Chapter 176

Chapter 176: Chapter 176

Julian’s pov

The keycard chimed softly as I swiped it through the reader, the digital display flashing a crisp, glowing green.

The security lock disengaged with a satisfying, heavy thunk, and I paused for a brief second in the dim service corridor to adjust the dark silk cuffs of my jacket. I smoothed down my lapels, letting a smile curdle across my face.

It was remarkable how quickly a kingdom could rot from the inside when the king finally opened his eyes.

For months, I had been forced to watch from the sidelines while Drake built his pathetic little sanctuary on this mountain ridge.

Drake, a High Sovereign of the pureblood houses, an apex predator whose name used to strike cold terror into the hearts of the council had turned himself into a doting, domestic fool for a fragile, half-bred hybrid. He had built wards for him. He had suppressed his own ancient blood for him. He had treated that boy like a delicate porcelain doll that would shatter at the slightest draft.

And now, the doll was sitting on the floor of a high-security cell. Who the hell said dreams couldn’t be achieved?

I pushed the iron door open, stepping smoothly into the room.

The space was stripped bare, exactly as Drake had ordered. High bar-reinforced windows, a low leather sofa, a plain bed, and no sharp edges. The morning light was a dull, sickly gray, spilling across the polished floorboards where Lysander sat curled on his side, his knees drawn up toward his chest.

He looked pitiful.

His sweater was rumpled, his hair matted and damp with cold sweat, his face so deathly pale he almost looked like one of us. But beneath the pale skin, the faint, erratic pulse of his blood was thrumming in a pathetic, jumpy rhythm that practically screamed desperation.

As the door clicked shut behind me, Lysander flinched.

He scrambled backward on the sofa, his bare feet digging into the leather cushions, his dark eyes wide and wild with a mix of exhaustion and instant, sharp hostility.

His hands immediately flew to the front of his oversized hoodie, clutching the thick fabric tight over his lap in a defensive, twitchy gesture that made me want to laugh out loud.

"You," Lysander rasped, his voice rough and broken from tears. "What are you doing in here?"

I let my smile widen, stepping farther into the room with slow, measured grace, letting my heels click loudly against the wood floor.

"Is that any way to speak to a guest, little bird?" I purred, stopping three feet from the edge of the sofa. I folded my hands neatly behind my back, looking down at him with quiet, unadulterated pleasure. "Or should I say... your new handler?"

Lysander’s dark eyebrows pulled together, his jaw tightening as he pressed his back hard against the leather armrest. "What are you talking about? Where are the guards?"

"The guards answer to the estate management," I replied smoothly, tilting my head. "And as of twenty minutes ago, Lord Drake has graciously delegated the administrative burden of your oversight... to me."

A flash of pure, cold terror rippled across his face, so sharp and transparent it was almost embarrassing to watch. He tried to hide it, pulling his chin up and forcing his trembling shoulders straight, but the subtle hitch in his breathing betrayed him instantly.

"Drake wouldn’t leave me with you," Lysander spat out, though the words lacked any real bite, cracking under the weight of his own doubt.

"Oh, but he did," I chuckled, taking a slow step closer, enjoying the way his pupils dilated as my shadow fell over his lap. "You see, Lysander, Drake is a busy man . He has territory to manage, council lords to appease, and a legacy to rebuild. He doesn’t have the time or the patience to fuss over a traitorous whore who couldn’t even manage basic fidelity."

"I am not a traitor!" Lysander yelled, his hybrid energy giving a sudden, pathetic little spike beneath his skin.

It didn’t even trigger the room’s suppressant wards; it was too weak, too frayed, like a dying candle flickering in the wind.

"Aren’t you?" I asked softly, leaning down until my face was only a foot from his.

I let my eyes flare bright, casting a bloody glare over his pale, sweaty cheekbones. I smelled him deeply—taking in the sour scent of his morning sickness, the salt of his tears, and beneath it all, that subtle, maddening shift in his aura that Drake had been obsessing over for days.

Lysander flinched away from my glare, burying his face deeper into the collar of his hoodie, his hands digging into the thick wool over his middle as if he were trying to curl into a ball and disappear entirely.

"Drake loved you, you know," I whispered into the quiet room, letting my voice drop into a soft, venomous purr. "He genuinely believed you were different. He thought he could turn a feral little boy into his consort. He almost made the rest of us believe it, too."

Lysander swallowed hard, his eyelashes fluttering as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out my voice. A single tear slipped down his cheek, dragging through the grime on his skin.

"And then you ran straight back to Darius," I continued, resting one hand casually on the armrest of the sofa, leaning my weight over him. "You let that filthy old leech put his hands on you, put his mark on you, and then you had the audacity to crawl back here and expect Drake to kiss your forehead and tell you it was all okay."

"You don’t know anything about what happened," Lysander choked out, his voice shaking violently. "You don’t know a damn thing."

"I know enough," I sneered, straightening up and brushing an invisible speck of dust from my dark sleeve. "I know that while you were running through the woods playing games with men who view you as nothing more than an entertaining pet, Drake was sitting in his study, realizing what a massive mistake he made when he chose you over his own kind."

I stepped back toward the door, my heels clicking against the floorboards once more. I reached for the handle, pausing just as the lock disengaged.

I turned my head, looking back over my shoulder at the small, broken figure huddled on the leather couch.

"Lord Drake has given me full authority over your schedule, your meals, and your accommodations," I said, letting a cold, dark promise thread through my words. "And I intend to ensure that every single hour you spend in this room reminds you of exactly what you threw away."

I pulled the iron door shut, letting the digital lock engage with a sharp, heavy beep-click.

Standing in the quiet corridor outside, I smoothed down my silk cuffs once more, my chest swelling with a deep, intoxicating satisfaction.

Drake’s favorite toy was finally broken and I was going to enjoy every second of tearing the rest of him to pieces.