Chapter 11

Elouera

I felt trapped inside my own skin.

The heavy velvet curtains in my bedchamber were pulled shut, leaving the room dark and silent. But even that couldn't block out the agony tearing through my veins.

The suppressants I had taken at dawn were losing their battle against the remnants of Archduke Holden’s crimson accelerant. The two substances were fighting inside me, leaving me completely helpless on my mattress.

My sheets were soaked with cold, sour sweat. Every muscle in my body tightened and cramped without warning. The pain was so intense that my jaw locked, and my teeth ground together.

I couldn't move. I couldn't even manage the strength to reach the basin of water resting on the bedside table just three feet away.

Breathe, I begged myself, staring blankly up at the dark canopy of the bed. Just breathe.

But breathing was its own kind of torture.

Every breath made my fractured rib press against the tight, sweat soaked linen wrapped around my chest, sending sharp waves of pain down my spine.

The vinegar I had poured over myself at the banquet had been scrubbed from my skin, yet I still felt filthy.

Exposed.

I was cornered.

I had been waiting for the heavy tread of the Imperial Guards for the last twelve hours. I had been waiting for Commander Jace Corowa to march into my quarters, present the throwing knife to the Empress, and drag me to the executioner’s block. He knew I was the Weaver. He had seen my reflexes. He had felt my pulse perfectly steady under the weight of falling iron.

But Jace hadn't turned me in. He had simply lowered the poisoned blade from my throat, his storm grey eyes unreadable in the dim corridor, and walked away into the shadows.

His silence was a psychological torture worse than the physical pain. Jace was a predator playing with his food, holding the absolute power of life and death over my head, waiting for the perfect moment to kill me. And Stirling, Stirling was currently realizing that the chess game we played was a mocked up map of his slaughtered garrison.

I closed my eyes, a pathetic, broken whimper tearing its way out of my raw throat. I was entirely out of time, and my body had completely failed me. The faint, undeniable scent of wild honey and rain began to seep through my pores again, thick and heavy in the stagnant air of the bedroom.

The sound of rubber wheels squeaking against the stone corridor made my heart stop.

The door to my chambers, still cracked and damaged from Stirling’s violent entrance the night before, creaked open.

A warm, flickering golden light spilled across the cold stone floor, cutting through the darkness of my room. The scent of dried chamomile, old parchment, and burning cedarwood drifted in.

I couldn't suppress the violent, full body shudder of pure revulsion that ripped through me.

Archduke Holden wheeled himself into the room, a single oil lantern resting on his lap.

He closed the ruined door as best he could, sealing us in. The warm, paternal smile on his face was flawless. It was the exact same gentle, concerned expression he had worn for eight years. The face of the only father I had ever known. The man who had stroked my hair while slipping a biological bomb down my throat.

"Elian? Are you awake, my boy?" Holden whispered, his low baritone voice thick with a perfectly manufactured, helpless worry.

He wheeled his chair closer to the bed, setting the lantern down on the nightstand. The light washed over my pale, sweat slicked face.

I had to play along. I was too weak to run and too broken to fight. If Holden realized I knew what he was doing, he would stop pretending. And if he stopped pretending, I wouldn’t make it through the night.

I forced my eyes open, letting my gaze turn hazy with fever. Slowly, I turned my head against the damp pillow and let out a rough, painful breath.

"Uncle," I rasped, my voice barely a cracked whisper. "It burns."

Holden’s expression softened with pity. He reached out and gently brushed the damp hair away from my forehead with his warm, dry fingers.

I had to use every bit of control I had to keep from pulling away. The moment his fingers touched my skin, I felt a shiver of disgust crawl through me.

"I know, little bird," Holden murmured, his thumb stroking my temple. "I know it hurts. You terrified me the other night in my study. You had a terrible reaction to the new medication. You were completely delirious. I called for the guards, but you ran into the halls before I could stop you. Where did you go?"

The lie was so smooth, so perfectly delivered, it made my stomach violently turn.

"I... I don't know," I lied, letting my voice shake, leaning into the role of the pathetic, broken prince. "The dark. I hid in the dark until the fire stopped. But it came back, Uncle Holden. The fever came back."

"Your body is fighting the suppressants, Elian. Omega biology is trying to assert itself." Holden’s hand slid down from my forehead, resting heavily on my shoulder. His green eyes darkened with a cold, terrifying sincerity beneath the mask of concern. "If you do not get this under control, the Empress will smell you. Callan will smell you. They will tear you apart."

You want them to, I screamed in my mind. You want them to smell me. You want the scandal to break Matilda's empire.

"Please," I whimpered aloud, letting a single, genuine tear of pain slip down my cheek. "Help me."

Holden reached into the deep pocket of his woolen blanket. He pulled out a small, heavy silver tin. He popped the lid open with his thumb.

Inside, resting on a bed of dark velvet, was a single pitch black pill. It looked nothing like the crimson accelerant or the chalky white suppressants I was used to. This one was dark, glossy, and strangely heavy looking. Just staring at it sent an uneasy feeling through me. It looked dangerous.

“This is the last resort,” Holden said quietly, his voice suddenly serious.

He picked up the black pill between his thumb and forefinger.

“It’s much stronger than the others. It will completely block the connection between your nervous system and your biological markers, Elian. You’ll be unconscious for twenty-four hours. But when you wake up, the heat will be gone for good.”

He was lying. I knew it with every fiber of my being.

It wasn't a blockade. It was the final trigger. If I swallowed that black pill, the wild honey scent wouldn't just leak out it would explode, flooding the entire wing of the palace. I would be a mindless, feral Omega in the middle of a fortress filled with dominant, bloodthirsty Alphas.

Holden poured a glass of water from the basin. He leaned forward, pressing the oily black pill directly into my trembling palm.

"Take it," Holden commanded, his voice suddenly losing a fraction of its warmth, the sharp edge of an order bleeding through. "Swallow it now, Elian. Let me see you take it."

My hand shook so violently the pill rattled against my skin. I looked at the glass of water in his hand, then up into his kind, monstrous green eyes.

I had no choice. If I refused, he would call the Royal Physician right now.

I lifted my shaking hand to my mouth and slipped the black pill past my lips, pushing it into the side of my cheek, behind my back teeth. I took the glass of water from his hand and drank quickly, swallowing loudly. I even let some of the water run down my chin, making sure I looked desperate enough to fool him.

I handed the glass back, resting my head heavily onto the pillow with a ragged sigh.

Holden smiled. A genuine, terrifying smile of absolute victory.

"Rest now, my brave boy," he whispered, patting my shoulder one last time. "The pain will be over very soon."

He took his lantern, backed his wheelchair up, and quietly rolled out of the bedroom, pulling the splintered door shut behind him.

I laid my head on the mattress, gasping for air, clutching the deadly pill in my sweaty palm. I was entirely alone. I had survived his trap.

"You missed a spot."

The voice came from the darkest corner of the room, directly behind the heavy velvet curtains of my bed.

My blood instantly turned to ice. My heart stopped dead in my chest.

A massive, imposing shadow detached itself from the pitch black corner. The faint moonlight filtering through the cracked window caught the edge of a curved hunting blade.

Commander Jace Corowa stepped up to the edge of the mattress.

He didn’t smell like ozone or that overwhelming scent of dominance. He had masked himself completely.

He’d been in my room the whole time.

He’d watched Holden give me the pill. He’d watched me pretend to swallow it.

Jace reached out and gripped my trembling jaw with his leather covered fingers. He tilted my face toward him, his storm grey eyes fixed on mine. Something dark and frightening had settled in his expression, like he had just realized something he wished he hadn’t.

“He’s not trying to cure you, Elian,” Jace rasped, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from my burning cheek. His eyes dropped to the black pill clenched in my fist. “He’s trying to trigger your heat.”