Chapter 185

Chapter 185: Chapter 185

Lysander’s pov

The transformation of my gilded cage happened without a single word of comfort.

By nightfall, the west wing felt completely different, yet ten times more suffocating. The cold, biting draft that Julian had allowed to creep through the floorboards was gone, replaced by the low, steady hum of the automated floor-heating grid.

Double-layered wool blankets, thick and pristine, were left neatly folded at the foot of my bed, alongside soft linen tunics designed to fit loosely over my waist.

And then there were the meals.

There were no more lukewarm broths or stale tap water. Every six hours, the digital lock would chime, and a high-ranking household steward—escorted by two armed guards—would deliver silver trays lined with rich, nutrient-dense foods.

Steaming broths infused with rare mountain herbs, tender cuts of meat, fresh winter berries, and crystal decanters of sweetened spring water filled the small table. Beside the tray sat a small, amber glass vial containing Dr. Star’s vitality tonic.

Everything was tailored to strengthen hybrid blood and nurture a growing pureblood core.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the elaborate feast spread before me, my chest tight with an unbearable, sickening ache.

I picked up the silver spoon, my hand trembling as I forced myself to swallow a mouthful of the warm broth. The food tasted rich, but in my mouth, it felt like ash.

Drake had taken total control of my physical survival. He had personally placed four elite guards outside my threshold, stripped Julian of all access to the wing, and ensured that every caloric requirement of my body was meticulously met. But he never came in to talk to me. He never asked how I was feeling. He never sat beside me on the sofa to rest a hand over my forehead or pull me against his chest.

He wasn’t caring for a loved mate. He was maintaining an iron vault that contained his potential legacy.

Later that evening, the lock disengaged with a sharp beep-click.

I froze, setting down my glass of water, my eyes snapping toward the threshold.

Drake stepped into the room. He didn’t wear his formal royal coats; he was in a simple black linen shirt, the top buttons undone, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He looked exhausted, the sharp contours of his marble face shadowed by the stress of territory politics, but his eyes were clear, cold, and entirely focused.

He didn’t look at my face. His gaze dropped immediately to the small table, scanning the silver tray.

"You finished the tonic," he observed softly, his low voice cutting through the quiet room like a thin blade.

"I drank it," I rasped, my hands clutching the fabric of my loose tunic over my stomach.

Drake took a slow step closer, stopping near the edge of the bed. He didn’t reach out to touch me. He didn’t offer a smile. He stood like an imposing shadow, inspecting my posture, my skin tone, and the subtle, rhythmic pulse beating at the base of my throat.

"The heating grid is set to twenty-two degrees," Drake said, his tone flat and administrative. "If you require additional blankets or warmer clothing, notify the steward during the morning delivery. The guards have orders to fulfill any dietary requests."

A dry, bitter sob choked in my throat, but I clamped my jaw shut, forcing it down.

Looking at him standing there—so quiet, so attentive to every detail of the environment, yet so agonizingly distant—tore my soul into ragged pieces.

It would have been easier if he had stayed furious. It would have been easier if he had yelled, smashed the furniture, or dragged me down to the lower dungeons as Julian had demanded. His cold, clinical care was infinitely worse. It was a constant, haunting reminder of the tenderness he used to give me freely, now hollowed out and converted into a sterile security protocol.

"Drake..." I whispered, my voice breaking as I looked up into his unreadable crimson eyes. "Please... just look at me."

Drake’s jaw tightened slightly, a faint muscle ticking along his pale cheekbone, but his expression remained a carved, impenetrable mask.

"I am looking at you, Lysander," he murmured, his voice completely devoid of warmth. "I am ensuring you have everything required to carry this child safely."

"That’s all I am to you now?" I choked out, tears finally spilling over my lashes, dragging hot tracks down my pale cheeks. "A chest holding something you want?"

"You made your choices," he replied smoothly, his tone dropping an octave, carrying an absolute finality that made my marrow freeze. "I am protecting what belongs to my house. Rest now. The physician will return in three days for another diagnostic."

He turned on his heel, his dark shadow sweeping across the floorboards as he walked toward the doorway.

"Drake, wait!" I cried out, taking a frantic step off the bed, but the iron panel was already sliding shut.

Beep-click.

The deadbolt locked into place, leaving me standing alone in the warm, perfectly conditioned silence of my cell.

I sank down onto my knees on the soft rug, pulling my legs tight against my chest, burying my face in my hands as ragged, suffocating sobs tore through my body.

The guilt was a physical weight, crushing my lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

Watching Drake organize my life with such meticulous, quiet concern made the secret inside me feel like a ticking bomb waiting to detonate in his hands. Every warm meal he provided, every blanket he ordered, and every guard he posted was built on a foundation of fragile, terrified hope—the belief that the child in my womb carried his royal mark.

What happens when the truth comes out?

The question clawed at my mind hour after hour, turning the quiet room into a slow torture chamber. If this child turned out to be Darius’s dark legacy, every act of care Drake showed me now would transform into an unforgivable insult. He would look at the child he had fed, protected, and sheltered with absolute, lethal disgust.

I pressed my hands tight over my stomach, rocking back and forth on the floor in the quiet dark, holding the secret that was destined to tear our world apart.