Chapter 7

Elouera

I didn't scream.

As the liquid fire of the tainted pill tore through my veins, shredding the last remnants of my Beta disguise, I didn't give Archduke Holden the satisfaction of my terror.

He sat there in his wheelchair, wearing the face of the only father I had ever known, watching me burn with a cold, clinical detachment. He wanted to use my forced Omega heat as a weapon. He wanted the guards to find me, wild and biologically shattered, so my mother’s empire would crumble under the scandal.

But Holden had made one critical mistake.

For eight years, I had played the coward. I had perfected the art of flinching, of stammering, of looking at the floor. He believed the act just as much as my mother did.

My hand shot out, grabbing the heavy iron fireplace poker resting by the hearth. I didn't swing it at him. I swung it in a brutal, two handed arc directly into the roaring fire.

Sparks and burning embers exploded outward in a blinding, hissing cloud of ash and smoke. Holden threw his arms over his face with a sharp cry.

I didn't look back. Fighting through the agonizing cramp in my abdomen, I threw my weight against the third bookshelf on the left. The hidden latch a servant’s passage I had discovered when I was twelve gave way with a quiet click. I tumbled into the suffocating darkness of the narrow stone corridor, slamming the panel shut just as Holden yelled for the guards.

I was running on pure, unfiltered adrenaline, but my body was shutting down. The synthetic accelerant was ruthlessly stripping away years of suppressants. The scent of wild honey and rain was pouring off my skin in heavy, intoxicating waves, completely filling the cramped, dusty passageway.

Move, I told myself, biting my lip until the metallic taste of blood coated my tongue. If an Alpha catches this scent, you are dead.

I bypassed the upper floors entirely, navigating the pitch black labyrinth of the palace walls by memory alone. My broken rib ground against itself with every ragged breath. I descended past the servant quarters, past the wine cellars, plunging deep into the forgotten, crumbling catacombs beneath the Blue Mountain Estates.

At the bottom of a spiraling, mold covered staircase, I hit the heavy iron door of the old cistern. I shoved it open and collapsed onto the damp stone floor inside.

This was my real sanctuary.

There were no velvet armchairs or roaring fires here. Just a massive pool of freezing, subterranean groundwater and walls lined with stolen imperial maps, decoded ledgers, and black market weaponry.

I didn't waste a second. I clawed at the brass buttons of my military coat, ripping it off my shoulders. I tore my blood stained shirt down the middle, ignoring the tearing of expensive silk, and began to violently unwind the tight linen bindings across my chest.

When the last strip of fabric fell away to the floor, I dragged myself to the edge of the cistern and threw myself into the freezing water.

The shock of the cold was an absolute violation. I went under, the icy water slicing through the unnatural, burning fever in my blood like a broadsword. I stayed submerged until my lungs screamed for air, then broke the surface, gasping violently.

The freezing water wouldn't cure the drug Holden had given me, but it stalled the fever. It bought me a few hours of clarity. I dragged my shaking body up the stone steps, my wet skin shivering violently in the frigid cavern air.

Prince Elian died in that water. He had to. He was too weak to survive the dawn physical, and too betrayed to stay in the palace.

I walked over to the heavy wooden chest in the corner of the cavern. I didn't reach for the royal silks or the heavy wool coats of the court. I pulled out a suit of matte black, reinforced leather armor, designed to absorb light and make no sound. I strapped a pair of weighted throwing knives to my thighs and slid a slender, poisoned dagger into the sheath at my lower back. Finally, I pulled a dark, hooded cloak over my shoulders, fastening it with a simple clasp of tarnished silver.

I was no longer the pathetic royal mistake.

I was the Weaver.

For three years, I had controlled the black market of the Sovereign Empire from these shadows. I fed the Outback militias the caravan routes. I bought the secrets of corrupt generals. I was the ghost that High General Vance cursed in the war room, the shadow broker they blamed for the crumbling borders.

A sharp, rhythmic knock echoed from the grated iron drainpipe embedded in the far wall.

Two slow taps. Three fast. One slow.

I pulled my hood low over my face, plunging my features into complete darkness, and stepped into the dim light of the singular oil lantern. "Enter."

The heavy grate swung open. Kael slipped into the cavern, brushing the red Outback dust from his worn leather duster. He was a Beta, one of my top lieutenants, a hardened mercenary who had no idea he worked for the Second Prince of the empire he was trying to tear down.

"The northern caravans are secure, Weaver," Kael reported, his voice low and gravelly. "Vance's garrison will be starving by Tuesday. But the borders are getting too hot. The local militias want to know when we strike the supply depots."

"Not yet," I rasped, disguising my voice to sound deeper, hollower. My hands were shaking beneath my cloak, the fever threatening to rise again as the freezing water dried on my skin. "I need something from you, Kael. And I need it before dawn."

Kael frowned, stepping closer. "Name it."

"I need a body. Someone approximately my height, my build. And I need a distraction in the upper courtyard. An explosion in the armory, a fire in the stables something massive enough to draw the High General and the Royal Physician out of the medical ward."

Kael went completely still. His brown eyes scanned the shadows around me. "A body? Weaver, what kind of mess are you in?"

"Do not question me," I snapped, a sudden, vicious spike of Omega aggression bleeding into my tone.

Kael blinked, stepping back. He rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating. "Weaver... I can't do the distraction. We have a massive problem. It’s why I came early."

"What problem?"

"The Commander," Kael whispered, genuine fear lacing his voice. "Corowa didn't just come back to the capital for a war council. The stolen caravan routes he traced the leak. He didn't march his troops to the border. He marched them into the lower city. He’s been hunting the shadow broker’s network all night."

My fractured rib gave a sharp throb. Jace.

"He captured two of our runners, Weaver," Kael continued, his breathing turning shallow. "He interrogated them. He knows you operate under the palace. He knows about the catacombs."

A heavy, metallic click echoed through the damp cavern.

It wasn't Kael’s boots. It didn't come from the grate. It came from the shadows of the spiraling staircase behind me.

Kael’s eyes went wide. He reached for the sword at his hip, but a throwing knife materialized from the darkness, burying itself to the hilt in the stone wall mere inches from Kael’s throat.

"Don't," a voice commanded.

It was a low, rough rasp that sent a violent, involuntary shiver straight down my spine. The air in the cavern instantly turned to lead. The scent of red dust vanished, utterly consumed by the terrifying, crackling scent of ozone and incoming rain.

I couldn't breathe. My heart hammered against my broken rib in a frantic, suicidal rhythm.

Commander Jace Corowa stepped out of the shadows.

He had shed his heavy tactical vest, wearing only a tight black combat shirt that molded to the broad, imposing lines of his chest and arms. A lethal, curved hunting blade rested casually in his right hand. His storm-grey eyes were fixed entirely on me, completely ignoring Kael.

I reached for my poisoned dagger, but a sudden, violent wave of heat slammed into my abdomen. The icy water had worn off. The drug Holden forced into my system was spiking again, crashing through my veins with a vengeance.

I stumbled, my knee hitting the wet stone floor. My hood slipped back just an inch enough to expose my jawline.

Jace went perfectly, terrifyingly still.

The heavy, dominant Alpha presence radiating off him didn't crush me this time. It wrapped around me. His chest heaved as he took a slow, deep breath of the damp cavern air. I saw the exact second the scent of wild honey and rain hit his senses.

The hunting blade slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the stone.

His eyes dilated, blowing wide and pitch black as he stared at the shadow broker he had been hunting.

"By the gods," Jace whispered, his rough voice cracking down the middle, thick with a dark, predatory disbelief. "Elian?"