Chapter 36 – COSIMA
COSIMA
The palace corridors feel like they're closing in on me as Azarel leads me deeper into his childhood home. Each step feels like the ticking of a clock counting down to the moment I've been waiting for.
Now that it's finally arrived, I'm not ready.
He stops at an ornate door inlaid with mother-of-pearl that shimmers in the light like rainbow oil slicks, adorned with the same elegant ibis that features in every room of the palace I've been in, however subtly.
He pushes the door open to reveal a breathtaking indoor garden.
It's an atrium, glass ceiling soaring above us to let in the dying sunlight, and every surface is covered in plants I've never seen before.
Flowers that glow in the dim light, vines that twist in impossible patterns, trees bearing jewel-like fruit.
It's beautiful.
And I hate that it's beautiful. I hate that any part of me can still appreciate beauty when everything feels so fucking broken.
"This was my favorite place as a child," he says quietly, moving to stand beside a fountain shaped like intertwining serpents.
The water that pours from their mouths is crystal clear, tinkling like wind chimes.
I find myself instinctively looking for the ibis, but it's nowhere to be found in this room, of all places.
"I'd come here when I needed to get away. "
"How nice for you," I say, my voice flat as old roadkill. "Having a pretty garden to hide in when King Daddy was mean."
He flinches, and good. He should flinch. He should feel every ounce of the bitter poison that's been festering in my chest since I found out the truth.
"Cosima—"
"I'm listening." I cross my arms, putting as much distance between us as the space allows without actually leaving. "That's what you wanted, isn't it? To explain yourself? So explain."
He turns to face me fully, and I can see him registering all the ways I've changed. The harder edges, the way I hold myself like I'm ready to fight at any moment, the complete absence of the soft, trusting girl who used to melt at his touch.
"You're different," he says finally, and there's something like loss in his voice.
A harsh laugh escapes me. "Yeah, well, months in the wasteland thinking no one's coming for you will do that."
He grimaces, hands clenching at his sides like he wants to reach for me but knows better.
I notice the bandages on his right hand for the first time, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't from Knight.
Did he get hurt before he came here? I have to shake off the urge to give a shit.
"I've been trying to reach you this entire time. "
"Sure you have."
"I have." He steps closer, and I hate that his scent still makes my stomach flutter. Sunlight and warmth and everything I thought was safe. "Every resource at my disposal, every connection, every favor I could call in. I've been searching."
"Just not very hard, apparently." It's impossible to keep the bitterness out of my voice, so I give up trying. "When you want something, you get it."
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't rise to the bait. Instead, he moves closer still, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. His bandaged hand comes up slowly, telegraphing the movement like I'm a spooked animal, and cups my face with a gentleness that fucking hurts.
"Everything I have done," he says, his voice rough with what might be emotion if I believed he was capable of it anymore. "Everything I will do until my dying breath… is for you, Cosima."
The words twist the knife that's been lodged in my chest ever since he left me.
I want to believe them. Goddess help me, I want to believe them so fucking badly it makes my teeth ache.
But the walls I've built are stronger than whatever hold he used to have on me, mortared with betrayal and reinforced with every lie he told.
I turn away, breaking the contact.
"I'm not the girl you remember."
"Cosima—"
"And I'm never going to be." The words come out harder than I intended, but fuck it. He needs to hear this. "That girl is dead. You killed her when you left her to rot."
The silence stretches between us like a taut wire. I can feel him behind me, the force of his gaze. When I finally turn back, he's doing something I never expected.
He's bowing.
Not just inclining his head like the casual respect he'd show a superior officer in my father's army. A full Surhiiran court bow, the kind you'd give to royalty.
"What the hell are you doing?"
He straightens, and there's something almost like gentle humor in his eyes.
"Allow me to introduce myself properly. Something I should have done a long time ago," he says in a rough voice.
He places his hand over his heart in the traditional Surhiiran gesture.
"I am Azarel Dovar Srayen, second prince of the House of the Ibis, disgraced son of Queen Amaya, disgraced second heir to the throne.
" He pauses, meeting my eyes. "And completely, utterly, irrevocably yours. "
The last part isn't traditional. The last part is pure Azarel, and it pisses me off that his gallant bullshit still tugs at the fucked up threads woven between us.
"Cute," I say flatly. "But a pretty bow and a formal introduction don't erase months of lies."
"I know."
"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, it seems like you think you can just waltz back in, throw around some pretty words, and everything will go back to how it was."
"That's not—"
"Why didn't you tell me?" The question explodes out of me before I can stop it. "Why didn't you tell me who you were?"
He's quiet for a moment, clearly weighing his words. "I told you everything I felt mattered. Every part of me that wasn't handed to me by someone else, every part I earned, every scar, every victory, every defeat—I shared all of it with you."
"That's bullshit."
"Is it?"
"Yes!" I snap, my hands clenching into fists.
"This place, your family, your title—it's all part of you, whether you rejected it or not.
We don't get to just pick and choose the pieces of who we are, Azarel.
I gave you the whole picture. Every ugly, broken piece of me.
And you gave me a carefully edited version that left out anything inconvenient. "
He's quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks, his voice is grudging. "You're right."
I blink, not expecting that.
Azarel does not admit he's wrong. Ever.
"I should have told you," he continues. "I convinced myself it didn't matter, that the prince of Surhiira wasn't who I really was.
But you're right. It's all part of me, whether I want it to be or not.
" He meets my eyes, and for the first time since he walked into that garden, I see something genuine there. "I'm sorry."
The apology catches me off guard, but I recover quickly. I've never heard Azarel apologize to anyone. Not even my father. "Sorry isn't enough. Not anymore."
"Then what is?"
"I don't know," I admit. "My standards have changed."
His gaze flicks toward the door, back toward where my alphas are waiting. "Clearly. You're roaming the wastes with criminals."
The dismissive tone makes my hackles rise instantly. "Those 'criminals' protected me when you didn't. They were there when I needed someone. They're…" I take a deep breath. "They're my pack."
"Your pack." He says it like the words taste sour.
"Yes," I say firmly. It gets easier every time I make the declaration. Too comfortable. "And if you ever want a chance of earning my trust again, you're going to have to put up with them."
His lip curls in obvious distaste. "Even Vlakov?"
I shrug, fighting the urge to smirk at his obvious jealousy. "He's the only one I'm still on the fence about, honestly."
Something in his expression shifts, and suddenly he's moving, crossing the space between us and the door in three quick strides. He yanks it open hard enough that the person on the other side—who was clearly pressed against it—tumbles through in a graceless heap of golden hair and long limbs.
Raven looks up from his position on the floor, not even having the decency to look embarrassed.
"Oh, hi there!" He waves cheerfully, his chin propped on his other hand like this is a perfectly normal way to enter a room.
"I was just admiring the Surhiiran wood.
The grain is absolutely fascinating. Is this imported? Because the craftsmanship is just—"
"You were eavesdropping," Azarel growls.
"That's such an ugly way to put it. I prefer… acoustically investigating."
Azarel's eyes narrow to dangerous slits and his right hand clenches around the bandages like he's imagining wrapping them around Raven's throat.
Raven may be playing the elegant fool as usual, but there's no mistaking the sharp glint in his eyes beneath the mischief.
If Azarel makes a move, he'll meet him in kind, and even if I can't see that knife he somehow managed to smuggle out of the dining room, I'm sure he still has it on him somewhere.
Before either of them can escalate, Geo storms through the doorway like a battering ram. "Time's up!"
I roll my eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't fall out of my skull. "It's been five minutes."
"Ten," Nikolai corrects, following Geo with Knight looming behind him. "We agreed on ten."
"You agreed on ten," I counter.
"Semantics," Geo grunts, planting himself between me and Azarel like a very grumpy wall.
I sigh, but there's something warm fluttering in my chest at their protective hovering. Even if it is annoying as fuck. "Well, while we're on the subject of introductions, Azarel, this is my pack." I gesture to each of them in turn. "Geo, Raven, Nikolai, and Knight."
Azarel's entire body goes rigid at the word "pack," but he doesn't challenge it.
Geo steps forward, and the smile on his scruffy, scarred face is all teeth and no warmth. "Pleased as fuck to meet you, Prince Azzhole."
Azarel's eyes narrow. "It's Azarel."
"That's what I said."
They stare each other down, the alpha testosterone in the room thick enough to choke on. Knight's low rumbling growl adds to the ambiance, and Nikolai looks like he's deciding which vital organ to remove first. Raven's hand hovers near where his gun would normally be.
"As charming as I find alpha pissing contests," I interject before someone throws a punch and kicks off a fresh wave of bullshit, "I'm tired and I need another fucking shower after the garden incident."
Azarel nods stiffly, clearly struggling to maintain his composure. "The servants will escort you to my wing of the palace."
I stare at him pointedly, raising an eyebrow.
His jaw works like he's chewing glass, but he adds through gritted teeth, "Where you'll all stay as my esteemed guests, of course."
"How generous," Nikolai mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Wasn't it though?" Raven adds brightly. "There's that classic Surhiiran hospitality!"
I turn to leave before this devolves further, and sure enough, there's a servant waiting in the hallway. She's young, pretty in that delicate way that all the palace staff seem to be, and she bows deeply when she sees me.
"If you'll follow me, honored guest," she says in accented Vrissian to me.
I trail after her through corridors that all look the same to me—marble and gold and silk repeating in endless patterns.
But I memorize the turns anyway, noting exits and windows and which doors look like they might lead to less trafficked areas.
Old habits from navigating my father's mansion, from learning which routes would help me avoid Monty's friends when they'd been drinking.
I know we're being watched. There are guards at every intersection, trying to look casual but tracking our every movement. The servants we pass all pause to stare, whispering behind their hands once we've passed. The omega with the strange pack who dared to kidnap a prince.
But I don't care.
For the first time in months, I'm not running. Not hiding. Not trying to survive another day in the wasteland or navigate the dangerous politics of someone else's compound.
My pack is together. All four of my difficult, dangerous, impossibly loyal alphas are here with me. Assuming they don't kill each other in my absence.
The servant stops at a set of double doors that are even more elaborate than the others we've passed, with carved wood and gold inlay depicting scenes of birds in flight. "The Prince's suite," she announces, pushing them open.
The space beyond is ridiculous. A sitting room that could fit my entire childhood bedroom three times over, furnished with low couches and silk cushions and windows that overlook the gardens.
Doorways lead off to what must be bedrooms, and I spot a bathing chamber through one archway that's calling my name.
"If you need anything, simply ring," the servant says, gesturing to an ornate bell pull. "His Highness has instructed us to see to your every comfort."
"I'm sure he has," I mutter.
I found him. After everything, after all the lies and betrayal and confusion, I finally succeeded at what I came here to do.
I just have no fucking idea what to do with him now.