Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6: THE MORNING AFTER 

The safe house smells like pine needles and smoke. Good smoke. Fireplace smoke. Warm and living.

I sit at a wooden table too small for my elbows. Coffee sits in front of me. Cold now. I have been staring at it for twenty minutes.

My hands shake.

I hide them under my thighs. The chair creaks. Everything here creaks. Old wood. Old secrets.

"Drink."

Kael's voice comes from behind me. I do not turn. I know what I will see. The burned arm. The cut face. The man who carried me through the tunnel.

"I don't want it," I say.

"You haven't slept. You haven't eaten. Drink the coffee."

He moves into view. Bare chest. Bandages white against burned skin. Across his ribs. Down his side. He should be in bed. He should be screaming.

Instead, he makes me drink coffee.

"I need to think," I say.

"Thinking requires blood." He pushes the cup toward me. Rough fingers. Scarred knuckles. "Drink. Then plan."

I drink. Bitter. Too strong. Perfect.

"Where is Marcus?" I ask.

The question hurts. Twelve hours. Twelve hours since Elena smiled and drove me to that gate. Twelve hours since they took my son.

"Vera's estate," Kael says. He sits. The chair groans. "East wing. Third floor. Confirmed."

"Your man?"

"Ronan. My second." Gray eyes hold mine. Steady. "He watched them take you. He watches still."

I grip the cup. "Why didn't he stop them?"

"Six guards. Guns. One wolf." Kael leans forward. Winces. Hides it. I see anyway. "He would have died. You would still be captured. Now we have information. Now we plan."

I hate that he is right.

"What is the plan?" I ask.

Kael pulls a map across the table. Hand-drawn. The estate marked in red. Guard rotations. Blind spots.

"We do not rush in," he says. "That is what Darius wants. Angry. Reckless. Proof you are unstable."

"I did not kidnap—"

"I know." His hand covers mine. Warm. Heavy. There and gone. "But that is his story. We need ours."

I look at the red marks. At the territory holding my son.

"What story?"

"The Princess who survived. Who escaped. Who outsmarted him." Kael taps the map. "Tomorrow we register. You claim your name. Name me consort. Show the world you are not hiding. Not crazy."

"And Marcus?"

"We get him legally." Kael's jaw tightens. "With the crown. With power. With proof Darius is the criminal."

The door opens. A thin man with tired eyes enters. Metal box in hand.

"Draven," Kael says. "Pack healer."

Draven looks at me. Then Kael's burns. He sighs.

"You should be in bed."

"I am busy."

"You are an idiot." Draven opens his box. Needles. Thread. Smell of herbs. "The Princess looks worse than you. When did you last sleep?"

"I am not a girl," I say.

Draven raises an eyebrow. "When did you last sleep, Princess?"

I do not answer. Sleep means dreams. Marcus calling. Darius's hands. The cell. The dark.

"She needs rest," Draven tells Kael.

"She needs to plan."

"She needs to not collapse during registration." Draven pulls out a needle. "Hold still."

I watch him work. The needle through burned skin. Kael's expression does not change. But his hand grips the table. White-knuckled.

"Your scars are older than the war," I say. "The ones on your back. I saw them."

Kael's eyes meet mine. Something flickers. Closed.

"Not now," he says.

"Then when?"

Draven pulls the thread tight. Kael hisses. Once. Barely.

"When you are Queen," Kael says. "When we have time."

The television flickers on. Ronan stands by the remote. Face of stone.

"You need to see this," he says.

The screen shows Darius. Clean. Smiling. Blue suit. The one I bought him.

"My wife has been struggling," Darius says. Soft. Worried. The voice that used to make me feel safe. "Mental illness. Paranoia. She took our son. Fled. I fear for her safety."

The camera cuts to a picture. My face. Wedding photo. Happy. Young. Stupid.

"If anyone sees Seraphina Vane," Darius says, "please contact authorities. She needs help. Not punishment. She is sick. She is lost."

The screen goes black.

My hands shake. I cannot hide them.

"He is good," Ronan says. Flat.

"He is a liar," I say.

"Liars win when they tell better stories." Kael stands. Slow. Painful. He moves to my side. Close enough that I smell smoke and pine and something wild. "We change the story tomorrow. Show them who you really are."

"And who is that?"

Kael looks at me. Really looks. Not at the Princess. Not at the victim. At me.

"Someone who survived," he says. "Someone who fights. Someone who will burn the world to get her son back."

I meet his eyes. Gray. Certain.

"Yes," I say. Small. Enough. "I am."

The television flickers again. Emergency news. Darius's face, grave now.

"Breaking development," the reporter says. "Alpha Darius Vane has filed for emergency custody. He claims his wife is unfit. Dangerous. He will hold a press conference tonight with new evidence

of her instability."

Kael's hand finds my shoulder. Heavy. Warm.

"New evidence?" I ask.

"We will find out," Kael says. "Together."

I look at the map. At the coffee. At the burned man beside me, still fighting.

Thirteen days until the election.

Tonight, Darius plays his next card.

Tomorrow, I play mine.