Chapter 217

Chapter 217: Chapter 217

Lysander

The quiet inside the private suite was thick, and suffocating.

I sat on the edge of the wide bed, my bare feet tucked beneath the soft wool blanket, staring down at the polished floorboards. Down below, through the thick stone floor, the low, steady thrum of the gala music echoed faintly. I could hear the distant clink of crystal glasses, the soft hum of laughter, and the muted chatter of wealthy businessmen and high border lords enjoying the evening.

The whole palace was alive, celebrating territorial ties and grand alliances.

And I was locked away up here, alone in the dark.

My hand rested over the rounded curve of my waist, my palm feeling the tiny, rhythmic pulse of life within my core. My baby gave a soft, gentle flutter against my skin, as if trying to comfort me in the quiet room.

"It’s okay," I whispered softly into the empty air, my voice trembling as a single, hot tear spilled over my lashes and dragged down my cheek. "We’re okay."

I looked over at the small wooden nightstand near the bed. On the tray sat the glass vial of Dr. Star’s vitality tonic that a servant had brought up hours ago. I had drank the whole thing, but my back still throbbed with a dull, nagging ache, and my head felt heavy with fatigue. The medicine wasn’t working. Nothing seemed to be working lately.

My mind drifted back to the quiet garden conversation from two days ago.

Julian’s cruel, melodic voice echoed in my ears with bitter clarity: He doesn’t look at you and see a mate, Lysander. He looks at you and sees a fragile target he failed to protect... He keeps his secrets locked behind closed doors, doesn’t he?

At the time, I had tried so hard to brush his words away. I had told myself that Julian was just a bitter traitor trying to poison my mind. But sitting here in the dark while the rest of the world celebrated downstairs, those poisonous words began to feel like the absolute truth.

Before the first guests arrived tonight, Drake had stepped into the room. He was dressed impeccably in his dark formal coat, his dark hair neatly combed, looking every bit the proud, absolute ruler of this vast territory. He had sat on the edge of the mattress, cupped my face in his large, warm hand, and told me to stay inside the suite for the evening.

He had spoken in a soft, low voice. He had told me it was too loud downstairs, too crowded, and too dangerous for someone carrying a developing core. He had kissed my forehead, tucked the blanket around my shoulders, and locked the master suite doors from the outside.

He had framed it as protection.

But as the hours ticked by in the silent room, the ugly, painful truth settled deep into my chest.

He wasn’t keeping me up here because he was afraid I would get hurt. He was keeping me up here because he was embarrassed of me.

I looked down at my bruised hands, my messy dark hair, and my pale, exhausted face reflection in the dark glass window pane. I wasn’t a noble lord. I wasn’t a powerful regional leader who could stand at his side in front of wealthy investors and ancient vampire lords. I was just a broken, fragile half-breed who had been dragged through the mud, chained in a damp cellar, and poisoned by dark magic.

Every time Drake looked at me, he didn’t see a partner he was proud to show to the world. He saw a mistake. He saw a messy liability that brought enemies to his gates and disgraced his household name.

Downstairs, there were high-born vampire ladies and elegant border consorts walking through the grand hall—people with pure lineage, refined manners, and clean histories. People who could stand beside him at parties without bringing shame to his domain.

Maybe he’s looking for someone else tonight, a small, broken voice whispered inside my mind. Someone who isn’t damaged. Someone who can actually give him what he deserves.

A fresh wave of tears burst from my eyes, burning hot as they ran down my cheeks and dripped onto my linen shirt. I buried my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking with quiet, helpless sobs that I forced myself to keep silent so the guards in the hallway wouldn’t hear me weeping.

The worst part—the part that tore my soul into tiny, bleeding pieces—was that I couldn’t even find it in my heart to be angry with him.

I couldn’t hate Drake for leaving me in the dark. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to hide me away from his important guests.

Because deep down, I knew I deserved it.

I had brought all of this upon our heads. I was the one who had been weak enough to be taken by Gideon. I was the one who had let my fear make a coward out of me, keeping secrets and dragging trouble straight to Drake’s doorstep. Drake had bled for me, fought for me, and torn down stone walls to bring me home, and all I had given him in return was constant stress, danger, and shame.

If he was embarrassed to claim me as his mate in front of his allies, it was only because I had given him every reason to be ashamed. If he was looking at other nobles downstairs, thinking about replacing me with a proper consort who wouldn’t drag his name through the dirt, I had no right to complain.

"I’m sorry," I whimpered into the quiet dark, pulling my knees up toward my chest, wrapping my arms tight around my lower middle as if I could hide myself away from the world entirely. "I’m so sorry, Drake..."

I wept until my chest ached, until my eyes were swollen and dry, until I had no tears left to shed.

The distant music downstairs slowly began to fade as the late hours of the night dragged on. The guests were likely leaving, the grand party coming to a quiet end, but I stayed curled up on the edge of the bed, feeling smaller and more alone than I had ever felt in my life.

I didn’t care about the soft velvet quilts anymore. I didn’t care about the warm, fragrant tea or the grand room. The golden cage Drake had built around me felt no different than the cold cellar beneath Gideon’s fortress, because inside my heart, I was still a prisoner—bound not by iron chains, but by my own crushing guilt and failure.

When the quiet lock on the suite door finally chimed and clicked open a little after two in the morning, I didn’t jump up to greet him. I didn’t call out his name or reach for his hand.

I simply pulled the heavy wool blanket over my head, turned my face toward the dark wall, and closed my eyes, silently accepting the cold distance that was pulling us apart.