is still steaming when I sink into it. My muscles scream in protest, then slowly give up. Dirt clouds the water almost immediately. Blood tinges it faintly pink.
I scrub until my skin stings. I still haven’t come with any truths regarding dad’s death. This is what I came
here for.
When I finally step out, my hair hangs heavy and wet down my back. I wrap it in a towel, tug on the clothes, and pad back into the room barefoot.
Alaric isn’t by the door anymore.
He’s standing near the far wall.
In front of another canvas.
He’s so still it’s unsettling. Like if I say his name, he might shatter.
I follow his line of sight.
The painting is unfinished. A boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, holding a fistful of daisies. His face isn’t fully formed–just soft lines, suggestion more than detail. The background is empty, like I never decided where to put him.
Alaric speaks without looking at me. “Is this Wade p>
The way he says it is careful. Neutral. Like he already knows the answer but needs to hear it anyway,
“No,” I say immediately.
He turns then, searching my face.
“It’s just… a boy,” I add. “From my memories p>
“Memories,” he repeats.
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Chapter 76
youchare
Something tightens in his posture.
“They come in pieces,” I say, shrugging one shoulder. “Not in order. Sometimes it’s just a sound. Or a smell, Faces without names. Moments without endings p>
I hate how small my voice sounds.
Alaric steps closer to the painting. He lifts his hand, fingers hovering near the edge of the canvas, but he doesn’t touch the paint.
Recognition flickers across his face before he schools it away. He doesn’t say anything.
That’s when it hits.
Sharp. Sudden. Like someone shoved a spike through my skull.
I gasp, hand flying to my temple. “Ah p>
The room tilts.
Grass. I see grass. Tall and green, brushing bare legs as I run. Laughter–mine, younger, unguarded. Another laugh joins it, deeper, older. A boy ahead of me, turning back with a grin too big for his face. Who…
“Sorin!” he calls.
My knees buckle.
I grab the back of a chair, knuckles white, breath coming too fast.
Alaric is in front of me instantly. “What’s wrong p>
I shake my head, but it only makes it worse.
The memory keeps going.
The woods this time. Trees whipping past as we run. He’s always a few steps ahead, waiting when I slow. He hands me flowers, crushed and bright in his fist.
“For you,” he says, proud.
My chest hurts. My vision blurs.
I groan, the sound ugly and unfiltered. “Make it stop p>
“Sorin.” His hands grip my shoulders, grounding, firm. “Look at me p>
But I can’t.
Because the boy turns.
And his face-
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It changes.
The blurred edges sharpen. Dark hair. Gold eyes.
Alaric.
I suck in a breath that feels like it rips my lungs open.
My fingers lift, trembling, and press to his check. Warm. Real.
“Have we…” My words slur together, heavy and wrong. “Have we met before p>
His eyes widen.
For the first time since I’ve known him, Alaric Hayes freezes.
The room goes dark.
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