HE KNOWS

Chapter 2: He Knows

 Lyra

I barely made it back to my chambers after the heat spike.

The footsteps that stopped behind me never came closer. Whoever it was turned away. I still do not know if that was mercy or calculation. My hands shook so hard while I forced another emergency dose down my throat that I nearly dropped the vial. The burn was worse this time. It sat under my skin like a second pulse, restless and wrong. By the time the second bell rang, I had cleaned the sweat from my face, rewrapped the bindings tighter than safety allowed, and forced the limp back into my walk. The performance had to hold. It always had to hold.

The morning council chamber smelled of polished stone, hot metal, and too many alphas in one closed space. I took my usual seat at the far end of the long table, shoulders slightly curved, eyes lowered. The “Second Prince” was expected to be present and silent. I gave them exactly that.

Kaelan stood at the head of the table like he had been carved from the same cold marble as the walls. Raven hair, perfect. Glacier eyes already cutting through the first proposal of the day. A minor house had dared to request expanded mining rights along the eastern ridge. He dismantled it piece by piece without raising his voice. Every word was precise, almost gentle in its cruelty. The representative from the rival house went pale, then red, then silent. No one interrupted. No one ever interrupted when Kaelan spoke like that.

I watched him from under my lashes and felt the old twist in my chest. Hatred, yes. Clean and useful. But also the sharper awareness of how completely he commanded the room without effort. He did not look at me once. That was deliberate. He had perfected the art of erasing me in public.

Across the table, Ashford lounged in his chair as if the entire council existed for his entertainment. Golden-bronze skin still carrying the sun from the last desert run, sandy hair slightly disordered, hazel eyes bright with malicious amusement. When the rival house finally withdrew their proposal in defeat, Ashford’s voice cut across the quiet.

“At least someone here knows how to finish a fight,” he said, loud enough for the whole table. Then his gaze slid to me, slow and pointed. “Unlike our delicate spare. Tell me, little prince, do you even remember what the eastern ridge looks like, or has the heat finally cooked whatever brains you had left?”

A few soft laughs rippled. I kept my face empty. Inside, something ugly and tired flared. I had memorised every supply route across that ridge two years ago. I knew which wells were poisoned and which syndicates paid which officers. None of that showed on my face. I only let my shoulders hunch a fraction more, the picture of a sickly Beta who could not even defend himself with words.

Ashford’s smile widened. He enjoyed this. He always had. The forced marriage hanging over him made him meaner, and I was the safest target in the room.

The doors at the far end opened. Ren entered late, still carrying the red dust of the outback on his boots and the faint scent of sun-heated metal and gun oil. Tan skin marked with the pale ghosts of old scars, dark-chocolate hair tousled from the ride, slate-grey eyes that swept the chamber once and settled on me for half a second too long. No pity. Not quite suspicious. Something assessing and quiet that made the back of my neck prickle. He took his place without apology, posture straight, expression unreadable. When Ashford opened his mouth again, Ren’s jaw tightened just enough to notice if you were watching for it. He said nothing. He never did in these rooms. But the silence felt heavier than usual.

I filed every reaction away as I always did. Kaelan’s deliberate blindness. Ashford’s pointed cruelty. Ren’s too-long look and the tension in his jaw. Information was the only power I was allowed to keep.

The council dragged on. My skin felt too tight. The emergency dose was already thinning. A low, warning heat pulsed behind my sternum each time an alpha shifted or spoke too close. I kept my breathing shallow and my eyes on the polished surface of the table. One crack. One slip of scent. Everything would end.

When the session finally closed, Kaelan dismissed the room with a single nod. People scattered. Ashford lingered just long enough to murmur, “Try not to faint on the way out, spare,” before sauntering off. Ren left without a word, but I felt the weight of his attention like a hand between my shoulder blades until the doors shut behind him.

I stayed seated an extra minute, letting the chamber empty, pretending the effort of standing was too much. My fingers found the inner seam of my sleeve where the note from yesterday still sat. The physician was asking questions. The next shipment might not come. The second bell had already passed, and I had not made the meeting.

I rose slowly, practiced my limp settling into place, and stepped into the corridor.

A servant I did not recognise waited near the turn toward the medical wing. Young. Nervous. He bowed too quickly and pressed a second folded scrap into my hand before vanishing into the flow of bodies.

I did not open it until I reached the narrow stairwell that led down toward the lower archives. Two words only, written in the same rough hand. He knows."

The heat under my skin spiked so hard my vision narrowed. Somewhere above me, boots that sounded too much like Kaelan’s paused on the landing.