Chapter 21

Royal’s POV

"You were gone a long time, Royal," Ripley said, his voice dripping with a lazy, mocking edge. "Don't tell me you were busy making use of her while the rest of us sat here hungry."

I pulled out my chair at the dining table, the wood scraping harshly against the floor. I didn't look at him. The conversation I’d just had with Rilla was still looping in my head, a tangled mess of accusations and that unsettling, wide-eyed look she had given me. It made my skin crawl.

"It would be a great service to everyone if you kept your mouth shut," I said. My voice was low, vibrating with a frustration I couldn't quite push down.

Ripley didn't flinch. He leaned back, a dark glint in his eyes. "Touchy. Come on, tell us what she whispered to you. Did she beg? Or were you two just discussing which position she prefers? I bet she likes being filled up in every possible way, considering the show she put on for the cameras."

Robbie let out a dry, disgusted sound from across the table. "With the way she handled those men in the video, I’m sure she’s used to having three at once. A girl like that doesn't have a limit."

"Enough!" I slammed my palm against the table. The silverware rattled. "I asked her why she did it. Why she sold us out to our enemies. Why she killed Rowena."

The room went still. The air grew heavy, thick with the kind of tension that usually preceded a fight. I looked at Philip. He wasn't eating. He sat perfectly still, his jaw locked so tight I thought his teeth might crack.

"And what was her excuse?" Robbie asked, his voice cutting through the silence. "Did the enemy offer her something we couldn't? Better pay? Better sex?"

"She said she was framed," I told them. I felt ridiculous even saying the words out loud.

Ripley barked out a laugh, a sharp, ugly sound. "Framed? She’s a nobody, Royal. A parasitic little bitch. Who would go through the trouble of framing her? We saw the footage. We verified the source a dozen times. It was her."

"What about Rowena?" Robbie pressed, his eyes narrowing. "Did she try to lie about that too? How far did she go to try and wrap you around her finger again?"

"She didn't deny Rowena," I muttered, looking down at my hands. "She admitted to that part. But she claimed the rest was a setup."

"Lies," Philip said. It was the first time he’d spoken, and his voice was like ice. "She realized she could never be Luna because I chose Rosamund. She went to the enemy pack because she was desperate for power. She’s a status climber who failed, so she burned the house down on her way out."

"Exactly," Robbie agreed, tilting his head. "That's why she went after Rosamund too. Rowena and Rosamund figured out she was working with Rowen. She had to get rid of them both to keep her secret."

I stayed silent. It made sense. It had always made sense. Rosamund had told us everything after she recovered from the shots Rilla fired. She’d seen the betrayal firsthand. And then there was the video of Rilla with Rowen and his men. The images were burned into my mind. Why was I even questioning it?

Rory suddenly growled, a deep, animalistic sound of pure irritation. He threw his spoon into his bowl, splashing grey liquid onto the tablecloth.

"Is there celery in this?" he snapped, glaring at Robbie. "You know I can't stand the taste. And why are we eating porridge? I’m not an invalid."

Robbie didn't even blink. He stirred his own portion with agonizing slowness. "I wasn't in the mood to be a gourmet chef for a traitor. I made one pot for everyone. If you have a problem with it, talk to Royal. He’s the one who insisted she had to be fed."

"We need her alive for the plan to work," I reminded him, my patience thinning to a thread.

Ripley’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smirk. "Celery? Wait. Isn't the little bitch deathly allergic to that?"

Robbie didn't look up, but the corners of his mouth twitched. "Maybe I forgot. Or maybe I just thought a little spice would make things more interesting."

A cold realization hit me. My blood turned to fire. I didn't say a word as I shoved my chair back and bolted from the room. I took the stairs two at a time, my heart thumping against my ribs. I burst into her room without knocking.

"Stop! Don't eat that!" I shouted.

Rilla froze, the spoon halfway to her mouth. She looked at me, then down at the bowl. Before I could move, she did something insane. She lifted the bowl to her lips and began gulping the hot porridge down, swallowing it in huge, desperate gulps.

"Damn it, Rilla!" I lunged forward, ripping the ceramic bowl from her hands.

I stood over her, shaking with rage. Her cheeks were puffed out, her mouth full of the poison Robbie had hidden in the meal. Her eyes were fixed on mine, defiant and cold.

"Spit it out," I commanded, my voice trembling. "Now!"

She didn't move. She stared at me for three long seconds, then she swallowed. The sound of it seemed to echo in the small room.

I felt something snap inside me. The frustration, the guilt, and the constant back-and-forth of the last few days collided. I looked at her, seeing the first signs of a red rash beginning to bloom across her neck. She was doing this on purpose. She wanted to die just to spite us. Philip was right. She was a nightmare.

"Fine," I spat, stepping back. "You want to end it? Go ahead. I’m done saving you."

I turned on my heel and walked out, slamming the door so hard the frame rattled. My brothers were standing in the hallway, watching me like a pack of wolves observing a wounded animal.

"The hero returns," Ripley mocked, leaning against the wall. "Did you manage to save your damsel, or did she bite you?"

"Looks like he's a little late for the rescue," Robbie added, still holding his own bowl.

Rory shook his head, looking bored. "I told you he’d get tired of the act eventually."

I looked at them, my "brothers," and felt a wave of pure revulsion. I looked at the bowl in my hand and hurled it at the floor. It shattered into a thousand jagged white teeth.

"I am done," I snarled, pointing a finger at them. "I’m done being the one who cleans up your messes. I’m done playing the middleman. She ate it. If she lives, fine. If she chokes to death in there, I don't care. Do whatever you want with her. Fuck her corpse for all I care. I’m finished with this sick game."

I pushed past them, my shoulder hitting Philip’s hard. I didn't stop. I walked through the front door and out into the cool night air, the silence of the woods a sharp contrast to the madness inside.

"Royal! Get back here!" someone shouted behind me.

I ignored them. I climbed into my car, the engine roaring to life with a turn of the key. As I backed out, I saw them spilling out onto the porch, their faces blurred by the speed of my retreat. I didn't look back. I hit the gas, the tires screaming against the gravel as I tore away from the house.

"I'm through with all of you."