Chapter 190

Chapter 190: Chapter 190

Julian

I stood in the corridor near Dr. Star’s prep station, my heart hammering against my ribs in a desperate, frantic rhythm. My fingers pressed tightly into my palms, the silver-tinted magic beneath my skin thrumming with nervous energy.

Dr. Star stepped out from his prep room carrying a velvet-lined silver tray. Upon it sat a small amber glass vial, sealed with royal stasis runes and filled with a thick, high-tier vitality tonic.

"Is that the tonic for the hybrid?" I asked smoothly, stepping into his path with a relaxed, pleasant smile.

"Yes, Lord Julian," Dr. Star replied, bowing his head slightly. "Lord Drake requested that it be brought to his study for personal inspection before delivery."

"Allow me," I offered, extending my hand toward the tray with delicate grace. "I am heading toward the study right now. I can carry it to him and spare you the walk."

Dr. Star hesitated for a fraction of a second, but before he could hand the tray over, a heavy, imposing shadow fell across the stone floorboards.

"What are you doing, Julian?"

Drake’s voice cut through the air like a frozen blade. He stood at the end of the corridor, his dark coat draped over his broad shoulders, his crimson eyes locking onto me with a terrifying, absolute stillness.

Dr. Star immediately bowed low. "Sovereign. I was preparing to bring the evening tonic to your study, as ordered."

"Leave the tray on the side table and go," Drake commanded softly, never taking his eyes off me.

Dr. Star set the tray down with a quiet clatter and swiftly bowed out of the corridor, his footsteps echoing into the quiet distance until only the two of us remained.

I turned to face Drake, forcing a warm, gentle smile onto my face as I took a step toward him. "Drake, darling, I was only trying to assist. You’ve been carrying so much stress with the territory and the council. I thought I could relieve you of a minor errand—"

PAFF!

The sharp, violent crack of a palm striking flesh echoed through the granite hallway.

My head snapped sideways from the sheer force of the blow. The sheer impact sent a shocking sting straight across my jaw. I stumbled back two paces, clutching my reddened cheek, my silver-tinted eyes wide with complete, stunned horror.

I stared at him, my breathing catching in my throat, my jaw trembling in silent humiliation.

Drake didn’t step back. He stood towering over me, his crimson eyes burning with an ancient, apocalyptic rage, his pureblood pressure expanding so fast the stone walls seemed to groan under the weight.

"Did I not make myself clear, Julian?" Drake growled low in his chest, the sound a deep, physical vibration that made the marrow in my bones freeze.

He leaned down until his pale, carved face was inches from mine, his voice dropping into a razor-edged, lethal whisper.

"This is your last warning," Drake promised softly, every word carved in absolute iron. "If you step near his quarters again... if you touch his food, speak his name, or do anything to hurt Lysander or the life he carries... I will not strip your rank. I will snap your neck with my bare hands and throw your corpse to the wolves."

I swallowed hard, my chest heaving, the blood completely drained from my face. I looked into his eyes and knew, with terrifying certainty, that he meant every single word.

"Do you understand me?" Drake demanded.

"Yes, My Lord," I rasped out through my teeth, my throat tight with bitter, venomous humiliated rage.

"Get out of my sight," Drake growled.

I turned on my heel, clutching my burning cheek, and swept down the corridor with frantic, uncoordinated strides, my pride shredded to pieces.

The throbbing ache in my cheek was nothing compared to the violent, suffocating humiliation burning in my chest.

Later, I stood in the dim shadows of the medical prep room, my knuckles white as I gripped the edge of the stainless steel counter. I stared at my reflection in the dark glass of a display cabinet.

He struck me.

For centuries, I had been at Drake’s side. I had shared his bed, his throne, and his darkest secrets. Yet he had laid hands on me—humiliated me, dismissed me, and ordered me out like a common servant—all to protect a half-bred traitor and a womb that carried a bastard.

What’s so special about him.

"He leaves you no choice, does he?" I whispered to my reflection, my voice a dark, rasping thread.

My eyes shifted to the small, amber glass vial sitting on the velvet-lined tray in front of me. It was stamped with Dr. Star’s personal seal—the high-tier vitality tonic formulated specifically to nurture pureblood magic within a hybrid carrier. Drake had ordered the physician to bring every batch directly to his private study for personal inspection, but Dr. Star had briefly left the prep room to retrieve the official transport case.

Two minutes. That was all the time I had.

I reached into my breast pocket, my fingers wrapping around a tiny, silver-capped vial filled with a clear, odorless liquid.

Nightshade-root extract, distilled with dark blood-sorcery. It wouldn’t kill the carrier; it was far too subtle for that. It would simply cause a slow, gradual drop in core temperature and a sudden, violent spasm in the hybrid’s magic—a biological "failure" that any physician, even Dr. Star, would attribute to the stress and instability of Lysander’s frayed hybrid bloodline.

The baby would slip away silently in the night. No marks, no bruises, and no evidence of sabotage.

I uncapped the tiny silver vial with a delicate, trembling hand. I hovered the tip over the amber bottle, my heart hammering against my ribs in a frantic, intoxicating rhythm.

"Once the child is gone," I purred into the quiet room, a cruel, triumphant smile carving its way onto my lips, "the High Sovereign won’t have a single reason to keep you locked in his house, little bird."

I tilted the vial. A single, crystalline drop fell into the amber tonic, dissolving instantly without a trace.

Lysander’s pov

(Later that evening...)

My mother sat at the small wooden table in my locked room, her sharp eyes locked onto the heavy iron door, watching the threshold like a predator on high alert. I was standing near the edge of the bed, wearing a soft, loose-fitting linen tunic that draped gently over my waist.

My hands were shaking, my skin flushed hot as I remembered my mother’s fierce words from earlier.

"You seduce him, Lysander... You make him remember exactly what his hands feel like on your skin."

The thought made my heart hammer like a trapped bird against my ribs. I had been terrified of Drake for days, cowering behind thick sweaters and hiding my face from his cold crimson eyes. But sitting back and acting like a helpless victim hadn’t saved me—it had only locked me tighter in this cell.

A loud, metallic thunk echoed through the heavy door.

The digital lock chimed. Beep-click.

My breath hitched in my throat as the door swung open.

Drake stepped into the room. He was dressed in a dark, tailored suit jacket, his broad shoulders filling the entryway, his presence so heavy and imposing it made the air in the room instantly freeze. In his right hand, he carried a small silver tray holding a crystal glass and the amber vial of Dr. Star’s vitality tonic.

His crimson eyes swept over the room, instantly locking onto my mother, who stood up slowly from her chair, her jaw set, her posture unyielding.

"I am delivering the evening tonic," Drake said flatly, his low voice devoid of any warmth. He walked toward the small table, setting the tray down with a quiet clatter. "Dr. Star has adjusted the dosage to support you."

"I’ll inspect it first," my mother declared firmly, stepping directly between Drake and the table, her dark eyes flashing with absolute distrust.

Drake’s dark eyebrows pulled together in a sharp line, his pureblood pressure flaring slightly. "You dare question my house physician, Elena?"

"I question anyone who has access to my son’s food in this estate," she countered smoothly, taking the amber vial from the tray. She unstoppered the bottle, bringing it up to her nose, taking a deep, slow breath of the liquid.

For three long seconds, the room was drowned in absolute silence.

My mother’s dark eyes suddenly narrowed and

She snapped her gaze up to Drake, her face turning pale with pure outrage.

"Someone tampered with this," my mother whispered, her voice dropping into a dangerous, lethal register. She held the vial out toward Drake’s face. "Smell it, Drake. Smell what your ’secure’ estate just tried to feed my son."

Drake went completely, terrifyingly still.

He reached out, taking the glass vial from her hand, and brought it to his lips. He took a short, deliberate drag of the air above the liquid.

In a split second, the ambient temperature in the room plummeted to absolute zero. Drake’s crimson eyes flared bright, burning with an ancient rage that made the reinforced glass windows vibrate in their frames.

He recognized the dark magic signature instantly.

"Julian," Drake growled low in his chest, the sound a deep, physical roar that rattled the iron hinges of the heavy door.