Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Jack
Sylvi slept, but I couldn’t.
I lay beside her, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, the way the dim moonlight kissed the delicate angles of her face.
A few loose strands of dark hair had fallen across her cheek, and I reached out, brushing them back with careful fingers.
Even in sleep, she radiated strength, but the faint lines of pain between her brows and the small gash on her temple were stark reminders of how close I’d come to losing her.
Guilt clawed at my ribs.
This was my fault.
If I had been honest with her from the start—if I’d just told her the truth instead of hiding behind duty and fucking cowardice—maybe she wouldn’t have gone to her brother’s damned tavern, wouldn’t have wandered into the Warrens, chasing after who the Hel knew who.
Maybe she wouldn’t have nearly died tonight.
I exhaled sharply, rolling onto my back, staring at the ceiling. My thoughts swirled like a blizzard, making my head pound. It wasn’t just the thoughts about how I was likely responsible for driving her to the tavern; it was what I had become. I had lost myself in that alley.
The moment I saw those bastards pinning her down, the moment I smelled her blood in the air, something ancient inside me uncoiled.
It opened its eyes and laid siege to everything in its path.
I hadn’t fought as a warrior, hadn’t even wielded my magic with precision.
I had been a force of destruction, a slumbering beast that finally tore free of its chains.
And the worst part?
I had reveled in it.
I had killed before. As a prince, as a warrior, as a wielder of frostfire, I had been trained in battle since childhood. But tonight had been different. I hadn’t fought with strategy or skill; I had torn those males apart with my bare hands. With my bare fucking hands.
A ripple of unease twisted through my blood. Magic always came at a cost, especially raw, unbridled power like that. And if I’d lost control once, who was to say I wouldn’t again? Who was to say the next time, I wouldn’t hurt someone who didn’t deserve it?
What if I had hurt Sylvi?
I turned back to her, my fingers curling into the sheets.
The first time I’d felt that beast stir had been in the Wildlands, when I’d first encountered the ruins of the hatching grounds.
But back then, it had been nothing more than a whisper, a distant growl of a thing half-asleep.
Tonight, it had roared, and the echoes of its fury still reverberated in my bones.
And then there was the crone, and the vision she had shown me.
I clenched my jaw as the memory resurfaced. Sylvi had possessed magic—not just wielded it, but embodied it. She had stood transformed, a being of both fae and beast. My stomach twisted. Common fae were not supposed to possess magic…at least, that’s what my people had been taught to believe.
My mind tried to rebel against what I had seen, against what it could mean, but another part of me—the part that slumbered right beneath my skin—stirred with wonder.
Since I was a young child, I’d been told that shifter-fae were nothing more than a myth, remnants of tales long buried beneath the bones of history.
And yet, I’d seen the ancient texts people thought forgotten, had read the stories that spoke of fact, not fiction.
And now, I’d also seen Sylvi in that vision, and she had been alive with magic. Overflowing with it.
I forced my eyes shut, exhaling through my nose. I wanted to dismiss the encounter, to convince myself that the crone was nothing more than a witch practicing illicit witchcraft. But if that were true, then why had she targeted me? Why had she shown me things as if she knew me and Sylvi?
As soon as I was able, I would find that crone and demand answers.
A soft knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. I carefully slipped from the bed, mindful not to wake Sylvi, and opened the door just enough to see Ravin standing there, his red curls a disheveled mess, his usually composed expression drawn tight, and his fingers raking through his hair.
“Tell me it’s not true,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with disbelief.
“Which part?” I asked, already knowing exactly what storm he was about to unleash on me.
His nostrils flared. “Fuck. It’s true.” He pinched the bridge of his nose before dragging a hand down his face.
“What in Náldrún’s frozen ballsack were you thinking?
You massacred three people in the Warrens?
You’re the gods-damned crown prince! What in the actual fuck possessed you to do such a thing? ”
“They deserved it.”
Ravin’s jaw tightened.
I stepped aside, letting him in.
He stalked into the chamber, his footsteps restless.
“The Warrens are in an uproar,” he hissed.
“They’re demanding an explanation. Whispers of retaliation are already stirring.
Do you even realize what you’ve set into motion?
Your mother is going to—” His voice cut off abruptly as his gaze landed on Sylvi, still asleep in my bed.
His eyes flicked to me. “Shit. How bad is she? And why the fuck is she in your chambers instead of the infirmary?”
I stared at him in stunned silence. I had no reason other than that I wanted her by my side, where I knew I could keep her protected. “She’s safer here,” I said simply. “Come, we can talk in my private library.”
Without waiting for his response, I led him into the adjacent chamber.
The space was small, lined with dark oak bookshelves brimming with histories, battle strategies, and political treaties.
I lit a low-burning fire in the hearth, then shut the door slightly, needing to make sure I could still hear if Sylvi woke and needed me.
He refused the seat I offered, striding toward the liquor table by the window overlooking the gardens instead.
His boots dug impatiently into the antique rug as he rushed to pour himself a generous drink.
He downed half of it in a single swallow before fixing his gaze on me.
“Tell me what happened. Why was Sylvi even in the Warrens?”
“She must have been following a lead. Either on the mole or the dissenter meeting. I imagine the same meeting you were supposed to attend. I see no other explanation.”
Ravin shook his head. “Sylvi knows better than to trek into the Warrens alone, especially at that hour. And for a lead?” He scoffed. “She’s no spy. And why were you there?”
I bristled. “Are you suggesting it’s her fault she got attacked?”
“Gods, no.” His tone softened slightly. “I know Sylvi; she’s too damn smart to have gone in there without good cause. Still, it was reckless. She’s a royal guard, Jack. That made her a prize dissenters couldn’t resist.”
I stiffened. “So, they were dissenters?”
“The meeting was a closed conclave, waiting for all members to arrive before starting. But once the screams began, everyone flooded the streets. I was close enough to hear the males coming from the conclave identify the bodies.”
“Were you able to gather anything else?”
Ravin scoffed. “Well, the meeting hadn’t exactly gotten underway before it was interrupted by the entire fucking district running in terror from you.”
My jaw tightened. “They were about to rape her, Ravin.” The words came out rugged, deadly, the growl in my chest not entirely my own.
Ravin exhaled, shaking his head. “I understand. I’m not faulting you for defending her, but you still haven’t even answered my other question: What the Hel were you doing in the Warrens, Jack?”
I hesitated. I didn’t owe him an explanation, but he deserved the truth. Or at least part of it. Raking a hand through my hair, I exhaled. “I went to return her cloak.”
“Right,” he muttered, tossing back the rest of his drink. “You just so happened to return her cloak at the exact time she was being attacked in one of the worst parts of the city.”
“No. I’d gone looking for her at her brother’s tavern when I saw her go out a back door and start toward the city gates.
I couldn’t quite let her go into the Warrens alone, but I also didn’t want her to know I was there.
So, I trailed after her, but then—” I cut myself off before disclosing my encounter with the crone.
I wasn’t sure why I felt inclined to keep that from him, but it was like a hand wrapped around my throat with icy fingers, warning me that right now was not the time to disclose what I’d seen in that vision, or the cryptic message that had accompanied it. “I lost her in the crowd.”
“You lost her?”
His words stabbed at my heart like a rusted dagger. I already hated myself for getting to her so late. If I hadn’t been snatched by the witch or had snapped myself out of the trance, I might have been able to stop the attackers before they ever harmed her.
Ravin sighed, setting the eldbrann down with a sharp clink.
“Look, I’m sorry Sylvi got hurt, but it wasn’t your fault.
They deserved to be punished. But this rebellion is more organized than we thought.
Tonight’s meeting was supposed to be big.
With tensions already high, the deaths of those males might be all the excuse the dissenters need to strike back, harder. You need to be ready.”
Tension built around my jaw. “I know. Trust me. My mother and the council members are going to demand answers tomorrow. I will need to arrange for another convening.”
“So, the queen doesn’t know?”
“Not yet. I was able to keep the situation under control when I arrived with Sylvi in my arms. But I’m sure the entire palace will know what happened by dawn. I’ll worry about my mother then.”
“She’s going to pin this on Sylvi for going into the Warrens alone.”
“My mother ordered her to find the mole. Sylvi was on official orders.”
“Was she, though? Did she tell you that?” Ravin studied me for a long moment, then exhaled slowly. “Jack…what really happened tonight?”
I met his gaze. “I told you; I defended Sylvi.”