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Home / Fantasy / Chains Of The Heart / Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

All Chapters of Chains Of The Heart: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

151 Chapters

Chapter 141

Lucian walked fast. Too fast. He was not a man who hurried. He had never been a man who hurried. He observed, calculated, moved when the moment was right. He did not run toward uncertainty with his heart in his throat and his mind spinning possibilities he could not control. And yet here he was. His boots struck the stone floor in quick, sharp rhythm. The corridors blurred past. The guards stepped aside without being asked. He was worried about Rowan. That was the truth of it, the sharp edge beneath all his careful reasoning. Rowan was still recovering. Physically, he was better—not healed, never fully healed, but better. His color had returned. His appet

Chapter 142

The first blow came without warning. Damian's fist collided with the heavy oak door. Once. Twice. The wood shuddered but held. His knuckles split, blood smearing across the grain, but he didn't feel it. "Please, Rowan—" The words died in his throat. His hand flew to his chest, clutching at something invisible, something inside. His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurring at the edges. The bond was screaming. Rowan was screaming. He couldn't tell which was worse. He turned to Lucian, his face pale, his eyes wide with something that looked like drowning. "Open it."

Chapter 143

The courtyard emptied slowly. Alistair had to nearly carry his mother to her horse. She went without resistance, her eyes still fixed on the castle walls, her face carved from something that might have been stone or might have been grief. The riders she had brought fell in behind her, silent, uncertain, their mission ended before it had truly begun. Alistair paused at the gate. He looked back once—at the castle, at the windows, at the place where his brother was sleeping somewhere in the dark. Then he mounted his horse and rode after his mother. The gate closed behind them. The guards relaxed. The night settled back into something almost like peace.

Chapter 144

Alistair and Sereia rode in silence. The road stretched ahead of them, white and endless, the trees on either side heavy with snow. The horses' breath steamed in the cold air. The riders behind them kept their distance, sensing something they should not approach. Alistair rode beside his mother. He had not looked at her since they left the castle. He had not spoken. He had not asked. Sereia's eyes were fixed on the horizon. But her mind was still in that room. Still on Rowan's face, pale and slack, his hand limp in Damian's. Still on the healer's words. Another attack like this, and he will not make it. He will die. She should have stayed. She should h

Chapter 145

The day had passed in a blur. With Damian absent, the council chamber had transformed. Voices that were usually kept low had risen. Opinions that were usually carefully couched had sharpened. The king's decisions—his absence, his bond, his consort's freedom in the south—were dissected, examined, judged. Lucian sat at his usual place, his face calm, his hands still, his papers arranged before him. He did not participate. He did not need to. He had learned, years ago, that silence was often louder than argument. The councilors argued. They speculated. They complained. They talked about bad decisions and worse timing and the fragility of a kingdom that could not afford its king to be distracted. Lucian listene

Chapter 146

Damian woke slowly, drifting up from a depth of sleep he hadn't known he was capable of. The first thing he felt was warmth. The second was weight. Rowan was still in his arms, pressed against his chest, his breath warm against Damian's throat. But Rowan was awake. Damian could tell by the stillness, the quiet awareness in the way his body fit against Damian's. The way his eyes were open, watching. "You finally decided to wake up," Rowan said. His voice was light, teasing, but there was something underneath it—relief, maybe. Or gratitude. Damian closed his eyes again. His arms tightened, pulling Rowan closer, pressing him against his chest like he could m

Chapter 147

Alessio left, the door closing softly behind him. The study settled back into silence. The fire crackled. The shadows stretched. Rowan sat at the desk for a moment longer, his hand resting on the open page, his eyes tracing the last lines he had read. He was not ready to leave. He wanted to stay, to read, to let the hours slip away in the quiet of the room that had become his. But Lucian had said dinner was in an hour. And Damian would be there. And Alessio would be there, washed and changed and pretending he did not smell like a horse. And Lucian would be there, sharp and bright and terrible. Rowan smiled. He found a marker—a strip of leather, soft and worn, that he had found in the desk—and slid it between the pages. The book closed with a soft thump. The sound echoed in the

Chapter 148

After dinner, Alessio and Lucian lingered. The fire had burned low. The servants had cleared the plates. Wine had been poured, then left untouched. Alessio was staring into the flames, his face soft in the fading light. Lucian was watching him, something unreadable in his expression. They did not speak. They did not need to. Across the hall, Damian rose. Rowan rose with him. They left together, their footsteps light, their shadows merging in the torchlight. The door closed behind them. The chamber was warm. The fire had been lit before they arrived, th

Chapter 149

Rowan moved. His hands were shaking, his legs unsteady, his mind still caught in the cold of that place, in the white of that dress, in the sound that was not a sound. He pulled on his trousers, Damian's shirt, anything to cover himself, anything to be presentable. He did not care how he looked. The door opened. The corridor was empty. The guards were stationed further down, away from the king's chambers, giving them privacy, giving them space. "HEALER!" Rowan's voice cracked. The guards turned. They stared. "Call a healer. Now. And Lucian. And Alessio." They did not move. They were young, both of them, new to the castle, new to the weight of guarding a king. They had not seen the walls shake. They had not heard the sound that was not a sound.

Chapter 150

There was a soft glow around Ezekiel. It made him look ethereal, almost unreal—a man made of light and shadow, caught between worlds. His hands were shaking now, his fingers pressed to Damian's temples, his eyes screwed shut, his lips moving in words no one could hear.He lost his balance.His body tipped forward, his weight shifting, his hands slipping. He would have fallen—would have collapsed onto Damian's chest—but a hand caught him. Tight. Firm. Held him in place.Lucian.Ezekiel did not glance at him. Did not acknowledge him. Did not pause.He continued.Sweat soaked through his robes, the thin fabric clinging to his body, hiding nothing. His breath was uneven, ragged, like he had been running for miles. His face was pale, his lips nearly blue, his hands trembling."No," he gasped. "I'm almost there. Almost done."Lucian's grip tightened. He did not pull Ezekiel away. He held him steady.The glow flickered. Dimmed. Brightened.Ezekiel's head lolled to the side. His eyes were ope

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