Chapter 13

Elouera

Callan grabbed the edge of the cloth tied around my wrists. His icy blue eyes went wide when he finally understood what I really was. He was about to tear the cloth apart. He wanted to kill me right there on the mattress, which was already soaked with sweat.

But he never got the chance.

A shadow had detached itself from the velvet curtains with the absolute, silent lethality of a striking viper. Commander Jace Corowa hadn’t uttered a single word. He had simply driven the heavy brass pommel of his hunting blade directly into the vagus nerve at the base of Callan’s thick skull.

The Crown Prince had crumpled to the stone floor like a felled oak, entirely unconscious before his massive knees even hit the ground.

Jace hadn't looked at me. He hadn't offered a hand. He had simply grabbed Callan by the collar of his heavy military tunic, dragged his dead weight out into the corridor, and pulled the ruined door shut behind them.

I didn't wait to see if he was coming back.

My body was tearing itself apart, caught in the agonizing crossfire of Archduke Holden's poison and the failing suppressants, but survival was a far stronger instinct than pain. I stripped off the torn remnants of my silk shirt, wrapped a fresh, suffocating layer of linen over my bruised ribs, and pulled on my Weaver gear.

Now, two hours later, I was perched on the freezing stone ledge of the Imperial Aviary at the very top of the North Tower.

The wind howled through the open archways, carrying the bitter, biting chill of the midnight sea. It whipped my dark cloak around my legs, slicing right through the thin leather armor I wore. My hands were violently trembling, my knuckles white where I gripped the iron railing to keep my balance.

The aviary was the nervous system of Empress Matilda’s empire. Every secret, every deployment, every execution order passed through this drafty, bird shit stained tower before reaching the war room.

I was waiting for the midnight courier from the Northern Territories.

If Holden was trying to force my heat to destroy the Empress, and Jace held my life in the palm of his hand, I needed leverage. I needed something heavy enough to shift the balance of power before dawn.

A sharp, piercing shriek cut through the wind.

A massive imperial raven, its feathers dusted with frost and smelling of pine and dried blood, swooped through the central archway. It landed heavily on the brass roosting bar just ten feet away from me. Strapped to its thick leg was a sealed black cylinder stamped with the silver crest of the Empress.

I didn't hesitate. I slipped a piece of dried venison from my belt, offering it to the exhausted bird. As its razor sharp beak snapped the meat, my other hand swiftly unbuckled the cylinder.

I retreated into the deepest shadow of the aviary, putting my back against the freezing limestone wall. I twisted the cap off the cylinder and let the heavy parchment slide into my palm. I broke the silver wax seal with my thumb, my heart hammering a frantic, painful rhythm against my broken rib.

I unrolled it in the faint moonlight.

It wasn't a casualty report. It wasn't a troop movement.

It was a marriage contract.

My eyes scanned the elegant, sweeping calligraphy, my blood running completely cold.

...in exchange for the loyalty of the Iron Peaks infantry, and the absolute submission of the northern borders, Her Imperial Majesty agrees to the union of Crown Duke Stirling Vance to Duchess Vespera of the Adler House...

I stopped breathing. The parchment trembled in my grip, the words blurring together as the sheer, devastating gravity of the missive crashed into me.

Duchess Vespera. The most ruthless, bloodthirsty warlord in the northern territories. She commanded an army of fifty thousand brutal, hardened mercenaries who answered to no one but her.

My mother wasn't just trying to solidify her borders. She was trying to buy a private army to exterminate Jace Corowa and the Outback rebellion once and for all. And she was paying for it with Stirling.

A strange, sickening twist of emotion ripped through my stomach. It wasn't just fear for the rebellion. It was a sharp, burning ache that had absolutely nothing to do with politics.

Stirling.

The man who mocked me, who cornered me in the corridors, who suffocated me with his intoxicating scent of crushed cedar and woodsmoke. He was a tyrant. An arrogant, dangerous Alpha who enjoyed treating me like dirt beneath his expensive boots. I should have been thrilled. Marrying Vespera meant he would be shipped off to the freezing wastes of the north, entirely removed from the capital. I would never have to endure his predatory green eyes pinning me to a wall ever again.

So why did the thought of his hands touching someone else make my chest physically ache?

Why did my suppressed Omega biology instantly recoil at the idea of Stirling being bound to another woman?

You're losing your mind, I told myself violently, squeezing my eyes shut. The drugs are making you irrational. He is your enemy. He is the man you humiliated on the chessboard just hours ago.

But if this contract was signed, Stirling would gain access to Vespera's army. He wouldn't just be a Duke anymore. He would have the military might to stage a coup. He could overthrow my mother and take the Sovereign throne for himself.

"You shouldn't be reading another man's mail, little prince."

The voice was a smooth, deadly purr that drifted right out of the darkness behind me.

My heart completely stalled. The heavy, suffocating scent of cedar and woodsmoke washed over the freezing wind, instantly drowning out the smell of the ravens and the sea.

I spun around, dropping my hand to the poisoned dagger at my lower back.

Stirling stepped out from behind the massive iron cages. He wasn't wearing his velvet doublet. He wore a heavy, dark riding coat, his bronze hair disheveled by the wind, his striking green eyes burning with a dark, unhinged fury.

He had tracked me. After finding the chessboard, after realizing I was the one feeding the rebellion his uncle's secrets, he had bypassed the guards and hunted me all the way to the top of the tower.

Stirling’s gaze dropped from my terrified face to the unrolled parchment trembling in my hand. He saw the broken silver seal. He saw the Adler crest.

His jaw clenched, a muscle feathering violently along his cheek. He stepped into my space, completely ignoring the dagger I was gripping. He trapped me against the freezing limestone wall, planting his hands on either side of my head. The heat radiating off his body was blistering, warring with the frigid wind.

"Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?" Stirling whispered, his voice dropping into a ragged, possessive rasp as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Did you really think you could burn my uncle's armory, intercept my marriage contract, and I wouldn't come looking for the Weaver?"

He shifted his weight, his broad chest pressing flush against mine.

"I know it's you, Elian," he breathed, his hand sliding down the stone wall to close entirely over mine, trapping my fingers against the hilt of my own dagger. "Now... what are we going to do about the fact that you smell like a female in heat?"