Chapter 019. A Pull

"P–please…” Lord Cassius’s voice cracked, rasping against a throat gone dry. “I beg you, Lady Saeris, please—have mercy. I didn’t know, by the Goddess, I didn’t know!”

His hands, jeweled with many rings pressed flat against the marble as he called to her, begged, for his life was on the line.

“I will ensure—on my life—that such a thing never…never happens again!…”

His words dissolved into pitiful stutters, his forehead pressed to the floor, the back of his cloth darkening with sweat. Every eye in the court was watching, as if his redemption rested solely on how deeply he could bow.

Saeris stared down at him.

Once, she might’ve felt something for his kind of groveling, might’ve believed the tone of his voice, the cracks in it, but not now, not when she could see it so clearly. Even without Sirius’ instincts to guide her, she could catch the truth; this was fear disguised as virtue.

“…spare me your pity—just let me atone—”

Her fingers twitched at her sides.

"Stop."

Her voice was low, but it sliced through his begging.

Cassius froze. His head was still bowed, shoulders shaking.

"You’re not kneeling out of remorse,” she said. “You’re kneeling because he commanded you, there’s a difference. One comes from the heart, the other... from fear."

“No—no, my lady, please,” he rasped, lifting his head only slightly, eyes wild with desperation. “That’s not—my loyalty—”

“Do you deny it?”

The words were ice, her tone turning glacial.

“Do you deny you’re only asking for mercy now because the king is watching?”

Cassius’s mouth parted and his Adam’s apple bobbed.

A low snicker hummed from Vaelen’s throne, lazy and amused. He sat back with his long legs crossed, chin tilted into the curve of his right hand. He tapped the corner of his mouth with his index finger. The gesture was so casual, so infuriatingly elegant, it made Cassius shrink lower into the marble.

“She makes a fine argument, Cassius,” Vaelen murmured, voice laced with the kind of humor that sent chills. “So careful, you may drown in her mercy yet.”

Cassius bowed his head fully again, resting his temple against the floor like a man defeated.

Vaelen uncrossed his legs.

When he rose from the throne, the air shifted. His presence filled the room like a gathering storm. Still, Saeris didn’t step back. Not when his fingers brushed hers in passing. Not when the warmth of him lingered at her side longer than it should have. And now, despite everything… she felt it.

That pull.

Something in him called to her, just like that first time in the Greenvale woods, but stronger now. That thing roused her, as if she’d been asleep all this time, slumbering inside her own skin, and he’d shattered through it.

She wanted to stay by his side longer…beside the man who didn't deny her, didn't hide her—

‘Do you want me to let him go?’ Vaelen said into that space in her head.

‘Yes.’

She wasn't ready to watch more blood and bone breaking.

“Fortunately for you.” His gaze pinned Cassius. “My mate has chosen mercy, and so, for now, Lord Cassius will be spared. But let me make something exquisitely clear—” his voice dropped, venom-smooth, “—there will not be another second chance. She is off limits, mine. So before anyone else gets any clever ideas and charges headlong into their own certain ruin, I… your king, your Sire, highly recommend employing just a little bit of common sense.”

He paused.

“You’re dismissed.”

The court obeyed without hesitation, heads bowed, robes rustling as they slipped out one by one.

Vaelen said to no one in particular, “Don’t leave him there.”

As if finally allowed to act, a male approached Lord Farrow and lifted him off the ground. The noble had either collapsed from pain or passed out entirely. As he was carried to the exit, Saeris noticed the way Samkiel met the male’s eyes, also catching the resemblance in their hair tone.

Samkiel snickered.

The younger male’s jaw clenched into a quiet snarl.

Only Cassius remained, still crouched like a dog on the cold floor.

Samkiel stepped forward at last.

His boots whispered against the marble as he stopped just short of Cassius.

Vaelen hadn’t moved from where he stood, still a dark figure cut in gold and steel. He didn’t glance at Samkiel at first, only stared past him, at the man still kneeling. Still trembling.

“Cassius.”

The noble flinched.

“Y–Yes, Your Majesty?”

And then, so calmly it could have been mistaken for mercy—

“You may leave.”

The words hung there for a moment.

Then: “T–thank you,” Cassius stuttered, deeply relieved. “Thank you, my king… Thank Lady Saeris…”

But his eyes never rose to meet hers. Not once. He crawled backward before gathering his feet beneath him, nearly tripping in his rush to escape through the open doors.

Vaelen turned to Samkiel at last. “You know what needs to be done.”

Samkiel inclined his head. “Of course.” A smile.

And something in his voice made her spine straighten. He seemed excited.

He left after that, with Lubbow in tow.

“I see now,” Vaelen said slowly, “there are many sides to you.”

The comment, almost patronizing, earned a snort from her. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”

“It is.”

He stepped closer—close enough that she could see the way the lamplight softened the planes of his face. And then, a lazy smirk. “Still… you were supposed to be in my bed.”

Her heart kicked against her ribs. “I was supposed to be in a lot of places.” Her gaze flicked to the throne, then away. “But I’d rather witness this myself.”

“Would you like to sit?”

She studied it. That cold, unyielding seat of power.

“No,” she said at last. “I’d rather stand on the edge than fall into whatever that throne promises.”

Vaelen chuckled. “Wise.”

Except she’d been turning those words in her head, chasing the sound of it, the weight of it, his voice inside her, a presence where there should’ve been none. It shouldn’t have been possible, not unless—no, not even if he was Alpha. Not unless he was hers.

In the end, she said, quiet and careful, “What was that?”

Vaelen only arched a brow.

She frowned. “Earlier. You… spoke in my head. You heard me.” The moment dragged. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

Not unless they were bonded.

Not unless he was—

Vaelen’s mouth tilted slightly. “I didn't hear you.”

He let the pause sit there, long enough to make her wonder if that was all he’d say. Then, “Lycans are stronger than wolves, not just physically, but mentally and some like myself can pass information or words to others whenever we desire.”

Still— “So you can… read minds?” she asked, careful now, as if the answer might change everything. As if the floor beneath her would split wide if he said yes.

He clicked his tongue. “No. Not yours and not anyone’s. Unless they speak back, you didn’t.”

Except she wasn’t sure how. She did think it, though.

“Then how did you know what I said?”

“I read your face.”

She didn't ask what that meant, how easily it had been for him.

Saeris looked away. Strangely hurt.

There were other things she wanted to ask, should have … like that power that had rolled out of him when he’d asked Lord Cassius to kneel. For a moment, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from comparing: Flynn never had such skill, never used it, nor had such been spoken of his father.

She should have asked about that power. Instead, “The killer’s sender could be anyone. Why go after Lord Cassius alone?”

“You don't think he sent the assassin?”

“I don’t know.” And she meant it. “Maybe. Hell, maybe any of them could’ve. I just don’t see why you singled him out. Is it truly because he runs the court?”

A low hum answered her. “Perhaps. You may even be right.” He shrugged, languid as ever. “But I know my court. The others would never insult me with something so… amateur.”

Was that amateur?

“Cassius is loyal, but unimaginative. A follower. If there’s a group behind this, he’s not the mind behind it. But he’s a thread and I intend to follow it, that’s why he still breathes.”

She tried not to show her disappointment in those words. “So… not because of my word?”

Foolish. She knew it the moment the words left her lips.

Vaelen’s smile was slow, deliberate, wicked in the kind of way that made her hate her own heartbeat. “No.” And then, “But if you’d like… I could make him your first kill.”

She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scream or punch him. But she said nothing, just turned on her heel and headed down the dais, the thin silk of her nightdress fluttering around her legs, until his voice slid after her, low and dangerous,

“That’s what you wore to my throne room?”

Saeris stopped. Stupidly. Stupid, stupid.

And turned.

The silk wasn’t sheer, but it was thin. The kind of soft that clung in the wrong light. The kind that probably gave him ideas.

Mother save her.

Vaelen’s gaze was utterly unapologetic.

She didn’t have time to feel embarrassed. She spun on her heel and strode out, praying none of the nobles still lingered.

And praying, more than anything, that he hadn’t seen the flush creeping up her neck.