"Still trying to drug us," he murmured, setting the cup aside with deliberate care. Although the cup had been intended for Casteel not him. Perhaps they knew he was wise to them.
Casteel's fingers found his beneath the table, a brief touch that steadied them both. "How long do we pretend compliance?"
"Until we have options," Nero replied, though privately he wondered if they'd ever truly have choices again. Doran's web was tightening around them with each passing bell.
As the evening wore on, Nero noticed patterns in the crowd. Certain nobles lingered longer at their table, their conversations probing for information about future policies, military plans, trade agreements. Others seemed more interested in studying Casteel's reactions, as if cataloging weaknesses for future exploitation.
Most concerning were the servants who moved through the hall with too much purpose, their routes taking them past strategic positions rather than following efficient paths. Nero counted at least six who bore the subtle marks of fighting men—callused hands, alert postures, eyes that tracked movement like predators.
When the formal presentations finally ended, Doran approached their table with a satisfied smile. "An excellent beginning," he declared. "The noble houses are properly impressed with their new rulers."
"When do we discuss this decree you mentioned?" Casteel asked, his tone carefully neutral.
"Tomorrow morning. We'll review the proclamation together before its public announcement." Doran's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I trust you'll find it...acceptable."
The implied threat was clear enough. They would approve whatever Doran had written, or face consequences neither wanted to contemplate.
"Of course," Casteel replied, though Nero felt his mate's revulsion through their bond.
As they were escorted back to their chambers, Lucan caught Nero's attention once more. The former rebel had positioned himself near a side corridor, and as they passed, he subtly passed a small object hidden by a brush of fingers too slight to notice. Without breaking stride, Nero palmed the item—a tightly rolled piece of parchment, no larger than a coin.
Back in their rooms, Nero waited until he was certain they were alone before unrolling the message. The seal was Eryken's.
Plans accelerating. Northern route compromised. Three days.
Nero's blood chilled. If the northern route was compromised, it meant his original escape plan was closed. Worse, the message suggested they had only three days before...what? Some final trap closing around them?
"What is it?" Casteel asked, noting his tension.
Nero showed him the message but cursed to himself. "Lucan Tarreth, a rebel I served with. Close to Eryken. We're running out of time," Nero said grimly. "Whatever Doran has planned, it's happening soon." Casteel sank into a chair, suddenly looking far older than his twenty summers. “Tell me about Verris.” Because Nero knew they’d met.
Casteel's voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. "I was twelve. Still working in the stables when they had horses." His hands clenched in his lap, knuckles white. "Verris came toinspect his mount after a hunt. Said the beast needed special attention."
Nero felt rage building in his chest, hot and violent. Through their bond, Casteel's old fear bled into him like poison.
"He cornered me in the tack room," Casteel continued, his gaze fixed on the floor. "Said a stable boy should know his place, that serving nobles meant...serving in all ways." His voice cracked slightly. "He had his hands on me, tearing at my clothes, when Steward Marcus walked in looking for inventory records."
"What happened then?" Nero's voice was deadly quiet.
"Verris made some excuse and left, but he was a noble. Not even Marcus could have stopped him if Verris had wanted me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since.”
Nero was on his feet before he realized he'd moved, pacing the chamber like a caged animal. "And now he's here, presenting gifts and fealty, thinking he can—"
"Nero." Casteel's voice stopped him mid-stride. "I'm not that helpless boy anymore. I have you now. I have the bond."
"You shouldn't need either to be safe from bastards like him," Nero snarled, but he returned to Casteel's side, gathering his mate into his arms. "If he so much as looks at you wrong again—"
"You'll tear his throat out," Casteel finished with a shaky laugh. "Even though I'm the wolf, I felt it. Your rage when he grabbed my hand."
"Damn right I will." Nero pressed his face into Casteel's hair, breathing in his scent. "No one touches what's mine."
The possessive words should have frightened him. Three months ago, Nero would have been horrified at claiming ownership of another person. But the bond had changed something fundamental in him, awakened instincts he'd never known existed.
It was almost like he had the animal inside of him, not Casteel.
Was it changing him? It had to be. He was ashamed. He tried to bring Maya's laugh to mind, but if he was going to be honest, that had faded a long time before he had met Casteel.
"Do we trust the healer now?" Casteel said, changing the subject. "Do you think Makim is truly on our side?"
