CHAPTER 140: ONE HUNDRED & FORTY

*Lucien*

My brain is made of wool.

I must have passed out at some point between filling the emptiness deep inside me with Lucien’s blood and spasming against him, because my eyes drift open and I am swaddled in what feels like a cloak, my cheeks pressed against a hard wall of heat, tucked in tight by strong arms that hold firmly.

My lashes flutter.

Blood.

The Silvermoor castle is painted red. There are bodies strewn this way and that and our soldiers flanking us.

"Good to see you again, Your Grace."

My head lolls left and I see Trenton’s dark eyes. There’s a slash running along his neck. Someone must have gotten close enough to nearly decapitate him. I try to ask if he’s alright but my mouth feels like it’s been muzzled. Every bone in my body hurts. Even breathing feels like a chore.

"Leave her alone," Lucien snaps. "Stop looking at her like that."

"But she looks--"

"Shut the fuck up."

I force my gaze open again, meet violet eyes roving over my face with worry. *"What’s wrong?"* I start to ask, but my throat won’t work right.

He hears my thoughts anyway. "Nothing. It’ll pass."

I’m too drained to argue with him, so I don’t.

Something else draws my attention in my peripheral, and I tip my head to the side, finding the guards dragging a frail woman forward. Her hair is pale white and her skin is of the same sickly parlor, like the life has been drained out of her. Even worse, it reminds me of Cecilia, the crystallized, leathery patterns that ran along her skin and the dark veins that stretched underneath.

My stomach churns as ghostly white eyes flick to me. They’re the same shade with the white of her eyes. I feel many different things at once. Hate. Sorrow. Disgust. I don’t even know who that is and it makes me feel odd. *"Who is that?"* I ask, mind-to-mind.

Lucien’s lips twitch. "Lilith."

Surprise blossoms in my chest. *"What did you do to her?"*

"Gave her a makeover." He looks affronted by the horror that manages to slip through the tiredness and register in my widening eyes. *"That’s not funny, Lucien."*

A silver eyebrow arches. "Isn’t it?"

I mean to respond but a wave of fatigue slams into me and I lose a grip on my thoughts and consciousness for a bit. When my eyes open again, we’re outside the ruined castle and I’m being laid across the seat of a carriage gently.

"You’re sure leaving Silverthorn in charge here is the best option?" Trenton murmurs.

Lucien slips inside with me. "He’s not. Giving him the illusion that he is will aid his better performance. Moreover, I am in no mood for any more dramatics. I’m sure we’ve spooked them enough to last generations. If he says it is King Lucien’s order, they will abide by it. Until we find someone fit to rule these parts." A pause. A mumble. Another grumble. An annoyed growl. "It’s been a rough couple of months, Trent. Give me a damned break."

The carriage door slams shut.

I am moved slightly, so that I am draped across his thighs in the most comfortable manner, and fingers thread lightly into my hair along with a soft murmur, "I should’ve been here sooner."

*"It’s okay,"* I think tiredly as the carriage kicks into a lurch.

His head hangs and I see that the playfulness is gone in his eyes and all of that hardened armor is crushed and there is only weariness and guilt in them. "I’m sorry, Val." His fingers run over my stomach lightly and his throat bobs before his violet meets mine again, bright with... angry tears. Anger at himself, I realize. "I’m sorry."

Despite the protest in my bones, I force myself up. I force air into my lungs and strength to my voice. I cup his cheeks. "You came for me--"

"Too late--"

"I’m fine," I lie, and his gaze tells me he sees through it. I am not okay. I don’t know that I ever will be, but I know that I will not wake up one more day in that bedroom. I know that I will not have to bear another one of Rafael’s touches to my skin and tolerate it. I know that tonight will be different and I do not spend it wondering if this is the night Rafael will storm in and rape me. Or when his guards or men will give in to the urge and do more than stare at my naked body.

I try for a smile. I fail. My nostrils flare and my breaths shorten and I want to tell him we’ll be alright, like he promised. That I trust in that. But everything comes crashing down and the tears begin to spill in hot waves. He grabs my neck and crushes my face to his chest. "It was horrible," I admit.

"I know, I’m sorry," he soothes softly.

"He branded me. Everyone will see and know that--"

"You’re a survivor," he finishes. "And if they think otherwise, they will die." It’s a promise, and while I think he genuinely wants to believe it, it’d be insanity to kill everyone in his Court for thinking the obvious that I have been used and defiled by the enemy. I even smell like them. Like *him*.

Nobody will look at me like Lucien does. I know that they think, how they think. And it shouldn’t matter, but I cannot bring myself to do any of that right now. Or handle it.

"The baby," I say instead, voice cracking with vulnerability. "Will..." The question trails off. I’m unsure what to ask. I’d never quite let myself think of what would happen after. I’d never let myself consider *after*. After Rafael. After the war. After Silvermoor. It seemed so far out of reach, now all of this just feels surreal. "The first few weeks, he tried to get rid of it with tonics."

Lucien’s jaw flexes.

"And he fed me with silver. What if..." Again, the words run off.

His fingers splay over my stomach and he exhales softly. "We won’t know for sure until he is born. But Grandmother awaits us at the castle. She’ll know if something’s wrong." His eyes soften. "Margot’s been worried about you. Everyone claims to be, though, I’m quite sure they’d rather shit on my corpse. Well, except Eva." His smile dims then.

My stomach hollows out. "What’s wrong with Eva?"

His expression darkens. "She’s been missing for weeks."

***

*Evadne*

We were at the outskirts of Silvermoor when we got the news. The kingdom was in disarray, the denizens fleeing--for the lack of a better word. They fled for the borders in fear and it was rather amusing to watch Sebastian’s face when he saw the flags of Silvermoor torn down by Ebonheart soldiers and replaced by ours, and the word being spread that the kingdom was under the command of King Lucien and those who couldn’t be bothered to bend the knee to beasts were open to leaving.

I didn’t think Luke was that terrible, but I could understand where the fear came from when I saw the bodies lined up the walls.

Astrea wasn’t doing so good.

Rafael’s body is strung up on the gates of the city, his crown gleaming on his brows, just so it would not be mistaken who he was, seeing as he is damn near unrecognizable. She’s been sobbing the entire journey back, uncontrollably, inconsolably and I tried to understand her grief without seeming like a bitch for nearly laughing my head off.

"I could put in good word with my cousin," I say dryly into the drab atmosphere, watching the firelight crackle. "I am of no use to you like this. Let me go and I promise he’ll let you live."

Sebastian casts me a dark stare. "I’m sure you will fetch us a good price across the seas. There are merchants who trade in flesh. They will pay hefty for a royal like you."

"That’s enough!" Astrea snaps. "We will not be selling her to anyone. Do you never learn? Why do you think that happened to Rafael? He took the Queen and ended up that way! We will be better off making an exchange than causing her any kind of harm!"

Sebastian turns slightly, glowering at her. "They killed Rafael! Do you not feel even a tinge of anger towards them? Vengeance? They killed him like an animal. Butchered him! And had his body lined up on a stick to keep him straight for all to see like fucking skewers! Maybe you don’t care enough about him to honour him even in his death, but I do! And I will ensure he suffers some form of grief for what he has done!"

I chew glibly on the piece of meat alloted to me as Astrea shoves to her feet angrily and makes a stand in front of me. "This is stupid, Bastian. This is not you. Think for once in your damned life. Think! We’ve already lost everything. This war. Our homes. We have nothing left but her. Sell her you might, but for the right price. To the right person. Say, the Lycan King for example."

Sebastian looks to her like she’s grown another head. His hand flies to his sword and I see that his rage has blinded him. Maybe Astrea was right. Maybe deep down, there’s a good man in there. But there’s something about people who cannot think for themselves and align themselves to the decision of other people.

When the one who holds their thoughts is gone and the hierarchy is broken, they find themselves without purpose. Wild. In despair. Because they do not know what to feel. They do not know how to be... free. Some break out of it. While some never do.

Sebastian... not so much.

"Get the fuck away from her. I’m taking her. And if you stand in my way, I will run you through."