CHAPTER 122: ONE HUNDRED & TWENTY TWO

Valka

Lilith comes tearing into the room, eyes-wide, chest heaving. The physician is bent over me, a man in his late-fifties, brows furrowed in concentration.

Rafael stepped out a moment ago, because apparently I now reek because I’m pregnant, leaving me alone with the male.

I’m pregnant.

Somewhere, beneath the ribs that cage me, something lives.

My fingers curl with th need to touch my stomach, feel it, but the binds won’t let me.

My throat burns. The thought of Lucien, of this, of this child, another chance at the worst possible time, unravels me. He should be here. He should have been the first to know. To laugh, to touch me there, to whisper some fool promise about protecting what we made.

I swallow a sob, biting on my bottom lip until it bleeds as I watch the physician’s fingers move adeptly back and forth between my stomach and my pulse.

"Are you certain?" Lilith asks, her hands clenching the metal tightly enough to wring it. When the doctor nods, she cusses under her breath and begins pacing, biting on her nail bed until it bleeds. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she looked concerned. Or panicky.

The physician draws back. "I will need to prepare the tonics--"

"No," Lilith says, thrusting a hand forward. "The child stays."

The physician’s expression remains unchanged. "I do not answer to you. The King wants it gone, it will be gone."

"I will excuse you both for a moment."

Lilith’s fingers clench tight at the man leaves and she clenches them even harder, her head bowing. I didn’t understand her. Didn’t understand why she’d say no. All she’s ever wanted was to kill me. It didn’t make sense that she didn’t want the child gone.

"What did he offer you?" I ask, fingers curling as I keep testing the restraint, having nothing else to do.

I’d cried in the first hour after finding out. And decided I was tired of weeping.

Fight.

I began analyzing my situation. The only way I can remotely do that is if I get out of these chains. To do that, I need Rafael to stop seeing me as a threat. To think me broken enough that I have stopped fighting back. I need to gain his trust.

But I’m afraid even that won’t stop him from killing my child. Which is why I’m speaking to Lilith. I want nothing more than to stab her to death, but her expression earlier makes me think for some reason, she might be opposed to killing my baby.

I could be concerned for the reason why, but it works in my favour. For now.

"What did he offer you that was worth the privileged life you had in Ebonheart? The name and social standing of House Blackspire? Betraying your own kin?"

Her eyes lower to me, cold and hard. "Security."

My brows furrow in confusion. "From what? Your family is the strongest in Ebonheart."

"They cannot save me from Lucien." She traces her bloodied thumb across her bottom lip, obsessively working the skin and bruising it. "He was closing in one me with his investigations and it grew increasingly tedious to cover my tracks."

A flame comes on in my head. "It was you who aided the smuggling of weapons from Voss to Silvermoor. You had those men killed to keep that a secret."

Her hands drop and she smoothens a crease on her green, velvet dress absentmindedly. "Judge me if you must, but I have no love lost for these wolves. I had no choice."

"You had no choice? That is the grand excuse you came up with for inciting war?" Color me fucking stupid. "You could’ve taken it up with Lucien or anyone else if you were being coerced--"

"Coerced?" She’s laughs, but the sound is dry and mirthless. "Had it been mere coercion, I would have rid myself of the problem long ago. But I am caught in a web of my own making, a mistake I made centuries ago catching up to me now. And merciful as Lucien may seem, I have known him for centuries. He would unmake me in an instant if he ever found out."

"Found out what?"

Her grip tightens on her dress. "That in a moment of foolishness and intoxication, I gave away my sister’s location."

It takes a moment to sink in. And then, everything seems to still. And what follows is a rage so deep within, I cannot contain it, cannot fight it.

"You had her killed," I seethe. "For your jealousy, you had her killed. And her child. And his entire family--"

"No," she says, and for the first time, I see something remotely human on her face. "It wasn’t on purpose. Try living your entire life getting schooled and prepared to live for a man--centuries! I lived, waiting for the ’right time’. I was taught that I would be Queen. I was molded into what should have been that role. Every moment a new prince was crowned heir, I was, once again, altered to their preferences. Prince Tiernan liked his woman frail and pale. I was made to starve until I fit the requirement. Didn’t feel the sun on my skin for years, even if it feeds the fire inside me. Until I was perfect. Then he died, right before we wedded. Wyatt was the king’s obvious option. He preferred his women dull and stupid. He preferred them voluptuous. And so again, little Lilith was molded. To perfection. I couldn’t be too fat. Couldn’t be too thin. Just the right size."

She reaches for her hair. "For years, Mother dyed my hair black, even if I despised it. And I wore it with perfection. I couldn’t be anything but." Her eyes are livid. "And then came Lucien. Unpredictable. There were no preferences, so long as it amused him. There was no training, no preparation that could’ve been made. So with every new woman he was rumored to indulge, I was once again, tweaked and reformed. But he never looked at me. I could’ve been seated right beside him, could’ve told him my name a hundred times, but he’d look at me the next time and ask who I was. Even if he had no problem remembering Ilya’s name, even if it was to tell her she was ugly and her hair was greasy and she snored like a frog."

She seems to catch a breath. "I wanted someone to look at me for long enough to notice that I hated the corsets, like he did her. That I hadn’t eaten a morsel. That it wasn’t the powder that made me look pale, but I was indeed seconds away from passing out. With so many years spent living to please the men who would take the throne, I could tell at first glance that he was a rarity, and I wanted that. It was owed to me. My birthright. When he picked Ilya instead, trouncing on our family’s agreement and tradition, disregarding the fact that I had been chosen and made for him, I went mad. Because Ilya hadn’t even tried. She hadn’t been subjected to half the things I was. She was wild and did as she pleased and no one bugged her for it because I shielded her.

"I spiraled. Anyone in my place would. And I went on a wild spree. I drank. I fought. I fucked. And even then, I still didn’t know who I was outside of what they had made me into. So when I met a man at the bar, a wolf who intrigued me enough to make me tousle in the sheets, I was out of it. Didn’t know he’d spiked the beer. Didn’t know he was sent to me. In my ache, I told him I wished she’d just die. I told him where their home was tucked away on the mountains. I didn’t know it would happen. Didn’t know it was my words that lead to their deaths until I got a message. *From your lips to the goddess’s ears.* And there was no coming back from that."

Her nostrils are flared, skin several shades lighter. "I may be cruel, but I loved my sister as much as I despised her. I made a mistake. One I will be killed for when exposed, and I do not regret taking drastic measures to preserve my life--"

"You are a fool." The words leave my lips in a soft whisper, the ache--for Lucien, for Ilya, for his family, for us--making it difficult to breathe. "Once is a mistake. Twice can be perceived as coincidence, or another poor choice. But thrice? That is a sin. Is it absolution you seek?" I laugh. "From your mistake? Your sister died because of your slip up. And maybe people can make me mistakes and be forgiven for them, but when you thought her mate was ’remotely fine’ you attempted to get into his bed anyway. Does that smell like guilt to you, or bullshit?"

"I had my reasons--"

"Oh, I got this one." I lick my chapped lips. "Let me guess. You thought if you could mate with him, become his Erasthai and bear his children, it’d save you from his wrath and you’d get what you were ’owed’ anyway?"

She doesn’t respond, her delicate jaw clenching tight.

My laughter ricochets off the walls of the room, that rage surging again. "And when that didn’t work, you went and got him killed--"

"I didn’t mean for that to happen--"

"Miss me with all that gibberish, Lilith. I couldn’t care the fuck less." I lean in, all pretense forgotten and gone. "In case I haven’t made it clear, the second I get out of these chains, I will come for you. And you will come to understand that it isn’t Lucien you should be frightened of, but me."

Her face turns white as sheet, her shoulders shaking slightly, and I see the flicker of fear in her eyes before she turns abruptly and flees from the room.