Chapter 017. First Spark

“…eyes glowed?"

Vaelen’s answer was a short, rough, "Yes."

Then the world cleaved into two as her senses snapped.

When she returned to consciousness, mere minutes had passed.

“She's going to be alright. Luckily the toxin managed not to harm her," a gruff voice announced from somewhere in the fog of Saeris’s consciousness.

Her eyelids fluttered but refused to open fully, heavy as iron gates. Damn it. Every breath felt like sandpaper against her throat. She’d survived that…somehow.

Saeris forced her eyes open. The ceiling above her was unfamiliar; dark bronze beams crossing a web of layout she couldn't fully make out.

Not the room she was given.

A freckled man with glasses perched on his nose stood beside the bed. Not Thorold like she’d heard before, or maybe thought to have heard, someone younger, his apprentice, she recalled vaguely.

"Had she inhaled more, she would've been dead by now. Still, if not examined closely, it can be mistaken for heart failure or a severe trauma attack, making it appear as a natural death. It's likely whoever did this intended to conceal the true cause of death."

Saeris tried to speak then and regretted it immediately.

Still, she forced herself to sit up despite the room tilting dangerously. “Shit.”

A muscle feathered in Vaelen’s jaw.

"You may leave us," he told the medic.

He was gone afterward.

Vaelen offered her water and waited.

"How do you feel?"

Saeris shoved herself against the pillows, ignoring the scream of her bones. If she had Sirius, she would’ve healed quicker than this. Pathetic really.

"Like I’ve been hit by a bull," she managed. "What happened after—"

"I'm sorry."

Certain she'd misheard. "Mn~what?"

His eyes met hers, golden and fierce and somehow... bare, stripped of all the armor he usually wore. “I’m sorry.”

She didn't know what to say to that…but she understood. This had happened because of him, because she was tied to him now, and someone, or several someones, wanted her dead for it. Hell, she’d been so, so terrified then, still was now even as she looked at those eyes, but she tried—tried not to show it.

Before she could find anything to say, Vaelen turned, swearing under his breath.

"Rest."

Then he went through the door.

His voice echoed back down the corridor a heartbeat later, ordering something of Samkiel.

Saeris was alone for a few minutes…then an hour…then she shoved the covers aside. Maybe it was madness, maybe it was pride, but she would not lie here like a damsel waiting to be saved. She'd played that role once before.

A short blonde-haired guard was at the door when she came out which nearly startled her. The male only bowed and fell into step behind her as she made her way toward what she could only assume was the throne room.

She felt like she’d gone ten rounds with a mountain, lost, and then been dragged back to life by sheer spite.

The doors of the throne room stood open. Inside, an assembly despite the early hour, gathered in a tense semicircle before a raised dais. And upon that dais…

A tall throne of dark bronze.

From her distance, it was hard to make out the exact expression on Vaelen’s face… like something feral watching from behind golden eyes. Gone was the mask she had come to know. In its place was something wild and ancient and ruthless, that it’d made her halt where she stood.

She noticed too late that she was shaking.

What kind of beast was he?

"If you’re squeamish,” a voice murmured beside her, “now’s the time to leave.”

Saeris nearly leaped out of her skin, turning to find Samkiel leaning against the wall beside her, arms crossed over his chest, a glint in his green eyes that didn’t quite reach mischief.

If not for the cold breath of something ancient and wrong coiling from the throne room, she might’ve let herself dwell on what she’d seen in the dining hall. Might’ve flushed. Might’ve looked away.

“A regular werewolf would’ve been on their knees by now,” Samkiel said quietly. “At the amount he’s letting slip. And that’s barely a taste of what lives inside him.”

She didn’t mean to ask, truly, she didn’t, but the question broke free anyway, low and quiet: “What lives inside him?”

He came off like Kaan when he said, “That, I can’t tell you.”

No arrogance or teasing, just fact. And that frightened her more than if he’d laughed in her face.

‘You see his bite…’

‘He’s feared for his mind as much as his claws and the thing inside him.’

Saeris turned back to the throne, to Vaelen. The frown on his face was somewhat calm. In one word — low and cold — he said,

"Who?"

The council stiffened visibly.

It was Lord Farrow who found his voice first. "M-my king, forgive me but… we have no idea what you're asking."

Vaelen’s eyes were not kind.

"No?" He drawled. "Since my council seems to have collectively lost the ability to comprehend simple language…" He leaned forward slightly, "perhaps I should incentivize you a little.”

“Lubbow,” Vaelen called, idly.

A man Saeris hadn't seen before stepped forward from his position near the wall. A guard. "Yes, my King?"

"Gather your men. Visit the homes of everyone here." A pause. "Arrest everyone you find there."

The command was soft, barely above a whisper, and yet the room exploded.

“Your Majesty—”

“Please, reconsider—”

“You cannot do this—this is madness!”

Can he even do that? Flynn certainly never could have wielded that sort of power, and he was power in her pack. Here, Vaelen didn’t bother to hide it, didn’t bother to soften the terrible, beautiful authority that bled from him.

"Can't I?"

A few recoiled.

“Your Majesty," Chancellor Vexar dared step forward, hands raised placatingly. "We understand you feel undermined, but surely there must be a more... diplomatic approach."

"So you do understand what I'm asking?" Vaelen’s brow arched. "How interesting that you suddenly comprehend when I asked: who?"

The room fell silent again.

"Allow me to be perfectly clear.” His eyes were twin golden flames when he said, "This is the final opportunity, explain yourselves to me, to this council... or face consequences that will make execution seem merciful."

Saeris wanted to be there, to be— “Do you think whoever was behind it will speak?”

“They’d rather choose death. I would.” Saeriss spared him a glance. "It’s the first time something like this has happened in years,” Samkiel added. Mercifully, she’d stopped shaking.

“What do you mean?”

Samkiel exhaled through his nose. “His private wing doesn’t need guards anymore. Not these days. But once, assassination attempts were an almost daily affair,” he said, recapping. “Until he became king while still a teenager, and made an example of them all."

"He hasn’t had to repeat himself since,” Samkiel added.

The throne room was suffocating with fear.

Then — from somewhere in the court — Mor said, "And what if none of us were behind it?" Voice all honeyed defiance. "You'll still order us killed? Lock us in a room while you set the building on fire?"

There was no mistaking the barb.

No mistaking who it was aimed at.

“Be quiet, Morgana,” Vaelen growled, the name like a blade between his teeth. “You’re on thin ice.”

She didn't obey.

"Right. Because it’s so very obvious one of us here must have done it.”

Maybe she knew Vaelen wouldn’t kill her, not for speaking, at least. “I mean surely, among your many, many enemies elsewhere in the realm, no, it must be us, your trusted council. A week ago, no one would have dared pull an act like this. But ever since you brought her in..."

Her.

Saeris flinched inwardly.

Oh, how she hated these people. Hated the poisonous way they twisted everything … like she was a disease, a crown-shaped infection rotting the roots of this court.

A whisper, tempting and low beside her. “Go on. You know you want to.”

And heavens help her — she did.

Before she could second-guess herself, Saeris stepped forward.

Heads turned.

She walked with measured steps, head held high, through the stunned crowd, ignoring the stares, the shocks. Maybe she should’ve thought things through, given the fact that she was still in a thin slip of a nightdress, of all things.

What a sight she must be.

Five steps led to the throne. She climbed them steadily, aware of every eye in the room following her progress, and came to stand near Vaelen, not caring what court law she might be breaking in doing so.

She didn't dare glance at him, because if she did, if she caught the fire she knew was waiting in his eyes…she might lose her nerve entirely.

‘What are you doing?’

His voice tore straight through her mind, low, rough—and wholly unexpected.

Saeris faltered for half a second. A mind link?

‘Speaking for myself,’ she sent back, cool and clipped. She didn’t look at him as she added, steady and sure, ‘Your way makes me look weak.’

However he’d broken into her head, whatever it meant, wasn’t something she could afford to dwell on now. If he chose to throw her from the dais for it... so be it. At least the fall would be his too.

“Look at her,” Lord Farrow goaded, lifting a jeweled hand. “She’s upright and well. Surely, we aren’t expected to mourn every sniffle as a tragedy, are we?”

A few murmurs of agreement stirred — soft and careful.

Saeris moved forward, putting herself between Vaelen and his court. She felt rather than saw him tense behind her, felt the room tilt, the world hold its breath.

He didn’t stop her.

"That," Saeris said, voice ragged but clear, "is because one of you did more than dream of killing me. You tried." She let her gaze travel over each face, searching for guilt, for fear, for anything that might betray the culprit. Or someone to call her shut. "For whatever reason, I don't care. But I stand here to tell you that I’m not some simpering court pet. Or your pack’s fragile girl. I am your King’s Mate. And I will not be dismissed, nor will the matter concerning me.”

A guard rushed in, heading straight for Lubbow.

“Call me what you like. It doesn’t change who I am or what I’ll become.”