Chapter 184

Chapter 184: Chapter 184

Lysander’s pov

The next morning, I had calmed down.

The shattered glass and blood-wine were gone, cleaned away by silent staff while I slept in fitful, exhaustion-riddled shifts on the sofa.

My body still throbbed, a dull, deep ache along my spine where Julian had thrown me against the sideboard, and an underlying, dragging weight in my lower belly that never truly left.

The digital lock chimed. A solid metallic thunk echoed through the room.

I sat up instantly, my legs swinging off the sofa, my hands flying to the thick hem of my charcoal hoodie to pull it tight over my middle.

The door swung open.

Drake stepped into the room first. His tall, imposing frame completely filled the threshold, his dark coat swinging smoothly around his boots. His face was a carved mask of marble, his

eyes locking onto me with a cold, unyielding focus that made my heart give a sharp, frantic thud against my ribs.

Behind him walked an older man with silver-streaked hair, dressed in crisp, formal navy robes bearing the crest of the Royal Citadel. He carried a leather medical case stamped with pureblood stasis runes.

My breath hitched. Panic, sharp and icy, flooded my chest.

"What is this?" I rasped, my voice rough from disuse. I scrambled backward on the sofa, pressing my back flat against the leather armrest, my dark eyes darting between Drake and the stranger. "Drake... who is he?"

Drake didn’t answer right away. He gestured to the physician with a slight nod of his head, remaining near the closed door like an impenetrable wall, his arms folded over his broad chest.

"This is Dr. Star," Drake said, his voice low, flat, and chillingly level. "He is the chief physician of the royal house. After the disturbance yesterday, he is here to ensure that you are okay."

Dr. Star stepped forward with a polite, professional bow, though his sharp gray eyes assessed me with the detached curiosity of a scientist examining a rare specimen.

"If you would lie flat on the bed, Lysander," he said smoothly, setting his leather case on the bedside table and unlatching the silver clasps. "Lord Drake requires a full diagnostic reading of your hybrid essence and vitality."

"No," I choked out, my chest heaving as I shook my head frantically. "No! I don’t want an exam! I’m fine!"

The thought of someone laying hands on my stomach, piercing my skin to probe the fragile life taking root inside me, sent a violent jolt of terror straight through my marrow.

If the physician looked too closely, if he measured the signature and blood of the developing child... he might give Drake the exact timeline. He might reveal whether this child was Drake, or Darius’s.

"Lysander," Drake warned, his low voice dropping an octave, carrying a pureblood vibration that made the air in the room dense. "Do not make this difficult."

"I said no!" I yelled, tears of frustration hot behind my eyes as I pointed a shaking finger at the bed. "You lock me in this wing, you let your cohort trash my room, and now you drag a doctor in here to force me onto a table?! Leave me alone!"

Drake took two slow, unhurried strides toward the sofa.

He simply reached down, his large, warm fingers wrapping firmly around my wrist. The pureblood heat of his touch cut through my sweater, sending a shudder straight up my arm that completely dissolved the fragile spark of my wolf’s resistance.

He pulled me up off the sofa with effortless force.

"You will be examined," Drake said, his face inches from mine, his crimson eyes burning with a dark, unyielding resolve. "For the sake of the life you carry. Walk to the bed, or I will place you there myself."

I looked into his cold, unreadable face, my jaw trembling, my throat tight with a sob I refused to let out in front of his physician. I knew that look. The High Sovereign was not asking.

My hands shaking violently, I pulled my arm from his grip, turned toward the bed, and climbed onto the mattress. I lay down flat on my back, staring up at the white ceiling, every muscle in my body clamped so tight my joints hurt.

Drake walked over to the foot of the bed, standing tall with his hands resting behind his back, keeping his watchful eyes locked on every move.

The doctor pulled a silver diagnostic crystal from his case and approached the bed. "I need you to raise your sweater, Lysander. I must place the crystal directly over your stomach."

I closed my eyes tightly, my teeth digging into my lower lip until I tasted copper, as my fingers slowly lifted the hem of my charcoal hoodie. I pulled it up just past my navel, exposing the slight, firm swell of my lower abdomen to the cold air of the room.

I felt Drake’s gaze shift immediately. The weight of his eyes on my exposed skin felt like a hot iron, intense, possessive, and suffocating.

The doctor leaned down, hovering the glowing silver crystal an inch over my core.

A soft hum of pale blue light erupted from the crystal, sinking directly beneath my skin. The magic was cold, sweeping through my veins like ice water, searching for the thrumming essence buried deep in my core.

I gasped, my back arching slightly off the bed as my hybrid energy flared in defense.

"Easy," he murmured softly, adjusting his grip on the crystal as the pale blue light turned a deep, shimmering violet, the unmistakable visual signature of magic mingling with blood. "The core is stabilizing, though his physical reserves are severely depleted. Stress levels are dangerously elevated."

Drake’s jaw tightened, his crimson eyes narrowing as he watched the violet light swirl beneath my skin. "The child?"

Dr Star closed his eyes, concentrating on the intricate threads of energy pulsing from the crystal.

"The life signature is surprisingly resilient, My Lord," he reported after a long silence. "Roughly four to five weeks in development. The

magic is adapting to shield the pureblood essence, but the carrier requires immediate nutritional support, warm environment controls, and rest."

The doctor pulled the crystal back, the violet light fading instantly, and packed it away in his case.

"I will prescribe a high-tier vitality tonic to support the blood," the doctor said, bowing to Drake. "He should not be subjected to further physical or emotional distress, Sovereign."

"See that the tonic is delivered directly to me," Drake commanded, his voice flat and emotionless. "You are dismissed."

The doctor bowed once more, picked up his case, and exited the room, the iron door clicking shut behind him.

I quickly pulled my sweater down, rolling onto my side, wrapping my arms tight around my stomach as fresh tears spilled over my lashes into the pillow. I felt small, stripped bare, and completely violated under his clinical inspection.

Drake didn’t leave immediately. He stood at the foot of the bed for a long moment, looking down at my trembling, huddled shape.

"The tonic will arrive by evening," he said softly, his voice devoid of any softness, returning to the cold, distant tone of a prison guard. "Eat the meals provided to you, Lysander. Do not force me to bring the doctor back here."

He turned on his heel, his dark coat swinging behind him as he walked toward the doorway, leaving me alone in the sterile silence of my golden cage.