Chapter Eight
Nero's arm tightened aroundCasteel's waist, a subtle gesture of protection that spoke volumes through their newly fortified bond. Casteel could feel his mate's fury simmering beneath a carefully controlled exterior—a wildfire banked but not extinguished.
"The coronation?" Casteel managed, his voice steadier than he expected. "Now?"
Doran's smile was thin and triumphant. "The people have waited long enough for their savior. Your...indisposition has already delayed matters by a full day."
The guards remained in the doorway, their expressions carefully neutral as they averted their eyes from the bed. Only their captain, Aldric, met Nero's gaze directly, something like apology flickering across his weathered features before discipline reasserted itself.
"We require privacy to dress," Nero stated, his tone leaving no room for negotiation despite their vulnerable position.
Doran inclined his head with mock graciousness. "Of course. You have one bell to prepare yourselves. The ceremonial garments are in the antechamber." His gaze hardened. "Do not test my patience further as I think we all know you wouldn't survive a second separation this soon. The guards will remain outside this door, and I assure you, there will be no opportunity for escape today."
When the doors closed again, Casteel released a shaky breath. Through their bond, he could feel Nero's mind racing, calculating, searching for options that weren't there.
"We have to go through with it," Casteel said quietly, sitting up with a wince. His body, though healed of the bond-sickness, still ached from the ordeal.
"For now," Nero agreed, his voice a low rumble. He helped Casteel to his feet, supporting him with gentle hands that belied the violence Casteel could sense coiled within him. "Are you strong enough?"
Casteel nodded, testing his balance. "The bond...it's healing me faster than I thought possible."
Indeed, the weakness that had threatened to consume him earlier was receding like mist before morning sun. In its place flowed strength—not just his own, but Nero's as well, shared freely through their connection.
They bathed quickly in the chamber's pool, washing away the evidence of their bonding and the lingering sweat of fever. Casteel watched Nero move, appreciating the efficient grace of his mate's scarred body.
"What happens at this coronation?" Nero asked as they dried themselves.
Casteel shrugged. "I don't know exactly. The priests never shared the details with me—only that I would be presented to the people as the prophesied savior."
"And I'm to be what? Your consort?" There was no mockery in Nero's voice, only pragmatic assessment.
"The silver wolf's mate," Casteel confirmed. "According to the prophecy, you'll be presented as my equal—my co-ruler, not subordinate." He looked down. "I never wanted to rule anything."
Nero's eyebrows rose at that. "Perhaps that's what makes you so suited to having this power."
"I don't think either of us is getting any power," Casteel countered, moving to the antechamber where ornate garments waited. "Either way, it binds us both to their vision."
The ceremonial clothing was magnificent—rich velvets and silks in deep blues and silver, embroidered with wolves and crowns. Casteel's outfit included a circlet of silver that felt heavier than its delicate appearance suggested. Nero's was similar but darker, with a torque of twisted silver that would rest at his throat.
"They've thought of everything," Nero muttered, examining the torque with distaste. "Luxury when children are starving." Nero sighed and started dressing.
Someday Casteel hoped for a world that wasn't so. Would it ever come to be? Or would greed always outweigh honesty? As they dressed, Casteel found himself studying his mate's face. "What are you thinking?"
"That Doran is too confident," Nero replied, adjusting the unfamiliar formal tunic. "Men like him always have contingencies, but they also have blind spots. He believes the bond makes us compliant."
"Doesn't it?" Casteel asked, then flushed at the vulnerability in his own voice.
Nero's hands stilled on his belt. "The bond makes us connected, not enslaved. I can feel your thoughts, youremotions, but they're still yours to control." His dark eyes met Casteel's. "Do you feel differently?"
Casteel considered, testing the edges of their connection. "No. I feel...anchored. Like I have a foundation I never had before. But I'm still me."
"Good." Nero's smile was fierce. "Because we're going to need to be ourselves to survive what's coming." Casteel glanced at Nero. There was something he wasn't saying.
A sharp knock interrupted them. "Time," came Captain Aldric's voice through the door.
They emerged to find the corridor lined with guards in ceremonial armor. The captain's expression was unreadable as he gestured toward the grand staircase. "The people are waiting, Your Excellencies."
The title made Casteel's stomach clench. Through their bond, he felt Nero's similar discomfort, though his mate's face remained impassive.
