Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Seth
I am besotted with my mate, and she has no idea.
The realization hits me during the morning Council briefing. I’m standing beside Lucian’s throne while some minor lord drones on about grain shipments. I should be paying attention—after all, this is my job, my duty—but all I can think about is the silk dress I gave Selene last night.
The way her eyes went wide with disbelief when I presented it to her. Deep, emerald green, the color of forest shadows, cut to drape and cling in ways that made my mouth go dry just imagining it on her body.
“Seth, this is too much—”
“Nothing is too much for you.” I pulled her close, breathing in her scent, already half-hard from proximity alone. “Try it on.”
And gods, when she did…The silk whispered against her skin like a lover’s caress, molding to every curve, bringing out the sapphire in her eyes. She looked like something precious and rare—like she was mine.
I teased her about how she should thank me, and she decided to take it seriously. My mate has a wicked side to her in bed, an instinct that drives me crazy.
She thanked me with her mouth, sucking me dry as I groaned and whimpered her name.
When she looked up at me, her mouth full of my cock, lips glistening, I lost it.
The very silk dress I’d bought her lay tattered next to our bed when I left to come to this meeting.
I’ll have to get her another one, I muse.
Maybe red this time. She would look gorgeous in red, on her hands and knees.
“Seth.”
I jerk to attention, heat crawling up my neck as I realize Lucian is staring at me with a scowl.
“Yes, Your Majesty?” I ask sheepishly.
“If you don’t control your thoughts right now,” he says under his breath, his voice a low growl, “I’m going to douse you in ice water.”
Several nearby advisors shift uncomfortably, probably catching the scent of my arousal.
Shit.
“Apologies, Your Majesty.”
“Try to focus before you embarrass both of us.”
I force myself to stand tall, to shift my attention away from memories of Selene’s soft cries and the way she clung to me as another nightmare tried to claw its way into her sleep.
Three weeks. It has been three weeks since the warlocks examined her and found nothing.
No trace of magic within her body, no residue, no explanation for why she had believed Zane was her fated mate.
The red powder we’d collected from the forest?
Of unknown origin. The warlocks had never seen anything like it.
Dead ends everywhere I turn.
But one thing has changed: Selene herself. She’s been avoiding Zane’s invitations, making excuses, claiming sudden duties or illness. I’ve felt her panic spike through our bond every time he sends a message requesting to meet. She doesn’t want to see him anymore, and that should satisfy me.
It doesn’t.
Because the nightmares haven’t stopped. Neither has the compulsion to sleepwalk.
Every night between midnight and dawn, I feel her body go rigid beside me, sense something trying to drag her toward the forest. So, I keep her busy.
Pin her beneath me, worship her body until she’s trembling and sated, too exhausted to do anything but sleep safely in my arms.
It’s not a solution. It’s a temporary fix to a problem I don’t understand.
And it’s driving me insane.
My gaze drifts across the assembled Council members, cataloging faces, assessing threats out of habit. Then, my eyes land on him.
Zane Radrick.
He is seated three rows back, perfectly composed as always. Dark hair styled with meticulous care, expensive robes that probably cost more than most soldiers make in a year. He’s listening to the grain report with apparent interest, his expression politely attentive.
But I see through it. I see the look behind those brown eyes, the way his fingers tap against his knee in a rhythm that speaks of impatience. Waiting for something.
My wolf snarls, hackles rising. My intuition screams danger when I look at him.
This is the man who drugged my mate—and would have been the one with her, had I not commandeered his tampered bottle of wine.
He planned to force a bond on her while her wolf was suppressed, unable to fight back.
And he is still manipulating her somehow, even though the warlocks found nothing.
I know he’s responsible for the nightmares. For the sleepwalking. For the terror that grips Selene every time his name is mentioned.
I just can’t prove it. Yet.
My hands clench into fists at my sides. My mate is suffering, and I feel utterly helpless because I can’t find the source, can’t cut out the poison he has planted in her mind.
And he sits there. Calm. Collected. Like he hasn’t done anything wrong.
The grain lord finishes his report, bowing low before backing away from the throne. There’s a brief pause as the next petitioner is called forward—some dispute about property boundaries that I immediately tune out.
My eyes never leave Zane.
He shifts slightly in his seat, and something about the movement sets off alarm bells in my head. It’s too deliberate. Too calculated. Like a predator preparing to strike.
“Something’s wrong,” I mutter to Lucian, my voice barely audible.
“I feel it, too.” The King’s posture doesn’t change, but I sense power gathering beneath his skin, coiling like a snake ready to strike. “Stay sharp.”
The property dispute wraps up quickly. Another pause. The herald calls for any additional grievances to be brought before the Council.
Zane stands up.
The movement is smooth, as if practiced. He rises from his seat with the easy grace of nobility, his expensive robes draping him perfectly. Every eye in the chamber turns toward him—Council members, advisors, and petitioners all going quiet.
My wolf coils in anticipation inside me. Every muscle in my body goes rigid, my hand dropping instinctively to the sword at my hip.
This is it. Whatever he’s been planning, it’s happening now.
Zane’s gaze sweeps the room before settling on Lucian, then flicking briefly to me. There’s a certain look in his eyes—triumph, carefully masked but unmistakable to someone who has been watching him as closely as I have.
He thinks he’s won something. Thinks he has leverage.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache.
“Your Majesty,” Zane says, his voice carrying that practiced smoothness that makes my lip curl. “I have a grievance to bring before the Council.”
Lucian’s expression remains perfectly neutral, but I feel the shift in his power—the way it sharpens, focuses. “Speak.”
“It concerns my fated mate.” Zane’s dark eyes sweep the assembled Council members before landing squarely on me, and I see the challenge there, the deliberate provocation. “Healer Selene Thorne. She works within these very walls, yet I’m being prevented from seeing her.”
My wolf snarls, clawing at my ribs. Our mate. He’s claiming our mate!
It takes every ounce of control I have not to cross the chamber and tear his throat out right here in front of everyone. My rage is white hot, all consuming.
“Prevented?” Lucian’s voice remains even, but there’s steel behind it. “By whom?”
“I don’t know the specifics, Your Majesty.
” Zane spreads his hands in a gesture of helpless frustration that would be convincing if I didn’t know what a manipulative bastard he is.
“But over the past three weeks, she has not been allowed to see me.” His voice drops, adding a note of wounded confusion that makes me want to vomit.
“We were growing so close before, and now…Due to her friendship with the Queen, I fear she is being stopped from meeting with me.”
“What exactly do you mean by that, Lord Zane?” Lucian’s voice cuts through the chamber, sharp as a blade. “What does Selene’s closeness with the Queen have to do with her avoiding you?”
Zane’s expression shifts to one of terrible, carefully composed pain that makes my wolf snarl. He’s good. Too good. The bastard should have been an actor instead of a Council member.
“Your Majesty, I mean no disrespect.” He places a hand over his heart, the picture of sincerity.
“But my position within the Council has long been questioned. My loyalties scrutinized. I fear—” He pauses, as if the words distress him.
“I fear that may be a contributing factor. That perhaps Selene is being discouraged from associating with me due to my…complicated standing.”
The implication hangs in the air ominously. He’s not accusing anyone directly; he’s too clever for that. But the suggestion is clear: the Crown is interfering with his personal life because of political concerns.
Anger boils in my chest, but I force myself to remain still. To wait.
“The palace has no control over what Healer Selene does in her personal time,” Lucian says, his tone carrying the weight of absolute authority. “She is free to see whomever she chooses.”
“Is she?” Zane’s voice drops, adding layers of hurt and confusion that would be masterful if they weren’t complete bullshit. “Because I’ve heard troubling rumors, Your Majesty. Rumors that she’s being forced to consider another man. To bond with someone else against her will.”
I close my eyes for a moment to stop myself from launching at the man.
“What rumors?” Lucian’s power coils tighter, the air in the room growing heavy.
“That Commander Rowan”—Zane’s gaze locks onto mine, challenge blazing in those dark eyes—“is spending time with my fated mate. That he is forcing her to sleep in his quarters.”
The words burst out of me before I can stop them. “Forcing her?!”
Every head in the chamber turns toward me now. Heat crawls up my neck, but I don’t look away from Zane. The bastard has the audacity to look offended, wounded, as if I’m the one who has wronged him.