Chapter 39 – RAVEN
RAVEN
The door opens with the kind of theatrical slowness that makes me want to throw my knife just to see if I can pin Plague's pretentious scarf to the equally pretentious fucking wall.
But instead of diving for cover or at least having the decency to look concerned, the prince just strolls in like he owns the place.
Which, technically, he does.
My spine goes rigid at Plague's presence. The knife in my hand begs to find a new home between his ribs, but I force myself to stay still. For now.
"Son of a bitch," Geo mutters, throwing his hands up. "Thanks for the heads up, Azzhole."
Azarel ignores him, eyes locked on Plague.
"Brother," Plague says, his clipped voice carrying disdain that only siblings can truly master. His eyes sweep over all of us clustered around Azarel like we're planning a murder. Which, to be fair, we were about five minutes ago. "I see you've made some friends."
"Fuck off, Hamsa," Azarel snaps, and oh, that's interesting. Using his real name like a weapon. The family dysfunction in this palace could fuel a thousand old-world soap operas.
"So," Plague says, ignoring him as he settles against the doorframe with infuriating casualness, "you show up here after betraying your own country, and you expect me to make the best physicians in the land available at your disposal?"
The smugness in his tone makes me want to laugh. Or stab him. Maybe both. Worst of all, it's kind of making me want to take Azarel's side, at least in this specific moment in time, and I really don't like that.
Azarel's jaw tightens, muscle ticking in a way that strongly suggests violence is about to erupt.
"You lied to me about where you were keeping my mate.
I think providing medical care is the very least you can do.
" His voice drops to something dangerous.
"And I would be remarkably generous to call it even. "
"Guess I can see why Cosima put up with the guy after all," I quip to the other alphas in our mismatched pack, unable to help myself. If I don't say something ridiculous to blow off steam, I might actually start stabbing people.
Geo shoots me a look that could peel paint. "Speak for yourself."
Plague's gaze sweeps over all of us, calculating and cold in that way that reminds me uncomfortably of his brother. These royals and their fucking mind games. After what feels like a fucking eternity, he straightens. "Follow me."
He walks out of the room without another word and we all stare at each other for a moment before Azarel takes the lead.
And I'm not letting that fucker out of my sight.
We trail after him through the palace corridors like the world's most dysfunctional parade.
Knight has to duck under doorways, as usual.
Nikolai's got that look on his face that says he's memorizing every turn, every exit, every potential weapon we pass by.
Geo's limping is getting worse, though he's trying to hide it.
Azarel walks with the dreading energy and prickling awareness of a man heading to his own execution.
Plague leads us to what must be his study, and when we step inside, I have to bite back a laugh.
The place is a disaster. Shattered glass glitters on the floor and papers are scattered everywhere.
Buttoned-up, stuffy-as-fuck Plague who's clearly never seen a dust mote he didn't hate must really be pissed about the state of his office.
"Love what you've done with the place," I say, gesturing at the obvious destruction. "Very, um, avant-garde. The broken window really brings out the—"
Plague's withering look could freeze hell itself.
He settles behind his replacement desk with the kind of dignity that suggests he's pretending the room isn't in shambles. What a fun game. "I'm willing to make arrangements to have Cosima examined," he says stiffly.
Azarel starts to speak, but Plague holds up a gloved hand.
"Not for your sake," he continues, and there's genuine venom in his voice now. "But because she is the omega of the new Ghosts."
The silence that follows is deafening. Azarel turns to look at us slowly, like we've all grown second heads. "The what?"
"What, you don't think we look the part?" I ask innocently.
Knight heaves a sighing growl.
"Recent development," Nikolai mutters.
"Very recent," Geo adds with a sneer.
Plague leans back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him like some villain from a pre-war movie. "But I have conditions."
Of course he does. These royal types never give anything without strings attached. It's probably encoded in their DNA, right alongside the sticks-up-their-asses genes.
"One," Plague continues, "you cooperate fully with Surhiiran special forces in undermining Maybrecht's operations."
"I can't do that," Azarel says immediately, and I don't miss the tension in his voice. The edge of panic, however well hidden. We're all tigers pacing in a cage here. Even him.
Plague's expression hardens, but then something shifts. "Then agree to cooperate to the extent that it doesn't jeopardize Cosima's safety."
The way Azarel considers this, weighing every word like it might be poisoned, tells me everything I need to know about how fucked this situation really is. These aren't just political games between alphas anymore. This is life and death, with Cosima caught in the crossfire.
Our goddess.
"Let's start simple, then. What's Maybrecht's end goal?" Plague asks, leaning forward slightly. "Retaking New Reinmich?"
The dark laugh that escapes Azarel is bitter enough to curdle milk. "You're a damn fool if you think Arthur Maybrecht will settle for anything less than Reinmich, the Outer Reaches, and Surhiira."
Plague actually recoils. It's subtle, just a slight widening of his eyes, but on someone as controlled as him, it might as well be a scream. "That's impossible," he mutters.
"Is it?" Azarel's voice drips with condescension.
"What did you think, that Surhiira could remain isolated forever?
Especially now that you've claimed part of New Reinmich?
" He shakes his head. "Arthur Maybrecht sees only opportunity.
With the Council gone and the instability of a formerly isolationist nation trying to maintain hold over a splintered military superpower, he knows all he has to do is line up the pieces and wait.
Let Surhiira burn itself out eliminating the last vestiges of his enemies. "
"He doesn't have the leverage," Plague protests, but there's uncertainty creeping into his voice. "All he has is western Reinmich and the remnants of an empire in collapse."
"An empire he's been planning to dismantle piece by piece for over a decade," Azarel counters.
"He's been sowing the seeds of discord within the military for years, wresting power from the Council's hands one decision at a time.
This war merely applied the pressure to make those breaks clean.
" His smile sharpens bitterly. "But make no mistake, once Surhiira has finished doing his dirty work for him, Arthur Maybrecht will be consolidating the pieces. "
"With what army?" Plague demands.
The silence stretches, heavy with all the years of no contact between them. Then, unexpectedly, it's Nikolai who breaks it.
"Vrissia's."
We all turn to stare at him. He pushes off from the wall where he's been lurking, striding forward with confidence that only comes from absolute certainty.
"Vrissia has been eyeing Surhiira's natural resources and advanced tech longer than anyone," he says, and his voice carries the same authority that made me willing to follow hi into hell.
"But your leaders have grown weak and complacent, and the populace prefers their tax dollars spent on shiny toys rather than your military. "
He pauses, letting that sink in.
"They lack the military cohesion and leadership to do anything about their ambitions," he continues. "But with Maybrecht at the helm, forming a strategic alliance?" He shrugs his shoulders. "All that could change overnight. Gods know they've got the artillery collecting dust in old bunkers."
I suppose he would know, considering his family fortune was built on running those guns, among other things.
Azarel is staring at Nikolai like he's seeing him for the first time. "And who the fuck are you?"
The smirk that crosses Nikolai's face is pure arrogance. "I'm the son of a bitch who knows everything there is to know about the halls of power in Vrissia." His voice drops, low and dangerous. "And the tunnels where the rats scurry below."
"He's right about that," Geo grunts, and coming from him, that's practically a glowing endorsement. "The son of a bitch part, at least."
Plague's calculating gaze fixes on Nikolai. "If Vrissia is really working with Reinmich, having someone who knows their way around could be useful."
"Yeah," I mutter under my breath, unable to help myself. "Someone who has a warrant out for his arrest."
Nikolai's glare could melt steel.
Plague's attention sharpens. "What was what?"
"He's being dramatic," Nikolai says quickly, shooting me a look that promises violence later.
But I'm already committed to this particular brand of chaos. "Dramatic? Your old man said if you set foot back over the border, he'd turn you into target practice."
"To be fair," Geo interjects gruffly, clearly enjoying this far too much, "we're all on a shit ton of hit lists at this point."
"Yes," I agree cheerfully, "but not everyone is the former heir to the Vrissian Syndicate."
The silence that follows is absolute. Everyone stares at Nikolai, who looks like he's seriously considering whether he can kill me and hide the body before anyone notices.
"Go stuff a knot in your mouth," he snarls at me.
"In your dreams," I shoot back, but underneath the banter, something uncomfortable twists inside me. The thought of Nikolai going back to Vrissia, walking into what's essentially a death trap...
Fuck.
I actually care if the bastard gets himself killed.
When did that happen?
"None of this matters right now!" Azarel's snarl cuts through the chaos. "I don't give a shit about Surhiira's war. But if you want it to remain on the Reinmichian border instead of at your fucking doorstep, you'll find those fucking doctors for Cosima."
He storms out, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rattle the few remaining intact decorations.
The silence he leaves behind is suffocating.
"Man," Geo says with a low whistle. "You guys could use some family counseling, huh?"
Now it's his turn to be on the receiving end of one of Plague's signature icy glares, but Plague just stands, moving toward the door with rigid control. "Keep an eye on Cosima," he mutters, his hand on the doorknob. "So my men don't have to."
The door closes behind him with less fanfare than Azarel's slam, but it's somehow no less menacing.
We all look at each other, everything we just learned hanging over our heads like a guillotine blade.
Knight makes a low rumbling sound of confusion or concern.
Hard to tell with him, but I'm getting better at reading his moods through body language alone.
Not as good as Cosima, but good enough that I'll be able to dodge out of the way if he suddenly gets a hankering for alpha meat.
Hopefully.
"So," I say, because someone has to address the elephant in the room, "are we going to tell her or not?"
About the chip.
About what her father did to her.
About the fact that she's basically a walking bomb that Arthur Maybrecht can detonate whenever he feels like it.
Geo scrubs a hand over his face, looking older than I've ever seen him. "You heard Azarel. Telling her would put her in danger."
"Not telling her is already putting her in danger," Nikolai counters.
"For now," Geo says slowly, like he's thinking it through as he speaks, "we wait to see what the doctors say. We tell them we can't keep shit from her. Period. Then..." He shrugs. "Then we figure out what the fuck to do."
It's not much of a plan. But right now, with everything spiraling out of control around us, it's all we've got.
Knight moves toward the door, clearly ready to return to our omega. To guard her from threats she doesn't even know exist. The rest of us follow, because what else can we do?
As we walk through the palace corridors, I can't shake the feeling that we're all balanced on the edge of a cliff. One wrong move, one piece of information delivered at the wrong time, and everything could shatter.
Cosima needs to know the truth.
But the truth might literally kill her.
And somewhere out there, Arthur Maybrecht is pulling strings we can't even see, orchestrating a war that could consume everything and everyone we've grown to care about.
No fucking pressure or anything.