Chapter 10

Commander Jace Corowa

I have tracked ruthless warlords through blinding sandstorms and hunted feral assassins across the bleeding edge of the Outback. I know how a killer breathes. I know how a liar walks.

But the most dangerous puzzle I had ever encountered was currently on the limestone wall of the western corridor, shaking like a beaten dog.

I stood on the upper level, completely concealed by the shadows, watching Prince Elian.

Ten minutes ago, I was standing outside the prince’s chambers. I heard Duke Vance break through the heavy oak door. Then came the raw, furious sound of Stirling’s voice. I pulled out my hunting blade, ready to put the Duke in the ground if I had to. He was my only lead to the shadow broker, and I wasn’t about to let him die before I got answers.

But I didn’t have to. A breathless royal messenger showed up and pulled Stirling away to deal with the ashes of his uncle's northern armory. As soon as the Duke turned his back, Elian took his chance and slipped out through the servants’ exit.

Now, looking down at the prince, my jaw tightened.

Elian walked with that same pathetic slump. His shoulders were hunched, his steps uneven, and his head hung low. He looked weak enough to fool anyone.

But I knew better.

Three nights ago, I had cornered him in the freezing catacombs. I had smelled the wild honey and rain on his skin. There was no mistaking it.He was an Omega.

I knew the truth. Or, at least half of it.

Down below, the heavy kitchen doors opened, and a young scullery boy, barely twelve, hurried out with a tall stack of iron candelabras in his arms. The pile was far too heavy for him, blocking most of his view as he struggled to carry it.

He was moving too fast, and Elian was right in his way. I leaned over the stone railing, watching closely. The boy’s worn leather shoe caught on a raised stone. He stumbled forward, and the heavy stack of iron candelabras began to tip with him.

For one terrifying second, it looked like the whole thing was going to fall straight onto his head.The reaction I expected from Elian was a terrified flinch. A scream. A scramble backward to avoid the crushing metal.

Instead, for a fraction of a second, the weak prince vanished.

Elian didn’t even flinch.

His feet moved apart as he dropped into a steady stance. One hand shot out and caught the falling iron base before it could hit the boy. At the same time, his other hand grabbed the boy by the collar and pulled him out of the way.

It was the absolute, ingrained muscle memory of an apex predator. The martial grace of a ghost.

I stopped breathing. My grip on the stone railing shattered a piece of the limestone.

Down in the corridor, Elian blinked. The raw, panicked realization of what he had just done hit him.

The mask slammed violently back into place.

Elian instantly dropped the candelabras. The heavy iron crashed against the stone floor with a deafening, metallic shriek. Elian threw his hands over his face, stumbling backward, letting his knees give out until he hit the floor. He curled into a tight, trembling ball, letting out a pathetic, high pitched whimper.

"Forgive me, Your Highness!" the terrified boy sobbed, dropping to his knees to gather the heavy iron.

I didn't wait. I took the stone steps of the mezzanine two at a time.

My boots hit the corridor floor with a heavy, deliberate thud. The heavy, crackling scent of ozone and incoming rain flooded the narrow hallway, thick with an Alpha dominance that demanded complete submission.

The scullery boy froze, looking up at me with wide eyes.

"Leave it," I ordered, my voice a low, rough rasp that scraped against the stone walls. "Get out."

The boy didn't hesitate. He scrambled up and bolted back through the kitchen doors.

I turned my attention to the trembling figure on the floor. Elian was pressing his back hard against the wall, his arms still wrapped protectively over his head, shivering violently. I stepped into his space, my combat boots stopping bare inches from his drawn up knees.

"P..please," Elian stuttered, his voice cracking perfectly. "I was just startled. The loud noise"

I reached down, my large, gloved hands wrapping around his slender wrists. I didn't rip his arms away forcefully; I pulled them down with a slow, immovable strength, pinning his hands to his chest.

Elian gasped, his dark eyes widening as he looked up at me. His chest rose and fell beneath the tight bindings.

He reeked of cheap vinegar. He'd clearly used it to cover the wild honey scent I'd noticed in the catacombs. But up close, the vinegar couldn't hide everything. His pulse was racing, and I could see the fear in his eyes.

"You startle easily," I murmured, staring directly into his panicked eyes.

"I do, Commander. I am sorry."

I slowly slid my right hand down his forearm, my bare thumb pressing directly over the racing pulse point of his left wrist. The wrist that had just deadened eighty pounds of falling iron without a single tremor.

"You're a remarkable liar, Elian," I whispered, the slow, burning tension between us pulling tighter until the air practically hummed.

I reached down with my free hand and pulled a thin, black metal knife from the sheath strapped to my thigh. My eyes dropped to the blade.

I knew that knife.

It was the same one the Shadow Broker had thrown into the wall in the catacombs when he was protecting his lieutenant..

Elian’s breathing stopped completely.

I pressed the flat, cold edge of the poisoned blade against the soft, flushed skin of his jawline, forcing his chin up.

“You caught that iron with a broken rib and didn’t even flinch,” I rasped, leaning closer, my lips almost brushing his ear. “So tell me, Your Highness… why does the blade the Weaver dropped fit those calluses on your fingers so perfectly?”