Chapter 29 #2
We headed up the stairs, out of that basement, through the orphanage main floor—dust and abandoned furniture and the ghosts of children who'd once lived here. Who'd learned and played and grown in this building, never knowing what horrors existed in the basement below.
Merrit had been one of them, had walked these floors, touched these walls. Samona had taught her here. This had been her home, her refuge.
And Tobias had violated it with his torture chamber.
Now we were leaving it behind. Forever.
Outside, dawn had fully broken. The sun painted everything in shades of gold and pink, almost obscenely beautiful after the darkness below.
Horses waited where we'd left them. And beyond them—Lorenzo's men, finally arrived. Too late for the fight, but here now to help with cleanup and transport.
"Your Highness." The captain saluted, eyes widening as he took in our condition. "Saints, what—"
"Secure the building," Lorenzo ordered, his voice brooking no argument despite his injuries.
"The basement is a crime scene—torture chamber, evidence of the coup, bodies of the conspirators.
Document everything. Catalog every piece of evidence.
The bodies need to be transported back to the castle for identification and records. "
He paused, then added grimly, "And search the surrounding area. Make sure no one fled before we arrived. Check the roads, the nearby buildings. Anyone suspicious, bring them in for questioning."
"Yes, my lord. Immediately."
Wagons were being prepared, and someone had thought to bring medical supplies, blankets.
Jex placed Merrit gently in the most cushioned wagon, arranging blankets around her. I climbed in immediately, pulled her against my chest, positioning myself so she was supported and comfortable.
Through the bond: “Safe. You're safe now.”
No response. She was too deep, too exhausted. But I kept sending it, anyway.
My brothers mounted horses as Rhett and Jex took another wagon—Jex's injuries were bad enough that even demon healing needed rest. Solis rode alone, quiet and guilty.
The wagons began to roll, slow and steady.
I held Merrit as we traveled through the Divide, watching the orphanage disappear behind us. That gray stone building grew smaller until it vanished into the morning mist—no longer a safe haven, but a nightmare.
She stirred once, awareness flickering through the bond—confused, frightened—and I sent immediately: “I'm here. You're safe. Just sleep.”
She settled, consciousness sinking back down.
"How is she?" Lorenzo rode alongside the wagon, looking better with every mile, as vampire healing continued its work.
"Alive. Exhausted. But stable." I looked at my brother. "How's your chest?"
"Healing. I'll have a scar, but..." He shrugged. "Small price."
"He nearly killed you."
"Nearly." Lorenzo's expression was grim. "But he didn't. We're all still here. That's what matters."
Nikolai joined us on the other side. "The documents. We need to show them to Father."
"I know."
"There are conspirators in other provinces. This isn't over."
"It is for us," I said firmly. "For Morathen. The immediate threat is eliminated. The rest..." I looked down at Merrit. "The rest can wait until she's healed."
"Kieran—"
"It can wait." My voice left no room for argument. "Father can handle the political fallout. We've done our part."
Nikolai studied me for a moment, then nodded. "All right. But he'll want to see you. Immediately."
"He can wait, too."
Behind us, I heard Rhett and Jex talking quietly.
"Think she'll be all right?" Jex asked, voice deep and solemn.
"Yeah. She's survived worse." He paused. "She's got us. And she's got him now."
"Better be enough."
"It will be."
Silence settled between them, comfortable and certain.
I tightened my arms around Merrit slightly, careful not to disturb her rest.
It would be enough. I'd make sure of it.
The sun climbed higher as we traveled. The Divide gave way to better roads, then to farmland, then to the outskirts of the capital city.
People stopped to stare as we passed. The prince and his bloodied companions, returning from gods knew what battle. Word would spread quickly.
Let it spread. Let everyone know Tobias was dead. Let the remaining conspirators know their leader had fallen and their coup had failed.
Morathen was secure.
The castle appeared on the horizon: blackened stone and high towers, the runes flashing in the morning light. Home.
As we rolled through the gates, guards snapped to attention, eyes widening at our condition. Someone ran ahead, likely to alert the healers and staff.
The courtyard filled quickly: servants, guards, healers with their supplies ready.
And standing at the top of the steps, like he'd been waiting—my father.
The king had come. Someone must have sent word ahead, or perhaps he'd felt the disturbance through whatever channels kings used to know when their realms were threatened. Either way, he was here now, watching with those cold, calculating eyes as we pulled in.
I hadn't seen him in months. He looked the same as always—ancient, powerful, untouchable.
I didn't go to him. Didn't dismount to give him a report or explanation.
Instead, I gathered Merrit carefully and lifted her from the wagon. She was so light that she seemed so fragile in my arms. The healers approached immediately, hands reaching for Merrit.
"Your Highness, let us take her—"
I pulled her closer to my chest, instinctively protective. "Show me to a private room. The best you have. Now."
The head healer—an older woman whose name I should know but couldn't recall—hesitated. "Of course, Your Highness, but it would be easier if we could examine her while—"
"Now."
The word came out harsher than I intended, but I didn't apologize. Couldn't. Not when every instinct screamed to keep her close, to not let her out of my sight for even a moment.
They scrambled to obey, the head healer gesturing quickly to her assistants.
I followed them toward the healing wing, adjusting my hold on Merrit so her head rested more securely against my shoulder.
She was so light, felt so fragile. Blood had seeped through the makeshift bandages Rhett had applied, staining my shirt, but I didn't care.
"Kieran."
My father's voice cut through the courtyard bustle. Not a greeting. A summons. The tone that had made princes and generals snap to attention for a thousand years.
I didn't stop. Didn't even slow my pace toward the healing wing entrance.
"Later, Father. She comes first."
I heard him start to speak again, but I was already through the doors, already moving down the corridor toward the healing wing. Whatever he wanted could wait.
She came first. Now and always.
The healers led me to a private room—large, well-appointed, with a soft bed and clean linens. Herbs hung from the ceiling, filling the air with the scent of lavender and something medicinal I didn't recognize.
I placed her on the bed as carefully as I could, smoothing her hair away from her face.
The head healer approached immediately, bringing supplies. "Let me examine her, Your Highness."
Reluctantly I stepped back, standing by the bed and holding Merrit’s hand while she worked.
"Multiple lacerations," she murmured, cutting away bloodied clothing to reveal the damage beneath. "Iron burns—these will take longer to heal. A brand here, recent. Severe bruising around the wrists and ankles. Signs of..." She paused, looking up at me with understanding in her eyes. "Torture."
"Yes."
"And magical exhaustion. I can feel it—there's a... hollowness where her spark should be. She pushed too hard, burned herself out completely."
"Will she recover?"
"Yes. With time and rest." She began cleaning wounds with gentle efficiency. "The physical injuries will heal. The magical exhaustion will take longer—that kind of depletion requires deep rest, sometimes days of unconsciousness while the magic repairs itself. But she's strong. She'll recover."
I watched her work. Each wound revealed made my rage flare again—evidence of what Tobias had done, the hours of torture she'd endured.
But Tobias was dead. He couldn’t ever hurt her again.
The healer applied salves, wrapped bandages, and used gentle healing magic on the worst of the burns. All the while, I held Merrit's hand, sending constant reassurance through the bond, even though I didn't know if she could feel it.
“I'm here. Right here. Not leaving.”
The door opened quietly, and I looked up, ready to tell whoever it was to leave.
Lorenzo stood in the doorway, and I barely recognized him.
The chest wound that had nearly killed him hours ago had clearly healed completely—he stood straight and strong, moving without pain or hesitation.
His fresh shirt showed no blood, no sign of injury.
Vampire healing combined with what was clearly a recent feeding had worked its usual magic.
He looked like he'd never been stabbed at all.
Meanwhile, I was still covered in blood—most of it mine—exhausted beyond measure, and couldn't bring myself to give a shit about any of it.
"How is she?" Lorenzo asked quietly, his gaze moving from me to Merrit on the bed.
"She'll recover. It'll take time, but she'll be okay."
"Good." He stepped into the room and leaned against the doorframe with deceptive casualness. But I knew that stance—he had something to say I wouldn't want to hear. "Father wants to see you."
"He can wait."
"Kieran—"
"I'm not leaving her." I met his gaze, letting him see exactly how serious I was. "Not until she wakes up. Not until I know she's truly okay. Father's demands can wait."
Lorenzo studied me for a long moment. I watched him weigh options, calculate responses, probably running through a dozen arguments about duty and protocol and the king's displeasure.
Then he just nodded. "I'll tell him. He won't like it."
"I don't give a fuck."