Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 51 - Chapitre 60

The corridor to the Queen’s wing feels like it’s narrowing as we run, stone and silk and protocol trying to choke us before we even reach the door.Melody is ahead, moving with the ruthless speed of a doctor who refuses to lose. Lia stays tight at my shoulder, calm enough to pass for royal composure, lethal enough to stop anything that tries to touch me.My bond hums behind my ribs, Adrian, alive and close and that should soothe me. It doesn’t. It just reminds me how quickly “alive” can become past tense in this palace.We round the last corner. The guards outside the Queen’s doors look shaken, one pale, one sweating through his collar like he’s been holding the line alone against death.“Move,” Melody snaps. They jump aside instantly.Inside, the room is chaos dressed in velvet. The Queen is half, slumped against her pillows, lips faintly blue at the edges, chest barely rising. A healer fumbles with a cup and cloth. An attendant stands f

The clinic wing never truly goes quiet, not in the capital, not with guards shifting outside every door and the palace holding its breath like it can will disaster away. But after Melody leaves with the note and Logan follows, after Lia’s footsteps fade and even Nate’s restless presence disappears down the hall… there’s a small pocket of silence. Just me. Just Adrian. The lamplight is low. The sheets smell like antiseptic and him, cleaned blood, stubborn warmth underneath. His bandages are too white against bruised skin. He’s sitting up against the pillows, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the door like he can out stare the world into behaving. I close it softly anyway and lean my back against the wood, letting the click of the latch be the only sound for a heartbeat. Adrian’s gaze snaps to me. Not soft. Not gentle. But 'there', anchored, as if my presence reorders the room. “You’re shaking,” he says. I look down at my hands like they belong to someone else. My fingers are tremb

Mary looks smaller in a windowless room. Not because she’s weak, Mary has never been weak but because without sunlight and mirrors and an audience, all that remains is what she actually is: a woman who built her life on control and is now watching that control slip out of her hands. She sits straight-backed in the chair anyway, wrists bound in cloth restraints, chin lifted like dignity can substitute for leverage. When I step in, she smiles. It’s the same smile she used on me when I was twelve and swallowing bitter “medicine.” “You’re late,” she says sweetly. Nate stands off to the side, sling strapped tight across his chest, scrapes bright against his skin. He’s trying to look casual. He fails, because there’s something in him now that doesn’t know how to be harmless anymore. Lia shuts the door behind us. Logan stays outside, close enough to intervene, far enough to keep this from looking like a royal interrogation. Melody stands at the small table with gloves on, a stack of p

The Old Glassworks is a skeleton of a building, all ribs and hollows. Broken windowpanes gape open to the dying light. Glass dust coats the floor like pale snow, turning every step into a whisper. Rusted catwalks hang above the main room like spider legs. Somewhere deep inside, water drips steadily, slow, patient, counting time better than any clock. Sunset bleeds through the cracks. Rowan Kane chose this place because it makes people feel watched even when they’re alone. My bond hums tight and hot beneath my sternum, Adrian, back at the palace, alive and furious and held still by force. The thread between us is stretched hard enough to hurt, but it’s steady. Stay alive, I tell myself. Get him home. End this. I step through the wide entrance with my cloak hooded and my posture royal, chin lifted, shoulders back, fear locked behind my teeth. “Alone,” Rowan demanded. So I look alone. But I can feel them. Logan’s men on the perimeter, quiet and lethal. Lia above, somewhere on the

We come up through the hatch in a rush of cold air and blood scent, wolves and guards moving like a single organism. I don’t shift back until we’re clear of the corridor. Adrian is still human, silver locked around his wrists, chain biting into skin that’s already raw. He’s breathing hard, eyes bright with restrained violence, shoulders squared like he’s daring the palace to try taking him a third time. I keep one hand on him anyway. Not to steady him, he refuses to be steadied. To remind him he’s not alone. Nate shifts back last. His wolf disappears into skin with a wince he tries to hide, sling hanging awkwardly across his chest. His face is scraped, his hair a disaster, and he looks like he’s only standing upright because he decided collapse is not an option tonight. Lia’s gaze sweeps the hallway. “Move. Clinic. Now.” We don’t walk like people with time. We move like we’re still being hunted. Melody meets us in the clinic corridor as if she sensed the exact second Adrian crosse