Chapter 29 Crown and the Chains #2
She wore black. Tactical gear that fit like it was custom-made. Hair pulled back severe. No makeup. No softness. Just sharp edges and cold eyes that looked nothing like the woman who'd comforted me after nightmares.
“No.” The word came out small. Childlike. “No. élodie. He has you. He's making you. You need to—”
“Need to what?” She moved closer. Graceful. Predatory. Nothing like the gentle woman who'd fixed my camera loops and covered my lies. “Run? Fight back? Save you?”
She stopped beside Marcel. Close. Comfortable. Her hand rested on his arm in a way that spoke of familiarity. Practice. Time.
“I'm exactly where I want to be.”
The world tilted. Gravity failed. Every certainty I'd built my life on shattered like glass against stone.
“You're lying.” But I heard the doubt in my voice. Saw the truth in her eyes. “You're lying. You wouldn't. You—”
“Helped you?” She tilted her head. “Fixed your security footage? Covered your tracks? Oh, Sebastian.” Her smile was sad. Pitying. “I was never helping you. I was helping us track you.”
Marcel's hand covered hers. Squeezed. The gesture was intimate. Practiced. The kind of touch that spoke volumes about how long this had been happening.
“Eighteen years,” she said softly. “Eighteen years I've been beside you. Watching you. Documenting everything. Every secret. Every vulnerability. Every person you cared about.” She paused.
“Did you really think I fixed those camera loops to hide you? I was creating evidence. Building a file. Making sure we had everything we needed when the time came.”
“Why?” The question came out broken. “I trusted you. I loved you. You were—”
“Family?” She laughed. Soft. Musical. The same laugh she'd used when we were children and I'd done something foolish. “I was never your family, Sebastian. I was your keeper. Your warden. The leash they put on you after your mother died.”
She moved closer. Crouched in front of me so we were eye level. Her hand came up. Touched my face. Gentle. The same way she'd touched me a thousand times before.
“I do love you,” she said. “In my way. Like you'd love a beautiful, broken thing that you're going to have to put down eventually.”
I jerked away from her touch. The chains screamed. My shoulders screamed louder.
“You gave him everything.” My voice cracked. “My routes. My schedule. The workshop. Viktor's background. You gave him us.”
“Yes.” No hesitation. No shame. Just acknowledgment.
“Every night you went out, I knew where.
When. How long you'd be gone. Every time you met Viktor somewhere you thought was secret, I made sure Marcel knew.” She stood.
Brushed imaginary dust from her tactical gear.
“The docks ambush? I told them you'd be there. The gala? I adjusted the security protocols to give them access. Every time you almost died, Sebastian, it was because I helped set the trap.”
“The children's hospital.” The words came out hollow. “The toys I made. You knew about those too.”
Her expression softened. Just slightly. “Those were beautiful. Genuinely beautiful. That's what made it hurt.” She paused. “That's what made it necessary.”
“Necessary?” The rage came back. Hot. Clean. Better than the grief trying to drown me. “Murdering my mother was necessary? Torturing me? Destroying everything?”
“Yes.” Marcel's voice. Calm. Final. “Because your father was weak. Because your mother made him weaker. Because the kingdom needed someone willing to make hard choices.”
“Like killing innocent people?”
“Like removing obstacles.” He set the brand down.
Picked up the knife again. “Your mother was lovely. Truly. Charming and kind and everything a queen should be. She was also making your father soft. Making him hesitate when he needed to act. Making him care about approval ratings instead of what needed to be done.”
“So you killed her.”
“I removed an obstacle.” He tested the knife's edge with his thumb. Blood welled. He didn't flinch. “And élodie helped me do it.”
The words hit like bullets.
I looked at her. Really looked. Saw the truth written in every line of her face.
“For what? Power? Money? What could possibly be worth this?”
“Everything.” She said it simply. Like it explained the world. Like it justified murder and betrayal and eighteen years of lies. “I want everything your family has. Everything I was never allowed to have.”
She moved to Marcel. His arm came around her waist. Pulled her close. They fit together like puzzle pieces that had been cut specifically for each other.
“I was twenty-five when Marcel approached me,” she continued.
Voice steady. Unashamed. “I'd spent my entire life being the perfect ward. The loyal companion. The girl who smiled and curtseyed and knew her place.” Her eyes flashed.
“Do you know what it's like? To watch a family have everything while you're just the charity case? The orphan they took in to look good?”
“We loved you.” The words came out broken. “My mother loved you. My father—”
“Your father saw me as decoration.” She pulled away from Marcel. Moved toward the table. “A pretty face to make his son look good. Someone to keep you occupied while he ran the kingdom. I was never family, Sebastian. I was a convenience.”
“That's not true—”
“It's exactly true.” She picked something up. Small. Sleek. A knife that looked like it cost more than most cars. “When your mother died, do you know what I thought? I thought finally. Finally there's an opening. Finally I could be more than just the girl in the background.”
Understanding hit like ice water. “You wanted to be Queen.”
“I wanted to be the power behind the throne.” She corrected.
“I wanted what I'd earned through years of service. Years of being loyal. Years of being exactly where I was told to be.” She tested the knife's edge.
“Marcel saw it. Saw my potential. Saw what I could become if I stopped playing by their rules.”
“So he convinced you to help him.” My voice was barely a whisper. “To betray us.”
“He showed me the truth.” She turned. Knife loose in her grip. Moving with it like it was part of her body. “That power isn't given. It's taken. That the only way to rule is to be willing to do what others won't.”
“Like murdering my mother?”
“I didn't kill your mother.” She said it flatly. “But when Marcel told me his plan afterward, when he explained what needed to happen, I understood. Your mother was making your father weak. Weak kings fall. When kings fall, kingdoms bleed.”
“So you helped him cover it up. Helped him destroy evidence. Helped him—”
“I helped him build a better future.” She moved closer. Knife catching light. “And then I positioned myself exactly where I needed to be. Close to you. Close to your father. Close enough to shape both of you into what the kingdom needs.”
“What you need,” I corrected. “What Marcel needs.”
“Same thing.” She reached up. Touched my face with her free hand. “Your father is breaking, Sebastian. I've been watching it happen for years. Soon he'll need someone. Not a queen. Just someone to lean on. Someone who knows how to run a kingdom while he grieves.”
“And once you have him dependent—”
“I rule.” Simple. Final. “Not as Queen. As the hand that guides the King. As the voice that whispers in his ear. As the power everyone has to go through to reach the throne.”
“You're insane.” I pulled at the chains. Metal bit deeper. Fresh blood ran warm. “Both of you. You're fucking insane.”
“We're pragmatic.” Marcel's voice. Calm. “We're what the kingdom needs even if it doesn't know it yet.”
“The kingdom needs murderers?”
“The kingdom needs people willing to do what's necessary.” élodie was right in front of me now.
Knife held loose and easy. “People who understand that sometimes you have to cut away the rot to save the whole.” She paused.
“I am sorry it has to be you, Sebastian. I really am. You deserved better than this.”
“Then stop.”
“I can't.” She lowered her hand. “Not when we're this close. Not when your father is finally breaking. Not when everything I've worked for is within reach.”
“Viktor will stop you.” I forced the words out. “The Sentinels will stop you. My father will—”
“Your father doesn't know I exist.” She said it flatly.
“To him, I'm just the loyal ward. The girl who's been nothing but helpful and kind and exactly where I need to be.” She paused.
“By the time he realizes, it'll be too late.
You'll be dead. He'll be broken. And I'll be exactly what he needs to survive.”
“He'll never love you.”
“He doesn't have to love me.” Her smile was cold. “He just has to need me. Love is what got his wife killed. Need is what will let me rule.”
She stepped back. Nodded to Marcel. “He's ready.”
Marcel picked up the brand. Still white hot. Still hungry.
“Last chance, Your Highness,” he said. “Join us. Accept what the kingdom needs. Let élodie guide your father. Let us build something worth saving.”
“Never.”
“Wrong answer.” He moved closer with the brand. “But expected.”
“Wait.” élodie's voice. Sharp. “Let me.”
Marcel stopped. Looked at her. Something passed between them. Communication I couldn't read.
Then he handed her the brand.
“You're sure?” he asked.
“I've been planning this for eighteen years.” She took it. Held it like she'd done this before. Like she knew exactly what she was doing. “I should be the one to finish it.”
She turned to me. The brand glowed between us. Heat radiated. Made the air shimmer.
“This is going to hurt,” she said softly. “But you need to understand. You need to carry this. A reminder of what happens when princes refuse to accept reality.”
“élodie.” I tried one more time. “Please. You don't have to do this.”
“Yes.” She raised the brand. “I do.”
Footsteps.
Distant. Multiple. Fast.
Running. Shouting. Getting closer.
Marcel's head snapped toward the entrance. Gun in his hand before I saw him move. “They found us.”