Chapter 9 #2
Was it changing him? It had to be. He was ashamed. He tried to bring Maya's laugh to mind, but if he was going to be honest, that had faded a long time before he had met Casteel.
"Do we trust the healer now?" Casteel said, changing the subject. "Do you think Makim is truly on our side?"
Nero considered carefully. "He's the only one who's shown genuine concern for our wellbeing rather than our symbolic value. But trust is a luxury we can't afford. We verify everything."
A soft knock interrupted them. Nero tensed, hand moving instinctively to where his weapons should be, but Casteel placed a calming touch on his arm.
"Enter," Casteel called.
Captain Aldric stepped inside, his weathered face grave. Behind him came two guards Nero didn't recognize—young men with the eager expressions of recent recruits.
"Your Excellencies," Aldric began formally, then glanced at the guards. "You may wait outside."
The younger men hesitated, clearly having received different orders, but Aldric's authority won out. Once they were alone, the captain's demeanor shifted subtly.
"I'll speak plainly," Aldric said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "The palace has ears, and time grows short."
Nero studied the captain carefully. The man's face was a map of old battles—a scar bisecting his right eyebrow, another puckering the skin beneath his jaw. His eyes held the wary calculation of a soldier who'd survived by trusting no one completely.
"Why should we trust you?" Nero asked bluntly.
A muscle twitched in Aldric's jaw. "You shouldn't. Not fully." His gaze shifted to Nero, hardening slightly. "I lost both my brothers to the rebellion. Tomas at the Eastern Garrison. Kell at River's Bend."
Nero felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. River's Bend had been one of the bloodiest confrontations of the war—a rebellion ambush that had decimated a royal patrol. He'd been there, had helped plan the attack.
"I remember River's Bend," Nero said quietly. "It was a hollow victory."
"He was seventeen," Aldric replied flatly. "Barely knew which end of a sword to hold."
Silence stretched between them, taut with unspoken accusations. Nero felt Casteel's concern pulsing like a second heartbeat.
"Yet here you are," Casteel observed, breaking the tension. "Warning us."
"There's something you need to know," he said quietly. "About tomorrow's decree."
Nero and Casteel exchanged glances. "What about it?" Nero asked.
Aldric moved closer, lowering his voice further. "It's not just about the drought. Doran plans to announce the formation of a new military order—the Silver Guard. Soldiers answering directly to you, which basically means the High Priest rather than the generals."
The implications struck Nero immediately. "He's creating his own army."
"More than that," Aldric continued grimly. "He's planning to conscript every able-bodied man between sixteen and thirty-five. Mandatory service in the name of 'divine restoration.'"
Casteel paled. "That's half the kingdom's workforce. The farms, the trades—"
"Will be managed by the church," Aldric finished. "Under the guise of ensuring proper distribution during the crisis."
Cold understanding washed over him. The pieces clicked into place with terrifying clarity. "A theocracy," Nero breathed. "He's using us to establish complete religious control."
"The noble houses will resist," Casteel said, though his voice carried little conviction.
Aldric shook his head grimly. "Half are already in his pocket, promised positions in the new order. The others..." He shrugged meaningfully. "Accidents happen during times of upheaval."
Nero felt Casteel's growing horror at the scope of Doran's ambitions. This wasn't about fulfilling a prophecy—it was about seizing absolute power while the kingdom was too desperate to resist.
"Why tell us this?" Nero asked. "What do you gain?"
Aldric was quiet for a long moment, his scarred hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Because what Doran plans will destroy what's left of Abergenny. I've seen enough death." His eyes met Nero's directly. "Even if some of it was necessary."
The admission hung between them—not forgiveness for the death of his brother, but acknowledgment of a shared desire to prevent further bloodshed.
"What do you propose?" Casteel asked.
"The decree will be announced from the eastern balcony at midday. Half the city will be gathered to hear it." Aldric glanced toward the windows, calculating. "If something were to...interrupt the ceremony, it might buy you time to act."
"What kind of interruption?" Nero pressed.
"The kind that requires the Silver Wolf and his mate to be moved to safety," Aldric replied carefully. "Away from the palace, away from Doran's immediate control."
Nero felt a spark of hope, quickly tempered by suspicion. "And then what? We become fugitives in our own kingdom?"
"Better than puppets in Doran's show," Aldric countered. "There are still loyal soldiers, still nobles who remember what honor means. But they need a rallying point—legitimate authority that isn't controlled by the priests."
Before either could respond, voices echoed from the corridor outside—the young guards returning, probably with new orders. Aldric straightened, his expression shifting back to formal neutrality.
"I must go," he said, raising his voice slightly. "Your excellencies should rest well." Then he whispered, " Tomorrow will be...eventful. Watch for the diversion and be ready."
As he reached the door, he paused. "Oh, and Your Excellency?" he addressed Casteel directly. "The cook mentioned that some of the kitchen staff have been asking about you. They remember when you worked in the stables, and wish you well."
The door closed behind him, leaving Nero and Casteel alone with the weight of impossible choices. Nero felt his mate's conflicted emotions—hope warring with fear, determination shadowed by doubt.
"The kitchen staff," Casteel murmured. "He's telling us we have allies among the servants."
Nero nodded slowly. "People who knew you before all this. People who might help us if Aldric's diversion works."
Nero watched Casteel move to the window, gazing out at the city below. Lights twinkled across the darkened landscape like fallen stars, each one representing lives that would be affected by tomorrow's decree.
"Do you think we can trust him?" Casteel asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Nero came to stand behind him, arms encircling his waist as if it felt natural. "Not completely. But his hatred of Doran seems genuine enough."
"He lost his brothers to the rebellion," Casteel said, leaning back against Nero's solid warmth. "Yet he's willing to help us."
"Not us," Nero corrected gently. "Abergenny. There's a difference."
They stood in silence, watching the city lights flicker and dim as the day grew late. The weight of tomorrow's decisions pressed down on them both, made heavier by the knowledge that thousands of lives hung in the balance.
"We should rest," Nero said finally, though neither moved. "Whatever happens tomorrow, we'll need our strength."
Casteel turned in his arms, eyes searching Nero's face in the dim light. "If Aldric's plan fails...if we're caught trying to escape again..."
"Then we face it together," Nero said firmly, cupping Casteel's face between his palms. "No more separation. I won't allow it."
The certainty in his voice sent warmth cascading through their bond. Casteel reached up, fingers tracing the lines of Nero's face as if committing them to memory.
"I never thought I'd find something worth fighting for," Casteel admitted. "Not like this."
Nero's throat tightened with emotion he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. "Nor I," he whispered, the confession easier in the darkness. "Not since the rebellion took everything."
And this felt real. For the first time since he'd stood in that tower and nocked his arrow. He'd been trying to convince himself he was playing a forced part, but he was fooling himself.
They moved to the bed together, undressing in silence. Despite the urgency of their situation, despite the dangers that awaited them at dawn, their movements were unhurried, almost reverent. Nero drew Casteel down beside him, their bodies fitting together as if designed for this purpose.
Casteel's fingers traced the scars that mapped Nero's chest.
Their lovemaking was gentle, a stark contrast to the desperate joining that had sealed their bond. Slow touches and whispered endearments replaced urgency, each caress an affirmation of something neither was quite ready to name.
Through their connection, emotions flowed freely—concern, determination, and beneath it all, a fierce protectiveness that bordered on devotion.
Nero's calloused hands moved with deliberate tenderness, tracing the contours of Casteel's body like a cartographer mapping precious territory.
In the dim glow of banked embers, his mate's skin gleamed like burnished copper, warm and alive beneath his touch.
Their earlier couplings had been born of necessity, of magic and survival—this was something else entirely.
"I want to remember every inch of you," Nero murmured, lips brushing the hollow of Casteel's throat where the silver scar of their bond gleamed in the low light.
Nero let his mouth continue its reverent journey downward.
He lingered at the gentle curve where neck met shoulder, the subtle ridge of collarbone, the firm plane of chest with its dusky nipples that hardened beneath his tongue.
Casteel's breathing quickened, fingers threading through Nero's short hair, neither guiding nor restraining—simply connecting.