Chapter 224

Chapter 224: Chapter 224

Drake

The rain had stopped, leaving behind a thick, freezing silence that hung over the palace.

I stood near the wide desk in my study, staring down at the sharp porcelain shards still scattered across the wood. The quiet in the main house was suffocating. Every room felt empty, cold, and hollow. Down the hall,Calix’s guest suite was quiet, the gentle noble sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of the storm raging inside my chest.

You are just a man trying to survive a broken heart.

Calix’s words echoed through my head, beating against my brain like a heavy hammer.

I turned away from the desk, pulled my dark coat over my shoulders, and stepped out into the quiet corridor.My feet carried me down the long hallway, past the empty reception rooms, and straight up the grand marble staircase toward the west wing.

The two guards posted outside the master suite straightened instantly as my shadow fell over them. Their faces were pale, their posture stiff, but they didn’t say a word. They simply swiped their keycards, input the override code, and pulled the doors back.

I stepped into the dark room, and the doors clicked shut behind me.

The master suite was freezing. The hearth had died hours ago, leaving only faint grey embers glowing in the dark. The tall lancet windows were clouded with condensation, blocking out the pale moonlight.

In the center of the vast, quiet room, a small shape lay curled on the far edge of the mattress.

Lysander was asleep. He was pulled into a tight, defensive ball beneath a single thin blanket, his knees tucked up toward his chest, his dark hair messy against the white pillow. His hand was pressed tight over his rounded waist, even in sleep holding our baby as if expecting someone to tear it away from him.

He looked so small. So pale and fragile. The vibrant warmth that usually filled his skin was gone, replaced by a dull, exhausted grey that cut straight into my chest.

I took a slow, quiet step toward the bed.

The moment my boot touched the floorboard, Lysander gasped.

His dark eyes snapped open in pure terror. He scrambled backward across the mattress, his back slamming hard against the wooden headboard, his breathing coming in fast, shallow gasps. His hands clutched the thin blanket up to his throat, his body shaking violently as he looked at me through the dim light.

"Drake..." he rasped out, his voice broken, hoarse, and dry. "Please... I didn’t do anything... I’ve been in bed all day..."

The terror in his voice made my throat lock tight. He wasn’t looking at his mate. He was looking at a ghost, a cold executioner who had broken his heart and left him in the dark.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t trust my voice to stay level.

I kicked off my boots, unbuttoned my dark coat, and tossed it onto the chair near the foot of the bed. I stepped onto the mattress, moving slowly, every muscle in my body pulled taut like a bowstring.

Lysander’s eyes widened in sheer, breathless shock. "Drake, what are you doing? You... you have a new mate. The guards said—"

"Be quiet," I growled low in my throat, cutting off his words before they could tear another hole in my chest.

I reached out, grabbing his waist, and pulled his small frame across the mattress toward me.

Lysander let out a sharp, breathless gasp, but he didn’t fight me. He couldn’t. His body was too weak, his energy completely drained from weeks of isolation and untouched food trays. As my broad hands locked around his waist, pulling him flush against my chest, a sudden, violent shiver ran through his whole frame.

I sank onto the bed, pulling him into my lap, wrapping my arms tightly around his back.

The moment his skin touched mine, the moment his forehead pressed against the crook of my neck—my whole being let out a long, shuddering gasp.

The freezing, unbearable ache that had been tearing my chest apart for weeks vanished instantly. The sharp,restless static in my blood melted away into a rich, golden heat. It was like breathing after being underwater for a month. My body, my marrow, and my soul recognized him instantly, drinking in his sweet hybrid scent like a dying man at a well.

I buried my face in his dark, messy hair, breathing him in, holding him so tight I could feel every rib in his frame.

"Drake..." Lysander whimpered softly against my throat, his hands trembling as they rested against my chest."Please..."

"Stay still," I murmured, my voice rough, thick, and completely stripped of pride.

I couldn’t touch Calix. I couldn’t let another soul stand beside me. No matter how much I hated what I had seen in that parlor, no matter how much my mind screamed that he had betrayed me, my body belonged to him. I was starving for him—for his warmth, his touch, his smell, and the unbending bond that bound us together.

I slid my hand down beneath his thin linen shirt, pressing my broad palm flat against his stomach.

Deep within his core, beneath his cold, exhausted skin, our child gave a sudden, eager flutter. The baby’s pulse thrummed fast and clear against my palm, responding instantly to the pureblood heat radiating from my skin.

Lysander let out a soft, broken sob, his head dropping heavily onto my shoulder, his tears soaking through my shirt. His fingers slowly curled into the fabric over my chest, clinging to me with a desperate, heartbreaking hunger of his own.

"I didn’t do it, Drake," Lysander wept into my skin, his voice cracking with a raw, agonizing sorrow that broke my heart into a thousand pieces. "I swear to you... I never touched him... I never left this room..."

My chest ached so hard I thought my ribs would snap. Every piece of logic told me to push him away, to remind him of the parlor, to harden my heart against his tears. But as I held his shivering frame in the quiet dark, listening to the steady pulse of our child beneath my hand, I couldn’t speak a single cold word.

I leaned down, pressing my lips firmly against his damp temple, breathing in his warmth.

"Go to sleep, Lysander," I whispered softly into his hair, my hand staying flat over his stomach, wrapping my arms around his frame like a thick, protective shield.

Lysander let out a shuddering, exhausted breath, his body finally relaxing into my arms. He didn’t ask more questions. He didn’t push me away. He simply buried his face deeper into my neck, his fingers holding tight to my shirt, letting the deep warmth of my presence chase the lingering cold from his blood.