Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Casteel watched Nero move through the chamber with practiced stealth, fingers testing stones, examining hinges, calculating possibilities.
Something stirred inside him—a sensation beyond the warmth of their new bond.
Admiration, perhaps. Or trust. Was that dangerous?
How much could he really trust Nero? He had, after all, fired the arrow, no matter his pretty words of doubt.
What if his skills were simply rusty and he'd made an excuse for his miss?
Casteel blinked and glanced at his shoulder.
There wasn't even a scar. Shifting into his wolf had healed him.
"The guards change at twelfth bell," Casteel whispered, following Nero's lead by keeping his voice low. "Four are stationed outside this door, two at each end of the corridor."
Nero nodded, impressed. "You've been paying attention."
"When you've spent your life as a servant, you learn to notice when to keep out of the way." Casteel ran his fingers over the healing bite mark, still awed by how right it felt. "The night watch drinks watered wine during their shift. By the third bell, their attention wanders."
Nero frowned. How did he know?
Casteel must have understood his doubt. "It was one of Doran's favorite pastimes to wake me and take me for his so-called rituals."
Nero paused for a heartbeat, examining the massive doors, but he didn't comment, and Casteel was glad. He didn't want sympathy, he needed escape.
"What about beyond the corridor?" Nero asked. "How many levels down to the courtyard?"
"Three. The ceremonial staircase first, then through the old audience chamber, down the servants' stairs to the kitchens. From there, a short passage leads to the stable yard." Casteel hesitated. "But there's a checkpoint at the outer gate. Six guards, always alert."
Nero's eyes gleamed in the dim light. "We need a distraction."
They dressed quickly, their movements synchronized as if they'd done this a hundred times before. Casteel felt Nero's focus—sharp, determined, unwavering. So different from the uncertainty that churned in his own stomach.
"Why are you helping me?" The question escaped before Casteel could stop it.
Nero paused, his hands stilling on the leather ties of his tunic. "I'm helping us both."
"You could have played along, gained their trust, then slipped away alone," Casteel pressed. "Why risk everything to take me with you?"
Something flickered across Nero's face—an emotion Casteel couldn't quite name. "The bond works both ways at the moment. I wouldn't get far without you now."
It wasn't the whole truth, even if it hurt.
Casteel could feel that much, but he didn't push further.
He'd said at the moment, which told Casteel Nero considered this temporary.
Instead, he focused on gathering what they might need—a small knife he'd hidden beneath the mattress, a pouch of dried fruit left with their dinner.
And yet the whole time he wondered. In another life, Nero would have been all his dreams come true, except the only reason he was here was because of the threats, because of the bond.
"We need more substantial supplies," Nero muttered, eyeing their meager collection. "Food, water, proper weapons."
"The kitchens," Casteel suggested. "If we make it that far, we can gather provisions."
Nero nodded and eyed the white clothing the priests forced Casteel to wear. "And clothing that doesn't scream 'royal fugitives.'"
They worked methodically, preparing what little they had. Nero tore strips from the bedsheets, fashioning crude but serviceable bindings that could serve as bandages or restraints. Casteel filled a flask with water from the bathing pool.
"The healer—Makim," Casteel said suddenly. "He might help us. He seemed...different from the others. Less interested in prophecies, more concerned with actual wellbeing."
Nero's face hardened. "Too risky."
"But he was the only one who didn't treat me like a vessel for some ancient power. And he warned us about the fever white." Casteel moved closer, lowering his voice further. "If we're caught trying to leave through the main routes, we'll need another option."
Nero studied him, then nodded reluctantly. "If—and only if—we have no other choice. Where would we find him now?"
"His chambers are in the east wing, he told me, near the healing rooms, but I've never been there." Casteel reached for Nero's hand, the touch sending a pleasant warmth up his arm. "I wish the passage was accessible. It's not an exit, but it would have helped us avoid the main corridors."
Nero's eyebrows lifted. "What passage? And why didn't you mention this earlier?"
"Because the priests told me they'd disabled the mechanism after I was caught, and it doesn't lead to the outside.
And I tried many times and couldn't open it.
" Casteel pointed toward the ornate tapestry depicting silver wolves running beneath a full moon.
"Behind there—a narrow corridor once used by servants to access the royal chambers unseen. "
Together, they moved the heavy fabric, revealing smooth stone that appeared seamless at first glance, and Nero had already checked this obvious place.
Nero ran his fingers along the wall a second time, feeling for irregularities.
Casteel placed his palm against a specific stone and pressed. Nothing happened.
"It still doesn't work," he muttered.
Nero knelt, examining the base of the wall.
"I'm sure they sealed it, but sometimes these ancient places have fail-safes.
" He might have missed something the last time he'd searched.
He pulled a thin blade from his boot—a tool Casteel hadn't noticed—and worked it into a nearly invisible seam. "Push again, but harder this time."
Casteel obeyed, throwing his weight against the stone. For a moment, nothing happened, then a grinding sound preceded the stone shifting inward by a finger's width. Nero wedged his blade deeper, working it back and forth until, with a reluctant groan, a section of wall swung inward.
Stale air rushed out, carrying the scent of dust and forgotten spaces. Nero peered into the darkness, then glanced back at Casteel with something like respect.
"You continue to surprise me, stable boy."
Casteel felt a flush of pride that wasn't entirely his own—glimpses of Nero's emotions, brief flashes that revealed more than the man's stoic expression ever would.
He ached for more and in such a small space of time it was ridiculous, but Nero made him feel seen.
Okay, so he had come to kill him, but that no longer held true.
Casteel had been invisible all his life and being the silver-white wolf still meant he hid behind a mask.
His ma had worked tirelessly to give him a chance to escape, even if this hadn't been the way she had envisioned.
"We need light," Nero whispered, eyeing the oil lamps around the chamber.
"Too risky. Even unshifted my eyesight is better since I got the wolf." Casteel touched Nero's arm. "Stay close."
They slipped into the narrow corridor, closing the hidden door behind them. Darkness enveloped them completely, and Casteel felt Nero tense beside him. Through their bond, a flicker of unease brushed against Casteel's consciousness—not fear, exactly, but discomfort with the absolute darkness.
"This way," Casteel whispered, taking Nero's hand. The touch steadied them both, their connection humming with something Casteel couldn't name. "The passage curves left ahead, then descends."
They moved cautiously, Casteel leading while Nero kept one hand on the rough stone wall. The air grew cooler as they descended, the passage narrowing until their shoulders nearly brushed both sides.
"Where does this lead?" Nero's voice was barely audible.
"If they haven't sealed the other end, we'll emerge near the old library." Casteel paused, listening for any sound beyond their careful footsteps. "From there, we can reach the kitchens without crossing the main corridors."
The darkness seemed to press against them, thick and oppressive. Casteel felt his way forward, each step measured and deliberate. He sensed Nero's focus sharpening, other senses compensating for the lack of sight.
"Stop," Nero whispered suddenly, his hand tightening on Casteel's. "Listen."
Casteel froze, straining to hear what had alerted Nero. For several heartbeats, there was nothing but their controlled breathing. Then—faint but unmistakable—voices echoed from somewhere ahead.
"Guards?" Casteel breathed, barely daring to make a sound.
Nero pulled him closer, lips brushing Casteel's ear. "Can't tell. Could be servants."
They waited, pressed against the damp stone wall. The voices grew marginally clearer, though words remained indistinct. Two people, perhaps three, moving away rather than toward them.
"We should wait," Nero decided. "Give them time to clear the area."
Minutes stretched like eternity in the suffocating darkness.
Casteel became acutely aware of Nero's proximity—the steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth radiating from his body, the subtle scent of him that somehow cut through the mustiness of the passage.
Their bond pulsed between them, stronger in the darkness where other senses were muted.
"I think it's clear," Casteel whispered finally. "The exit should be just ahead."
They continued forward until Casteel's outstretched hands met another wall. He felt along the rough surface, searching for the mechanism that would open the hidden door. His fingers found a small iron lever, rusted with disuse. They obviously hadn't bothered to disable this side.
"Here," he murmured. "Help me with this."
Together, they pulled the ancient lever downward. It resisted at first, then gave way with a protesting screech that seemed deafening in the confined space. They froze, listening for any reaction from beyond the passage.
Silence.