Chapter 206

Chapter 206: Chapter 206

Drake’s pov

The quiet inside the main palace was suffocating.

For three days, the estate had operated under a thin, artificial veil of normalcy. The boundary patrols walked their routine shifts, the high-tier wards along the perimeter hummed with steady precision, and the council ministers submitted their daily territorial logs.

To the rest of the world, I was simply mourning a betrayal, retreating into his private quarters after his consort had fled into the night.

They did not know that beneath my calm, marble mask, every drop of my marrow was burning with a quiet, lethal heat.

I stood near the tall lancet window of my private study, looking out over the rain-slick stone courtyard. The mountain fog clung low to the pine canopy, cold and gray, but my thoughts were far away, tracking the thin, distant pulse of my bond across the valley ridge. It was weak, dampened by subterranean stone wards but it was alive.

Lysander was still fighting.

A soft knock sounded at the doors, breaking the absolute stillness of the room.

"Enter," I commanded, my voice flat and level, stripped of all emotion.

The door swung open, and Julian stepped into the room.

He was dressed in a pristine, dark velvet tunic, his silver hair brushed back with immaculate care, his posture carrying the quiet confidence of a courtier who believed he had successfully reclaimed his place at my side. Over the past seventy-two hours, Julian had made a point of being present, offering council documents, arranging my schedules, and quietly positioning himself as the indispensable anchor in my time of "grief."

Yet, his presence was riddled with subtle, undeniable flaws.

"My Lord," Julian said smoothly, carrying a small silver tray with a sealed parchment scroll. "The northern border scouts have submitted their weekly movement reports. I thought you would want to inspect them before the evening session."

I didn’t turn away from the window immediately. I let him walk across the polished floorboards, tracking the rhythm of his footsteps.

Over the last two days, Julian had slipped out of the palace grounds three times during the late hours, always during the guard rotation shifts, always using the unmonitored service passages beneath the east wing. He believed his movements were invisible, unaware that two of my elite covert scouts were tracking his every shadow from a safe distance.

"Leave them on the desk, Julian," I murmured, my gaze remaining fixed on the misty courtyard below.

"Of course, Drake," he replied softly.

Instead of setting the tray down and stepping back toward the threshold as protocol dictated, Julian lingered. He took two slow, unhurried steps closer to where I stood near the window, playing the part of a devoted companion offering silent comfort me.

"You have barely rested since that night," Julian purred, his voice dropping into a soft, sorrowful register. "The court understands your pain, Drake. But you cannot let the wolf’s choice consume you. The domain needs its leader."

I slowly turned my head, my crimson eyes locking onto his pale face.

Julian didn’t flinch. He stood there, his silver-tinted eyes wide with manufactured sympathy, his hands folded neatly in front of his velvet tunic. He thought he was untouchable. He thought the lie he had built on the rainy ridge had sealed my heart forever.

I took a single, deliberate step toward him, closing the distance until I stood less than two feet away.

Julian’s breath hitched slightly, a microscopic reaction that only a pureblood’s heightened senses would pick up but he quickly masked it with a soft, comforting smile.

"I am merely concerned for your health, my Lord," he added softly.

I didn’t answer him. I narrowed my eyes, drawing a slow, deep breath of the air surrounding his frame.

My heightened senses peeled away the layers of scent clinging to his velvet clothes, the sweet, herbal soap from his morning bath, the crisp scent of pine wood from the hearth, and the subtle, metallic tang of his silver-tinted blood.

Then, beneath all of it, my pureblood instincts caught something else.

It was faint, an almost invisible trace lingering in the folds of his left sleeve but to my ancient blood, it was as distinct as a flare in the dark.

Lysander’s scent.

It wasn’t the old, stale scent of someone who had lived in the same palace days ago. It was fresh, a sharp, distinct mix of wet spruce needles, raw blood, and the bitter, metallic tang of heavy suppression iron.

My pureblood marrow gave a sudden, violent surge, every nerve ending in my body going razor-sharp.

Julian had not merely watched Lysander leave from the boundary ridge as he claimed. He had been close enough to him within the last twelve hours to touch him, to brush against his skin, or to stand over him while he was bound in chains.

He touched my mate, a dark, feral voice growled deep within my chest. He stood in the same room while my child was bound.

My fingers twitched at my sides, my hands itching to reach out, lock around his pale throat, and crush the life straight out of his lying frame. Every pureblood instinct screamed at me to tear his head from his shoulders right here on the polished floorboards.

I forced my muscles to remain stone-still.

If I executed Julian now, if I gave in to the roaring rage threatening to consume my chest, his co-conspirators across the border would know instantly. Gideon would move Lysander to a deeper, more remote stronghold, or worse, eliminate the evidence before I could breach their gates.

I had to let the serpent lead me directly to the vault.

"Drake?" Julian asked, his brow pulling together in a small, puzzled line as he noticed the sudden, absolute stillness in my posture. "Is something wrong?"

I forced the cold, lethal rage down into the darkest depths of my marrow, smoothing my carved marble face into a flat, impenetrable wall.

"No, Julian," I replied, my voice dropping an octave, carrying a flat, quiet exhaustion that played right into his illusion. "Nothing is wrong. I was simply thinking about what you said on the ridge."

A subtle, triumphant spark flickered deep within Julian’s silver eyes, though he kept his smile soft and modest. "I only spoke the truth, my Lord. The wolf chose his own path. It is time you let him go."

"Perhaps you are right," I lied smoothly, every word tasting like ash on my tongue as I turned back toward the window. "Leave the reports. I will review them alone."

"As you wish, Drake," Julian bowed his head deeply, taking two steps back before turning on his heel and walking out of the study, the heavy oak doors clicking shut behind him.

The moment the latch engaged, the ambient temperature in the room plummeted to absolute zero. Frost bloomed rapidly across the glass panes of the lancet window, the pureblood static around my shoulders flaring into a terrifying, invisible storm.

I reached into my coat, pulled out my silver comms device, and activated Captain Vane’s direct channel.

"Vane," I growled low into the device, the deep vibration rattling the crystal glass on my desk.

"Sir," Vane replied instantly. "We are monitoring Lord Julian’s quarters."

"He will leave the palace again tonight," I commanded flatly, my crimson eyes burning like twin fires against the frosted glass. "Do not engage him. Follow him past the border, mark every guard post he passes, and track him straight to Gideon’s location. The moment he steps inside their fortress... send me the signal."

"It will be done immediately, My lord."

I cut the channel, my broad hand pressing flat against the cold, frosted glass of the window, looking out into the misty valley where my mate was waiting.

"Just a little longer, Lysander," I whispered into the quiet, lethal cold of the room. "I am coming."