Chapter 22

"We need to talk about Vivian."

Blake closed the door to his office and leaned against it. His usual calm expression was cracked around the edges—not panic, but close.

Aria sat in the chair across from his desk, a cold compress against her healing eye. Four days since the attack. The bruises were fading, but the damage went deeper than skin.

"She knows," Aria said flatly.

"How much?"

"Enough. She saw Orion's wolf nuzzle my neck. She put it together."

Blake rubbed his temples. "That's what I was afraid of."

"Has she told anyone?"

"Not yet. That's what worries me more." He started pacing. "Vivian's smart enough to know that information is more valuable than gossip. She won't spread this around. She'll use it."

"Use it how?"

"Leverage. Favors. Maybe a guaranteed spot in the final trial. Maybe something bigger." He stopped pacing and looked at her. "Or maybe she'll take it straight to Knox."

The name dropped like a stone in still water.

"Knox already suspects," Aria said. "He's been digging into my bloodline for weeks."

"Suspecting and knowing are two different things. If Vivian confirms that you're the kings' mate, Knox won't just suspect anymore. He'll act."

Aria pressed the compress harder against her eye. The cold helped her think.

"So what do we do?"

"Darius has a plan. He always has a plan." Blake paused. "But you're not going to like it."

"Tell me anyway."

"He wants to give Vivian what she wants."

"Which is?"

"Attention. Status. The appearance of winning." Blake sat on the edge of his desk. "If we make Vivian feel like she's in control—like she's winning the competition and getting closer to the crown—she has less reason to use her leverage. We give her small victories. Let her feel powerful."

"You want me to lose to her."

"I want you to let her think she's winning while we figure out how to neutralize her permanently."

Every part of Aria rebelled against the idea. She'd spent her entire life being told to stay small, stay quiet, stay invisible. Losing on purpose felt like crawling back into the cage she'd just escaped from.

But Darius thought in chess moves. And sometimes you sacrificed a piece to protect the king.

Or in this case, two kings and a queen.

"Fine," she said. "But I won't throw trials. I'll play it smart. Pull back just enough to stay out of first place without looking suspicious."

Blake nodded. "That's exactly what Darius suggested you'd say."

"He knows me too well."

"He studies you. There's a difference." Blake's expression softened. "For what it's worth, Aria, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with any of this."

"Nobody should. But here we are."

She left his office and walked through the castle with her head up. The corridors were busy—competitors preparing for the next trial, servants carrying trays, guards patrolling with sharper eyes than usual since the "rogue wolf" incident.

Eyes followed her everywhere. She could feel them—curious, suspicious, pitying. The competitor who got attacked. The one who made the king shift. The white wolf with the mysterious past.

She was halfway to the training grounds when Vivian fell into step beside her.

"You look better," Vivian said brightly. "The swelling's gone down."

"Thanks."

"I've been thinking about our conversation the other night." Vivian's voice was light, casual, like they were discussing the weather. "And I've decided I don't want anything dramatic. No big revelations. No public scenes."

"What do you want?"

"Information, mostly. Updates. If the kings make decisions about the competition, I want to know before anyone else." Vivian examined her nails. "And I want your support in the next trial. Publicly. You stand with me, praise my performance, make people think we're allies."

"You want me to help you win."

Vivian smiled. That sharp, glass-edged smile. "I want insurance. You're connected to the kings in a way no one else is. I just want to make sure that connection benefits me too."

Aria kept walking. She felt sick. Not from the injuries. From the realization that Vivian wasn't going to blackmail her once and walk away. She was going to embed herself. Attach like a parasite and feed.

"And if I say no?" Aria asked.

"Then the court hears a very interesting story about a white wolf and two kings who can't keep their hands off her."

They walked in silence for a few steps.

"Fine," Aria said. "But you stay away from my friends. You don't touch Luna. You don't talk to Cade. And you keep your father out of it."

Something flickered in Vivian's eyes at the mention of Knox. Nervousness? Fear? It was gone too fast to read.

"Deal," Vivian said. She stuck out her hand.

Aria shook it. Vivian's grip was cold.

"This is going to be fun," Vivian said.

She walked away, humming to herself.

Aria stood in the corridor and counted to ten. Then twenty. Then fifty.

Fun. Vivian thought this was fun.

That night, in the passage between her room and Darius's study, Aria sat on the cold stone floor and cried for the first time since arriving at the castle. Not from pain. Not from fear.

From exhaustion. Every direction she turned, there was another threat. Another person trying to use her, control her, break her.

Her father. Knox. Vivian. The curse itself.

She was twenty-three years old, and she felt like she'd been fighting for a hundred years.

The passage panel opened. Orion crouched beside her, his face soft with concern.

"Hey," he said. "Blake told me you'd be here."

"I'm fine."

"You're crying on the floor of a secret passage. That's not fine." He sat down beside her, his back against the wall. "Talk to me."

"There's nothing to say. Vivian has leverage. Knox is circling. My father is—" She stopped. Pressed her palms against her eyes.

"Your father is a dead man walking," Orion said calmly. "He just doesn't know it yet."

"Orion."

"I mean it. I've been patient. I've been diplomatic. But the next time that man puts his hands on you will be the last time he puts his hands on anything."

She leaned against his shoulder. He was warm, as always. Like sitting next to a bonfire.

"The Trial of Heart starts tomorrow," she said.

"I know."

"Darius wants me to hold back. Stay out of first."

"I know that too." Orion's arm came around her. "And I hate it. You deserve first place. You deserve to stand up there and prove every person who ever doubted you wrong."

"Deserve and strategy don't always line up."

"Which is why Darius handles the plans and I handle the violence." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You're going to be okay, Aria. We're going to get through this."

She wanted to believe him. She really did.

But somewhere in the castle, Vivian was writing in a journal. Names. Dates. Details. Everything she'd observed, everything she suspected, neatly organized and ready to deploy.

Cade found her in the corridor the next morning, looking like he hadn't slept either.

"Your father was asking about you last night," he said. "He came to my room. Wanted to know where they moved you."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I didn't know. Which was true at the time." He fell into step beside her. "Aria, he was different. Not angry. Calm. Too calm. Like he'd made a decision about something and was just waiting to execute it."

That scared her more than the anger. Angry Alpha Blackwood was predictable. Calm Alpha Blackwood was calculating.

"Stay away from him," she said.

"I can handle your father."

"Nobody handles him. You just survive him." She paused. "Cade, I need you to do something for me."

"Name it."

"Keep watching the perimeter. Especially the service entrance near the kitchens. Knox has been using it to meet with people outside the castle."

Cade studied her face. He wanted to ask more—she could see the questions stacking up behind his eyes. But he swallowed them.

"I'll watch it. Every night if I have to."

"Thank you."

He walked away, and Aria stood alone in the corridor with the weight of a dozen threats pressing down on her shoulders.

Vivian wanted leverage. Knox wanted her blood. Her father wanted her broken. And somewhere beyond the castle walls, gray-cloaked figures with black eyes wanted to bring a dead witch back to life.

And in his guest quarters, Knox sat across from a gray-cloaked figure, speaking in whispers about blood moons and sacred circles and a girl whose death—or capture—would change everything.

The walls were closing in.

And Aria was running out of room to breathe.