Chapter 197

Chapter 197: Chapter 197

Lysander’s pov

Before the echo of Julian’s voice could fade into the quiet room, a shadow crossed the threshold.

A tall, pale figure stepped out of the dark hallway and into the light of my quarters. He moved with a smooth, terrifying speed, his dark coat damp from the mountain storm outside, his sharp face carved into an expression of cold, analytical precision.

Gideon.

"You should have taken his offer, little bro," Gideon said softly, his voice a low, melodious hum that carried an unnatural weight.

My heart slammed against my ribs like a trapped bird. My instincts screamed at me to fight, to drop into a defensive stance, to wake my mother in the adjoining room, or to leap toward the emergency alarm panel beside the bed. I shifted my weight, ready to strike.

"Get out of my room—" I rasped out, raising my hand to push him back.

Gideon didn’t draw a blade. He didn’t raise his fists. He simply extended his right hand, his fingers spreading wide as a faint, shimmering pale-blue light flared around his knuckles.

A sudden, sharp pressure hit my forehead like an invisible iron spike.

The sensation wasn’t physical pain; it was a cold, suffocating wave that crashed straight through my skull, sweeping into every nerve ending, every muscle, and every thread of my thoughts. The ambient noise of the storm outside vanished instantly, replaced by a loud, high-pitched ringing in my ears that drowned out the world.

My body froze.

I couldn’t move my fingers. I couldn’t shift my feet. My arm stayed suspended in mid-air, locked in place like stone. The sharp, protective fire of my aura was instantly smothered beneath an icy, impenetrable blanket of dark spell-craft.

No! I screamed inside my head, straining with every ounce of my will to throw my weight forward. Move! Move!

Not a single muscle twitched.

"Very good," Gideon murmured smoothly, stepping closer until he stood right in front of me. His pale eyes burned with a strange, silvery glow as he locked his gaze onto mine. "Your blood is resilient, Lysander, but your mind is frayed by stress. You will not fight. You will not scream. You will obey."

The compulsion settled deep into my brain, binding my nervous system like thin, unbreakable steel wires. I was completely trapped inside my own skull, fully conscious, agonizingly aware of everything happening around me, yet utterly stripped of control over my own flesh.

My hand slowly dropped back to my side, not because I wanted it to, but because Gideon’s mind demanded it.

Mom! I tried to shout, trying to force my vocal cords to vibrate, trying to tear a single sound from my throat to alert her in the next room. But my lips remained clamped shut, my breathing smooth and rhythmic, as if I were standing in a tranquil trance.

Julian stepped up beside Gideon, letting out a long, shuddering breath as he looked at my blank, frozen face. A cruel, relieved smile carved its way onto his pale lips.

"Is he fully under?" Julian whispered, his silver eyes scanning my posture.

"His physical body belongs to me now," Gideon replied flatly, keeping his glowing fingers pointed toward my forehead. "His mind is screaming behind the wall, but his legs will walk wherever I command them to go."

Julian turned toward me, leaning in until his breath fanned warm and sour across my cheek. He reached out, his manicured fingers lightly pinching my chin, tilting my face side to side as if inspecting a wooden doll.

"Look at you now, little bird," Julian purred, his voice dripping with dark, malicious satisfaction. "So brave a moment ago, talking about your mate and your home. And now you can’t even blink without permission."

He let go of my jaw, wiping his fingers on his cloak as if touching my skin had dirtied him.

"Take him," Julian commanded Gideon, his tone dropping into a sharp, urgent register. "The guards will return from their false patrol in less than three minutes. Get him out through the side courtyard before the wards reset."

Gideon lowered his hand slightly, though the pale-blue light around his fingers continued to thrum in rhythm with my forced pulse. He turned toward the open doorway and gestured with two fingers.

"Turn around, Lysander," Gideon commanded, his low voice echoing inside my skull like an absolute law. "Walk toward the corridor."

A terrifying, sickening sensation rushed through my blood.

Against every instinct in my soul, my right foot lifted. My heel struck the hardwood floorboards, taking a smooth, measured step toward the door. Then my left foot moved.

Stop! I roared at my body, fighting the invisible wires wrapping around my brain. Stop walking! Fall down! Break your ankle! Anything!

My frame didn’t falter. I walked with grace and precision, my bare feet silent against the floor, stepping out of my room and into the cold, dimly lit corridor of the west wing.

My heart was thrashing wildly against my ribs, tears burning hot behind my unblinking eyes, but my face remained a smooth, expressionless mask. I was being forced to march away from my sanctuary, away from my mother, and away from the man who was fast asleep in his study just three corridors over.

We reached the end of the hallway, slipping through the side service door and stepping straight out into the roaring mountain storm.

The icy rain struck my face instantly, soaking through my thin linen tunic and plastering the dark hair to my forehead. The freezing wind whipped through the trees, howling like a wounded wolf across the courtyard, but the sharp cold couldn’t break the dark spell binding my limbs.

Gideon walked beside me, his hand hovering near my shoulder, maintaining the invisible thread of magic that pulled me across the wet stone tiles. Julian followed close behind, his dark cloak billowing in the wind as he kept a paranoid watch over the dark palace windows.

We crossed the outer courtyard, moving toward the narrow breach in the perimeter wall where the boundary wards had been disarmed.

Every step felt like a nightmare. My mind was clawing at the walls of my skull, screaming for Drake, screaming for help, begging my hybrid blood to surge forward and snap the compulsion. I thought of the warmth of Drake’s palms on my stomach, the quiet promise we had shared in the dark, and the precious life growing inside me that was now being dragged straight into the enemy’s hands.

Drake... I wept in the dark, silent prison of my mind as my forced legs carried me across the boundary line and out into the stormy wilderness. Drake, please wake up...