I’m in the armory, beating the shit out of practice dummies like they personally offended my entire bloodline, when the bond goes haywire.
Fear. Sharp and sudden, cutting through my chest like a blade.
Not mine. Lucy’s.
The training sword clatters to the floor as I press my palm against my ribs, feeling her pulse spike through whatever cosmic wiring connects us. Something’s wrong. Not physically wrong—she’s not hurt, not bleeding—but wrong in the way that makes my wolf pace behind my sternum like a caged animal.
“Fuck,” I mutter, grabbing a towel to wipe sweat off my face.
Through the bond, emotions hit me in waves. Anger. Defiance. Then more fear, cold and bitter. Someone’s threatening her. Someone’s making her feel small and powerless while I’m down here playing with weapons like a complete asshole.
I bolt from the armory, taking stairs three at a time.
The rational part of my brain—what’s left of it—knows I can’t go charging through the palace like some unhinged berserker every time she feels uncomfortable. But the mate bond doesn’t give a shit about rational. It just screams protect until everything else becomes background noise.
I catch her scent in the corridor near the moon garden. But there’s another scent layered underneath—roses and citrus and something that makes my teeth ache.
Vaela.
Of course it’s fucking Vaela.
I follow the trail like a bloodhound, every instinct I’ve got screaming that I’m about to walk into a political minefield. But Lucy’s fear is still pulsing through the bond, and that trumps everything else.
I find them by the colonnade. Vaela circling Lucy like a predator who’s found wounded prey, all elegant menace in designer clothing. Lucy’s standing her ground, but I can feel her pulse hammering through our connection.
“—you think cradling a monster makes you queen?” Vaela’s saying.
Monster. Right. Because that’s what I am to them—something to be managed, controlled, used as leverage.
Lucy fires back with something sarcastic, but her grip on her shawl is white-knuckled. She’s holding herself together through sheer fucking willpower.
“You weren’t forged for power,” Vaela continues, voice honey-sweet with poison underneath. “You don’t understand the rituals, the politics, the way a single curtsy can end a life or win an army.”
She’s not wrong. Lucy wasn’t raised for this world. Wasn’t trained from birth to navigate the kind of political warfare that passes for conversation in royal courts. She’s operating on instinct and attitude, which works great for survival but shit for palace intrigue.
But that’s not her fault. It’s mine. For bringing her into this nest of vipers without giving her the tools to fight back.
“You are nothing but a shadow,” Vaela says. “And shadows disappear.”
Through the bond, I feel Lucy’s heart skip. Not from fear—from rage. Good. Anger she can work with. Anger keeps you alive.
“I’m still here,” Lucy says, and there’s steel in her voice that makes my chest tighten with something that might be pride.
“For now. But not once the Elders file their motion. Not once Cassian is cornered again with your fate as the cost.”
My blood goes cold. Motion. What fucking motion?
“You don’t even realize what’s coming, do you?” Vaela continues, circling closer. “You think this is a love story. But court isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a war.”
War. That much she’s got right. And Lucy’s been fighting it with both hands tied behind her back while I played politics and pretended diplomacy might actually solve anything.
“I know enough to see you’re threatened,” Lucy shoots back. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because if I wasn’t a problem, you wouldn’t have bothered with the dramatic villain speech.”
There’s my girl. Cutting straight through the bullshit to the heart of it.
Vaela’s smile flickers—just for a second, but it’s enough. Lucy drew blood with that one.
The conversation continues, but I’m already planning. Vaela’s right about one thing—this is war. But she’s made a crucial mistake. She thinks Lucy’s alone in this fight.
She’s not.
When Vaela finally leaves, trailing threats and false sympathy, I wait until she’s gone before stepping out from the shadows.
Lucy’s still standing there, spine straight despite everything, but I can feel her knees wanting to buckle through the bond. She’s bleeding all over their precious marble, just like Vaela said.
But she’s still standing.
That’s when I know exactly what I need to do.
This court wants to play war games with my mate? Fine. Let’s play.