All Chapters of Chains Of The Heart: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The room Alessio dragged Damian into was dim, spare, smelling faintly of lavender soap and clean linens. A basin had been set out, a clean shirt, trousers, a pair of soft indoor boots. Alessio spoke in low, clipped commands — the kind born of decades of war and worry — then left, shutting the door behind him with a firm click.Silas and Rian disappeared down the opposite hall with silent, urgent purpose, already halfway back to the horses.Damian sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, palms hanging uselessly between them.He looked… gutted.Not angry. Not cold. Not stoic.Just a man with his soul scraped raw.He’d washed his face, changed his shirt, pulled on boots, but none of it mattered. His hands still trembled. His breathing still came shallow. The room felt too quiet around him — like the silence could crush his ribs if it leaned in an inch closer.That was the sight Nathan walked in on.Still flushed from running, hair mussed, worry carved into every line of him. He p

Maria had always carried herself like a fortress—elegant walls, quiet doors, windows shuttered tight against the poison of the Cross family politics. She survived her husband. She survived her sister-in-law. She survived the slow collapse of her house by keeping herself unmovable.So when she finally woke up, pale but steady, everyone thought she would take the news with her usual ice-tempered composure.But Ivy sat on her bedside with red-rimmed eyes, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles trembled. Nathan stood behind her, jaw locked, shoulders hunched as if bracing for the blow himself.Maria listened.She listened as Ivy explained the cave collapse.The bodies.The tunnels.The scent.The truth that Arabella hadn’t abandoned them at all.And then Ivy said the words that snapped something ancient and maternal:“Mother… it was Father. He took her. He hid her there. And from the state of the chamber—she must have been tortured.”The world went still.Maria didn’t speak.She didn’t bli

Rowan surfaced like someone swimming up through tar—slow, dragging, every breath sandpaper in his throat.The ceiling above him wasn’t stone. Not the chamber. Not the dark.A room. A bed. Light.He blinked, eyes dry and burning, and the world tilted sideways. Then a familiar voice—rough with exhaustion, but unmistakable—broke through:“Ro?”Alistair.Rowan turned his head, and pain lanced through the right side of his skull where his ear should have been. He winced. Alistair was already leaning forward, chair forgotten, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.A warm palm touched Rowan’s forehead.Rowan slapped it away on instinct—well, “slapped” was generous. It was more of a flimsy, annoyed bat of his fingers.Alistair huffed a laugh that was way too close to crying. “Still got attitude. Good. Thought you might’ve lost that in the rubble.”Rowan swallowed, throat raw. “Where…?”“Safe house,” Alistair replied gently. “You’ve been out for two days.”Rowan tried sitting up. Immediately re

Damian stood in the courtyard in full armor, cloak snapping in the wind like a dark, restless creature. The horses stamped, the guards waited, and the sky seemed to hold its breath — nothing dared move until the king did.Nathan stood beside him, hands clasped behind his back, posture perfect but energy a taut wire. He was bracing for the command he thought inevitable.Damian felt it. Felt him.“Nathan,” he said quietly, fastening the last clasp on his gauntlet.Nathan inhaled sharply. “Yes, Your Majesty.”“You’re not coming with me.”Nathan blinked. Once. Twice. His brows drew together. “I… what? Damian, the capital—”“Needs me,” Damian interrupted. “Not you.”Nathan’s jaw clicked shut. The sting was sharp, instinctive — but he knew Damian well enough to hear the truth below the words.Damian turned fully toward him, closing the space until their shoulders nearly brushed.“Maria and Ivy need you,” he said, voice low, stripped of any royal edge. “They have lost too much too fast. And

Nathan was mid-sentence—elbows on the table, sleeves rolled, quill tapping against a half-finished sketch of the new Cross estate—when the knock came.Not a polite knock.A collision with the door.Maria and Ivy stiffened at the same time. Nathan exhaled, already bracing. The courier looked like he’d sprinted the whole way from the gate—dust in his hair, breath coming in ragged bursts, eyes too wide to bode anything good.He bowed so sharply his forehead nearly hit his knees.“Lord Nathaniel… Lady Maria… Lady Ivy…”Nathan stood slowly. “All right,” he murmured, skeptical, already tasting trouble like iron on his tongue. “Give me the doom.”The courier swallowed. “The… southern barons, my lord. All three. Trevis… Corinne… Emery.” His voice wobbled. “They’ve begun their campaign.”Maria’s fingers tightened around the blueprints. Ivy’s daze hardend.Nathan nodded once, face setting into a cool composure that fooled exactly no one who knew him. “Details.”The courier licked his lips, then