Chapter 9: The First Session

 Wren

The quiet click of the oak door locking behind us didn’t feel like a barrier anymore. It was a countdown. I was trapped.

“They’re coming for you.”

Down the corridor, iron-soled boots thudded across the stone floor. Beatrix’s men.

My heart battered against my ribs. I backed away from Kaelen, my bloody soles leaving smudges on the rug. I looked at the window latched from the outside. I searched for an exit, a weapon, a lie.

Kaelen didn’t panic. He calmly unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling the white linen up his forearms.

“Sit down, Wren.”

“Did you hear what your informant said?” My voice cracked. “They are in the house. They have a warrant!”

“And if they find you standing here, lucid, hostile, and blood-soaked, they will drag you out in chains, and no judge in Zurich will blink.” He pulled out the velvet armchair. “Sit. Now.”

“I am not playing your sick mind games while Beatrix’s hounds break down the door!”

Kaelen closed the distance between us in three silent strides. He grabbed my upper arm.

“Listen to me,” he murmured, leaning close. “If you want to survive the next ten minutes, give the performance of your life. Be the raving, broken heiress they expect. Do you understand?”

“You want me to play the lunatic,” I whispered.

“I want them to believe you’re too unstable to be moved tonight.” His voice softened. “Give me a reason to declare you medically unfit for transport.”

The heavy doors at the end of the corridor slammed open. Male voices echoed down the hall.

Kaelen released my arm, his fingers lingering a moment against my cold skin. He took the armchair opposite the desk and pulled out a pen.

“Begin.”

I wore a familiar mask. I threw myself onto the floor near the hearth. I dragged my hands through my soot-stained hair. I began to mutter nursery rhymes, fragmented memories, and gibberish.

“The birds are in the chimney, Doctor. They’re cooking the silver. The clock struck thirteen…” I rocked back and forth. “Julian dropped his tea. The poison is in the sugar. Don’t let the sugar melt…”

The latch rattled. The door swung open.

Three men stood there. Two wore charcoal coats of the Zurich asylum wardens. Between them stood Marcus, Beatrix’s senior enforcer.

“Dr. Vane,” Marcus rasped, holding up a parchment sealed with red wax. “We have an order for the immediate transfer of Wren Davenport to Sancta Maria Asylum. Step aside.”

“You’re tracking dirt onto my floor, Marcus.”

“She is a fugitive. She attacked Lord Julian, set fire to the south cellar, and”

“And she is currently suffering an acute psychotic break brought on by extreme physical and psychological trauma,” Kaelen interrupted, rising. “Look at her.”

I pointed at Marcus. “The raven has brass buttons! See them? They glow in the soup!” I screeched, pulling at my hair. “Don’t let him eat the clock!”

Marcus winced. “She’s insane. All the more reason to put her in a straightjacket and load her into the carriage.”

“If you move her in this state, her heart will fail before you cross the river.” Kaelen stepped between us. “Her pulse is dangerously elevated. Her systemic shock is severe. As her appointed physician, I refuse to authorize transport.”

“Your authority ends where this court order begins, Vane,” Marcus snapped. “Beatrix wants her in Zurich by morning.”

“Then Beatrix can explain to the high board why her primary legal key died of cardiac arrest in a damp carriage.” Kaelen’s voice remained cold. “She is my patient. She stays here until medically stabilized. Touch her, Marcus, and I will file an injunction with the Zurich medical council before dawn, citing medical malpractice and reckless endangerment.”

Finally, Marcus spat onto the flagstones. “You have until sunrise, Vane. If she isn’t in that carriage when the sun hits the glasshouse, we take her and you in handcuffs for obstruction.”

He barked an order. The men retreated, slamming the oak door behind them. The deadbolt slid into place with a sickening thud.

I stopped rocking.

“They’ll be back at dawn,” I whispered.

Kaelen knelt beside me. He caught my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“You put on a very convincing show, Wren.”

His thumb stroked my jaw, sending an unexpected jolt down my spine.

“It wasn’t a show,” I spat. “It’s what they expect. It’s the only reason I’m still breathing.”

His eyes darkened. “They might believe it. But you forgot one thing.”

“What?”

“Your eyes, little bird.” His face inched closer. “You can make your voice tremble. You can chant your madness. But your eyes stay completely, violently still. You aren’t crazy. You’re dangerous.”

My gaze dropped to his mouth, then snapped back to his silver eyes. I hated how safe I felt in his grip. I hated that he saw through every wall I had spent three years building.

“I am going to get you out of here tonight,” Kaelen said quietly, his thumb tracing my bottom lip before releasing my chin. “Not because I care about your life, but because you’re the only one who knows the combination to your father’s vault.”

I laughed bitterly. “You really are just a parasite, aren’t you? A beautiful, brilliant parasite.”

“I am a pragmatic man, Wren. Right now, I am your only lifeline.”

Kaelen crossed to the tapestry, pulled it aside, and inserted a small brass key into a hidden seam.

A door creaked open, revealing a stone staircase descending into darkness.

“The catacombs lead out past the river gates,” Kaelen said, holding out his hand. “We leave now.”

I looked at his hand.

Suddenly, a metallic smell cut through the damp air.

Hot copper.

Kaelen froze.

A tiny red dot appeared over his heart.

Before I could scream, a suppressed thwip shattered the silence.

Kaelen gasped, his silver eyes wide as he staggered backward. He collapsed against the open door, sliding to the floor.

I lunged forward, catching his shoulders as he fell, his blood hot against my ice-cold hands.

From the passage, a figure stepped into the firelight, holding a silenced pistol.

It wasn’t Beatrix’s men.

It wasn’t Julian.

It was Martha the terrified little house servant who had warned us minutes ago. Her face held no fear. Only a cold, sadistic grin.

“Doctor Vane was right about one thing, Miss Davenport,” Martha said, aiming the barrel at my forehead. “You aren’t crazy. But you are out of time. Lady Beatrix sends her regards.”