Chapter 49
brYLEE
Wet concrete sloshes up over my ankles. I'm standing in a deep dirt pit on a night without a moon as liquid cement pours down every angle around me, a turbulent gray waterfall, heavy and thick as it splotches and splatters down.
My heart hammers as I wade through it, desperately seeking a way out but not finding one. The thick ooze creeps rapidly upward, encasing my thighs, my stomach—
"Brylee. Brylee, wake up!"
I startle awake, shoving up off my pillow in a panic to see Kylian's face staring at me from only four inches away. My hand flies up, pushing, and he backs away so that I can take a second to blink and catch my breath.
There's no moonlight in my nesting room, only the dim light from down the hallway, which showcases an open door, and caresses one half of Kylian's silhouette. I realize that he's not in bed with me and the other guys, who have all staked out their own section of our oversized mattress.
Unlike Colter, who's shirtless and passed out with his arms splayed beneath a pillow, Kylian's fully dressed in all black as if he just went on some reconnaissance mission.
I scrub at my eyes and yawn, simultaneously grateful that he ripped me out of that terrible stress dream and annoyed that I'm awake. The reasons for the stress dream instantly pile up on me, and they're just as heavy as that concrete felt.
My parents are dead.
My brother's in the hospital.
The truce was a sham.
Caran betrayed me.
And I have to decide the next fucking step for this war.
Any one of those realities would stab me through. Each one is sharp as a blade, but all of them combined? I'm bleeding out each moment, every breath stinging with pain, my heart fractured by the loss of all my hopes at once.
It's all I can do to drag one foot in front of the other each day as I approve funeral plans, check in with Doctor Tamara, and then sit there stiffly through droning statements about castle repair as Brylee, before hustling to change into my Teddie bodysuit and then listen to generals argue over whether or not to retaliate against the Noths.
Each decision feels like another brick building my mausoleum because I'm uncertain I'm still truly alive. Most of the time, I'm floating in the ether, in a vast abyss of despair.
Only my mates can pull me down, and even then, I only descend for a bit before I find myself drifting again. Listless.
I blow out a breath, as if that will help expel these dilemmas that plague me.
"What time is it?" I croak.
"Time for you to get dressed," Kylian counters, a mysterious edge to the excitement in his voice that I've never heard before.
But he doesn't explain, merely rips the covers from me, exposing my skin to the chill night air.
His hand comes to my arm, and he grips it, gently but determinedly pulling me toward him.
"What? What's going on?" I protest, because the last several days have unspooled and unraveled me to a fray. "I'm sleeping."
"You've got an esteemed visitor," my mate replies.
My brow furrows, and my fingernails dig violent crescents into my palms.
"He traveled quite a distance under the cover of night to get here," Kylian prods with one of those annoying, raised-brow expressions people make when they think they're giving you a clue about a secret, but really they're being obnoxiously obscure.
My pillow flies from my hand toward him, and he catches it.
"Either tell me or go away."
"Prince Stefan is here to see you," he states flatly, the fun ruined as he tosses the pillow onto his empty spot on the mattress.
It takes my sluggish brain a minute to swallow his words and really imbibe their meaning. My head tilts, and I study his expression. Though I know my mates tease me a bit, he wouldn't joke about something like this…
His hand comes out again, this time palm up, waiting for me to take it so he can help me out of bed. I reach out, and his warm grip steadies my body while my mind spins, as if all my thoughts have been tossed into a blender and shredded. The back of my neck prickles with cold and apprehension.
I can't quite process what Prince Stefan hopes to gain.
Why is he here? After that vile, abominable betrayal…why bother showing his face?
The only reason we've held off on renewing our attacks is the double murder of our king and queen. At least, that's what I've said when I pose as Ted, though internally, the thought of renewing the war makes me want to retch.
The massacre on the bus and the discovery of Project Harpax have shaped me differently than my prior personal traumas, particularly as I've replayed them on endless loops these past few days.
Reliving the harsh moments dipped in potent fear as I smashed a gas pedal to the floor or fled the lab has been preferable to thinking about what happened in the throne room. Or the turn Ted took for the worse, so much so that he's no longer in his own bed.
And I've learned something.
My kidnappings affected me.
The first broke me into cowardly fragments until I was nearly scared to breathe.
The second showed me that Eros had instilled enough cool-headed competence in me to fight despite the odds, and to beat them.
In contrast, the attack on the bus and the feral alpha chase loom differently. I watched other people's lives snuffed in an instant, potential gone in a blink, the ripple effects ripping through the fabric of society at the speed of light.
I'm still writing letters on Ted's behalf to grieving families whose boys will never come home again.
Each word, each scratch of the pen, every dab of ink feels so incredibly heavy, so massive, that the letters hold gravity, coalesce into dense tragedies inside my head that have all the weight of a planet.
Senseless deaths. So many.
And what did we gain? Not territory or money or fame. Only more hatred.
We aren't meant to be this way.
But without trust…how can we be any other way?
My body moves on autopilot as I don a long navy dress and wind my hair into a quick bun, just enough to keep me from looking like I'm seconds from the madhouse.
When I'm ready, Kylian precedes down the hall in front of me and leads me to the study in my wing. He pushes open the door, and I startle to find the rest of Alpha Team X assembled around the room.
None of them have bothered to get dressed besides Luka, however.
He's put on a quick polo and pants, but Ridge leans against my bookshelf without a shirt on, only wearing loose pajama pants that flow around his ankles, his bare feet on display.
And Colter is stiffly intimidating as he stands behind my leather chair, despite the fact that he only wears a red skull mask and his black boxer briefs.
The guest chair in my office is filled, and the occupant swings around to see who's entered.
When Stefan realizes I've arrived, he rises, and I note the faint gleam of blue around his irises has dulled tonight before he bows his head respectfully.
Curious and cautious, I do the same before striding around to take my seat. Kylian takes up a post on my other side so that he and Colter flank me.
My hands fold together as I stare across my desk at this prince and fight to keep my expression serene. I wait for him to speak.
"Princess Brylee, I'd hoped to meet with your brother…"
"Well, unfortunately, he's a bit pissed at you, so you get to deal with me," I retort, savagely slashing at him with my gaze.
His nostrils flare, and his hands grip the armrests of his seat so hard that his knuckles pale. But he doesn't lash out like most alphas chastised by an omega would. And he doesn't lunge for me as Ridge clearly expected him to—my alpha's straightened and already taken two steps toward the prince.
Stefan stares down at the carpet, breathing slowly until he's regained his composure.
By the time he has, I've managed to plaster a prickly smile onto my face.
"I understand. I came to say that Pedro Agrios and his terrorist group do not represent—"
A brittle laugh breaks free from my lungs. "I'm sorry. Are you trying to denounce him?"
"That attack wasn't sanctioned—"
"Nothing that fuck did was ever sanctioned or on the books," I growl as I shoot up to my feet, fury winding around me like rope, abrading and burning as it pulls tight. "That bastard was your hatchet man. And I've met him. Three times. So don't bullshit me."
He stands, and my men crowd him as he leans forward and jabs his pointer finger into the desk. "I don't bullshit."
"Yeah, well, the cure for karkinos sure seems like you do," I retort, loathing the way my voice cracks at the end of the sentence.
"What does that mean?"
"What do you think? It's not working."
He pulls back, and his eyes scan mine. When his entire expression softens in sympathy, I have to tighten my stomach and clench my fists because I feel like I might burst apart.
"How far along is the alpha's case?"
"Far," I whisper, then immediately hate myself for showing this man any kernel of vulnerability, any hint of truth.
He gives a considering nod and steps back toward his chair, retaking his seat. "If you'll allow it, I'll request more be sent in. Enhanced doses."
My lips press together as I mull over his words. "If I'll allow it?"
"Yes. I came here tonight to reassure your brother of our commitment. To try to persuade him to keep the truce intact. And I won't be leaving. Either I'll stay as an ambassador and help negotiate peace. Or…he can decide that a royal life deserves a royal life."
My inhale is jagged and rough because the prince of Nóthos just pronounced himself our prisoner.