My wolf snarls, hackles rising. My intuition screams danger when I look at him. This is the man who drugged my mate—and would have been the one with her, had I not commandeered his tampered bottle of wine. He planned to force a bond on her while her wolf was suppressed, unable to fight back. And he is still manipulating her somehow, even though the warlocks found nothing.
I know he’s responsible for the nightmares. For the sleepwalking. For the terror that grips Selene every time his name is mentioned.
I just can’t prove it. Yet.
My hands clench into fists at my sides. My mate is suffering, and I feel utterly helpless because I can’t find the source, can’t cut out the poison he has planted in her mind.
And he sits there. Calm. Collected. Like he hasn’t done anything wrong.
The grain lord finishes his report, bowing low before backing away from the throne. There’s a brief pause as the next petitioner iscalled forward—some dispute about property boundaries that I immediately tune out.
My eyes never leave Zane.
He shifts slightly in his seat, and something about the movement sets off alarm bells in my head. It’s too deliberate. Too calculated. Like a predator preparing to strike.
“Something’s wrong,” I mutter to Lucian, my voice barely audible.
“I feel it, too.” The King’s posture doesn’t change, but I sense power gathering beneath his skin, coiling like a snake ready to strike. “Stay sharp.”
The property dispute wraps up quickly. Another pause. The herald calls for any additional grievances to be brought before the Council.
Zane stands up.
The movement is smooth, as if practiced. He rises from his seat with the easy grace of nobility, his expensive robes draping him perfectly. Every eye in the chamber turns toward him—Council members, advisors, and petitioners all going quiet.
My wolf coils in anticipation inside me. Every muscle in my body goes rigid, my hand dropping instinctively to the sword at my hip.
This is it. Whatever he’s been planning, it’s happening now.
Zane’s gaze sweeps the room before settling on Lucian, then flicking briefly to me. There’s a certain look in his eyes—triumph, carefully masked but unmistakable to someone who has been watching him as closely as I have.
He thinks he’s won something. Thinks he has leverage.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache.
“Your Majesty,” Zane says, his voice carrying that practiced smoothness that makes my lip curl. “I have a grievance to bring before the Council.”
Lucian’s expression remains perfectly neutral, but I feel the shift in his power—the way it sharpens, focuses. “Speak.”
“It concerns my fated mate.” Zane’s dark eyes sweep the assembled Council members before landing squarely on me, and I see the challenge there, the deliberate provocation. “Healer SeleneThorne. She works within these very walls, yet I’m being prevented from seeing her.”
My wolf snarls, clawing at my ribs. Our mate. He’s claiming our mate!
It takes every ounce of control I have not to cross the chamber and tear his throat out right here in front of everyone. My rage is white hot, all consuming.
“Prevented?” Lucian’s voice remains even, but there’s steel behind it. “By whom?”
“I don’t know the specifics, Your Majesty.” Zane spreads his hands in a gesture of helpless frustration that would be convincing if I didn’t know what a manipulative bastard he is. “But over the past three weeks, she has not been allowed to see me.” His voice drops, adding a note of wounded confusion that makes me want to vomit. “We were growing so close before, and now…Due to her friendship with the Queen, I fear she is being stopped from meeting with me.”
“What exactly do you mean by that, Lord Zane?” Lucian’s voice cuts through the chamber, sharp as a blade. “What does Selene’s closeness with the Queen have to do with her avoiding you?”
Zane’s expression shifts to one of terrible, carefully composed pain that makes my wolf snarl. He’s good. Too good. The bastard should have been an actor instead of a Council member.
“Your Majesty, I mean no disrespect.” He places a hand over his heart, the picture of sincerity. “But my position within the Council has long been questioned. My loyalties scrutinized. I fear—” He pauses, as if the words distress him. “I fear that may be a contributing factor. That perhaps Selene is being discouraged from associating with me due to my…complicated standing.”
The implication hangs in the air ominously. He’s not accusing anyone directly; he’s too clever for that. But the suggestion is clear: the Crown is interfering with his personal life because of political concerns.
Anger boils in my chest, but I force myself to remain still. To wait.
