CHAPTER 490: CHAPTER 484: THE SCARS OF BETRAYAL (2)

Noah’s tablet nearly slipped from his hands as he scrambled to his feet, his pulse racing faster than the ether conduits that hummed through the walls. Arik was still at the railing, frozen, golden eyes wide and wild, lips pressed tight as though holding back something sharp enough to cut.

"Arik?" Noah tried again, quieter this time, but there was no answer, only the faint tremor of the boy’s shoulders, his knuckles bone-white where they clung to the steel rail.

Panic clenched hard in Noah’s chest. He wasn’t stupid; Arik wasn’t just sulking. Something was wrong, wrong in a way that made his stomach lurch.

And Gabriel and Damian were nowhere near the balcony.

Noah didn’t think. He bolted. The glass doors hissed open at his touch, and he darted down the corridor, the sounds of music and applause fading behind him. His shoes slapped against the polished floors, breaths coming sharp and uneven as he searched for the one adult who never looked surprised no matter what disaster appeared.

He found him at the corner, moving with his usual composed precision: Edward, immaculate in a dark suit, a stack of slim data tablets balanced in one arm. His expression barely shifted as Noah skidded to a halt in front of him, wide-eyed and flushed.

"Lord Noah," Edward greeted evenly, though his brow arched at the boy’s state. "Shouldn’t you be with the others?"

Noah shook his head fast, words tumbling over each other. "It’s Arik... he’s not... he’s not right. He looks... he looks sick, or scared, or... I don’t know! He’s just standing there and he won’t answer properly."

For a heartbeat, Edward stilled, weighing the words with the kind of precision that could cut steel. His eyes sharpened, and the tablets under his arm shifted as he adjusted his grip.

"Take me to him," Edward said simply, his voice calm but edged with urgency.

Noah didn’t need telling twice. He spun and ran back the way he came, Edward’s longer strides closing the distance quickly. The corridor narrowed, the hum of conduits thickening again as they approached the balcony.

Arik hadn’t moved. His small frame was locked against the railing, golden eyes still wide and fixed on the banquet below, his breathing shallow but too fast. He didn’t even twitch at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Edward’s gaze swept him once, quick and cutting, before he set the tablets aside on the nearest console. He stepped forward, voice low but carrying that edge of authority that usually snapped the boy out of whatever mischief he was brewing.

"Your Highness," Edward said firmly. "Step back from the railing."

No response.

Edward’s brows drew together, faint but sharp. Arik had never been sick, not once, not a fever, not even a cold. Gabriel liked to joke that the boy’s immune system was as imperious as his father’s temper. But this... this stillness, this trembling, it was wrong. Entirely wrong.

Edward laid a steady hand on Arik’s shoulder, intending to draw him back, but the boy flinched like the touch burned, his breath catching in a sharp, ragged sound. His fingers only tightened around the steel rail.

"Arik," Edward pressed, softer now, though his tone brooked no argument. "You will look at me."

Slowly, jerking, as though every movement scraped against something inside, Arik turned his head. His golden eyes met Edward’s, but they didn’t look like a child’s anymore. They felt old, sharp, and too full of something that shouldn’t have been there.

For the first time in years, Edward’s composure cracked by a hair’s breadth. His grip on Arik’s shoulder steadied, firm but careful. He pulled Arik into his arms with the ease of long practice, as though the boy weighed nothing at all. His voice, usually clipped and precise, softened to the low cadence Arik knew too well, the one that promised him anything he asked.

"Everything is alright, Arik. Can you talk with me?"

For a beat, silence. Arik’s breath still came too fast, too sharp, but his golden eyes blinked once, then again, like he was trying to shake something from behind them. His small fingers curled into the fabric of Edward’s jacket, and his voice rasped out, faint but controlled:

"I’m... I’m fine, Edward."

Edward exhaled through his nose, a sound too quiet to be a sigh, but close. "You are not," he said evenly, but he didn’t loosen his hold. His hand smoothed once across Arik’s back over the silk jacket, steady pressure meant to ground him. "You don’t need to be fine. You only need to stay here, with me."

Noah lingered a step away, clutching his tablet like it might protect him too. His brows knitted tight as he whispered, "He’s never like this. He’s never..." He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Edward didn’t look away from Arik, golden eyes still clouded with something too old to belong in a child’s face. "No," he murmured at last, quiet but firm. "He has never been like this. Which is why we don’t pretend it’s nothing."

His hand tightened faintly at Arik’s shoulder, voice low enough only the boy could hear. "You will not lie to me, Your Highness."

Arik swallowed, throat working, but he didn’t protest. His head pressed against Edward’s collar instead, his words muffled but stubborn. "I remember... something. It hurts."

Edward’s eyes sharpened, his fierce nature cutting clean through the softness. His free hand shifted, pressing a coded signal against the comm band at his wrist, and wards in the walls responded with a low pulse.

Edward’s signal had barely faded when the wards stirred again. The pulse was heavier this time, carrying the sharp weight of someone who belonged to the Shadows.

Gregoris.

The commander didn’t wait for explanations. His steel-silver eyes flicked to Edward first, then settled on the child in his arms. The tension in his jaw shifted, softening, the way it only ever did around the boy.

"What happened?" His voice was low, clipped, but it was meant for Edward.

Edward’s dark brown eyes held steady, though his composure had a crack in it. "He collapsed. Says he’s fine, but look at him. He’s not."

Arik stirred faintly, his curls damp with sweat, his golden eyes too wide. He didn’t fight Edward’s hold, but his small hands were trembling.

Gregoris stepped forward, extending his arms. "Come here, cub. You’re scaring Edward."

For the first time since the fit began, Arik moved willingly. He burrowed into Gregoris’s chest the moment he was shifted over, fists clutching at the dark fabric of his jacket like he’d done a hundred times in training breaks when he was tired, scraped, or sulking.

But this time, the sharp little voice wasn’t sulky. It broke, raw and thin.

"It hurts," Arik whispered, then choked as tears finally spilled. His voice cracked higher, desperate. "Uncle, it hurts..."

Gregoris closed his eyes briefly, jaw flexing, then pressed a hand steady against the boy’s back, the other cupping the back of his head. He bent just enough to tuck Arik closer, his tone dropping into the gravel-edged reassurance that had always steadied him.

"I’ve got you, cub. Breathe. I’ve got you."

The boy broke down fully, his cries muffled into Gregoris’s chest, the sound too raw for a child who’d never known sickness, who had never once faltered under training.

Gregoris’s arms tightened around him, protective and unyielding, his silver eyes darkening as he looked back at Edward. "I’ll take him to his parents’ rooms. They’ll want to see this for themselves."

Edward inclined his head, silent agreement in the shadowed lines of his face.

Without another word, Gregoris turned, his stride steady as he carried Arik down the corridor. The wards bent easily to his command, opening before him, the boy’s sobs rattling in the quiet like cracks in polished steel.