35. FRANCOIS
As I stride along the corridor, the sound of Aurora’s plea rings in my ears.
Her desperate need—a need only I can satisfy—tastes like a strange sort of victory. Yet, it does not carry the sharp, acidic bite of triumph I expected. For years, I watched my father drool over her, offering diamonds and roses as if jewels could tame her.
The fool never understood that Aurora Drakeward desires only one thing: free will.
I always believed that to win her, I simply had to master the mechanics of her desires.
To show her I was the architect of her safety.
But back in that suffocating cell, watching the raw agony on her face as she begged for the life of a discarded street rat, a crack formed in my own immaculate armor.
Love, it seems, is not a transaction. It is not a series of favors to be tallied or a debt to be collected.
True love—the kind that makes the wolf stand on broken legs, the kind that makes Aurora bow her head to a monster—is entirely selfless.
It is a willingness to dismantle oneself for the sake of another.
I will take her pet sparrow from Voss’s fingers. Not because it proves my superiority. Not even to force that reluctant gratitude to bloom in her eyes. I will do it simply because she asked. Because her sorrow is the only thing in this wretched world capable of fracturing my peace.
For a man like me, who has only ever known the cold math of leverage and power, this is a terrifying deviation.
I do not care for the sparrow. Left to my own devices, I would let the machinery of this prison chew her up without a second thought.
But through Aurora’s eyes, the act of saving this child becomes something elevated.
Something… right. If protecting what Aurora loves is the only way to keep her whole, then I will make her morality my own.
To execute her will, to keep her heart from breaking further—that is the only objective that matters now.
Arriving at the administration block entrance, my hand brushes the heavy door.
The iron begs for my touch to reshape it into something more elegant.
All I need to do is whisper my intent, and the poison in my veins could turn it into a gate made of gold.
But my powers of transmutation are not subtle.
The Null-Wards would shriek an alert, and though Warden Voss is a fool, my molecular "fingerprint" would be easily tracked. To use my gift within the walls of Quo would be to ring a bell that could never be un-rung.
My beast rages beneath my ribs, impatient and demanding blood. Patience, mon monstre. We will play their game a little longer. We will save her sparrow with diplomacy, not violence.
A guard arrives, peering at me through the eye-level hole in the door. “Yes?”
I draw his soul to mine through our gaze, letting a fraction of my darkness leak into his mind to gently bend his compliance to my whim.
A moment later, he looks away with a shiver, unlocks the door, and asks no more questions. They all sense my monster, even if the dull minds of convicts and custodians can’t put a name to the sensation twisting their thoughts. Occasionally, I come across a more developed consciousness.
Like the wolf. Like the warden.
Warden Voss is seated behind his desk, cradling a cup of Darjeeling. He frowns at my intrusion. “What are you…?” He regains his equilibrium with a speed that suggests he’s practiced hiding his fear. “Young Mr. Crankshawe. This is a surprise.”
His effort to demean me through my father’s name is laughable. Before, I might have lingered to toy with him, to watch the fear grow organically in his throat for my own amusement. But I have no time for his tedious smallness today. Aurora is waiting.
I sit, pointedly ignoring the penurious wooden chair reserved for “convicts” and sinking instead into the velvet club chair opposite him. Finally, something comfortable.
“My name is de Vaux, as you are well aware,” I say, my voice smooth, quiet. “My father’s name holds no interest for me. My mother’s side, however… they are Le Milieu of Europe. A people of long memories and very little forgiveness. Do not use the wrong name with me again.”
Voss swallows, turning a sickly shade of pale. “Anyway,” he mutters, looking anywhere but at me. “I’m a busy man. What is it you want?”
I lean forward, locking his gaze. “The little Digger girl. I know you have her. She is to be returned to my block immediately.”
Voss lets out a choking sound, his teacup rattling violently against its saucer. “Oh. Er. You’re too late.”
“Too… late?”
Voss begins to pant, his chest seizing, as I let my power trickle across the desk and into his lungs. The thought of returning to Aurora empty-handed, watching that fragile light of hope die in her eyes, makes the darkness in my veins boil.
“Do not test my patience,” I whisper. “Where is she?”
“Gone," Voss gasps, his hands clawing desperately at his throat. “Just gone. Beyond the jurisdiction of Quo Reformare. I can do nothing about it.”
I hiss in annoyance, severing the pressure just enough to allow him to breathe freely again. He collapses over his desk, drawing in ragged gulps of air.
“Explain,” I command.
He shakes his head, trembling. “Some Guild girls informed me that she was a runaway, and not sixteen like she claimed. I ran her name and the tattoo identifying mark through the system and it flagged an active extraction request from a legal guardian. They left with their charge twenty minutes ago. I couldn’t have kept her if I wanted to, de Vaux. The paperwork was ironclad.”
“Legal guardian?” My fingers tighten on the velvet armrests. “Who? Give me the name.”
“The Grieves family. Businessmen with far, far-reaching power.” Voss’s face hardens with a desperate, defensive bravado. “I am quite sure your father is an associate of theirs. I followed the law. There is nothing to be done.”
Followed the law. There is nothing to be done.
Am I to break my first promise to her?
Unthinkable. I cannot be a person too weak, too slow, too useless to save her family.
The despair would shatter her, and the fragile thread of trust we just spun would snap forever.
No.
There is only one viable permutation.
I will have to leave this fortress. I will have to track this Grieves family down, tear the sparrow from their hands, and return her to Aurora myself.
A cold, heavy finality settles into my bones. The options I have are narrowing down to an inevitable conclusion.
Aurora cannot stay here without me, with the scum, and the warden while I hunt, which means the timeline has changed. No more games.
I will have to break her out of here entirely.
Standing, I smooth the front of my uniform and turn on my heel. Warden Voss is already irrelevant.
Instead, I must prepare to tear down these walls.
My beautiful ballerina must bid adieu to Quo Reformare.
???
On my return, I find Aurora in a different cell.
That of Clay and Imran.
She is squatting next to a cot, her shoulder pressed against the wolf as she tends to the dying boy. The moment she sees my face, she is on her feet, lunging toward me.
“Well? Where is Sky?”
“She is not in the administrative wing,” I tell her. I keep my voice level, trying to cushion the blow, but her face immediately falls. “Voss handed her over to a family called Grieves twenty minutes ago. Officially, they claimed her as a runaway under a legal guardianship.”
A hiss escapes Aurora. “Guardian? He’s a human trafficker, and you let him take her.” Her voice cracks, tears of absolute fury welling in her eyes. “You promised me. You’re a fucking liar, Francois.”
The word cuts deeper than any blade, but I do not lash out. I look at the devastation fracturing her beautiful face.
“I am not a liar, Aurora,” I say softly, stepping closer. “I do not care for sparrows, but I care that your heart is breaking. I will find the girl. I will tear her from their hands and bring her back to you. I swear it on my mother’s memory.”
An unexpected, ragged sob escapes her throat. “How? It’s too late. She’s gone, and we’re locked in a cage.”
“Then we must simply unlock it,” I reply, the cold finality of my decision settling into the air.
Beside her, Bevan pushes himself forward, his golden-brown eyes fixed on me with an equal pain. “There is no way out.”
“Not for you, Mutt,” I clip out, though the usual mockery is absent from my tone. “But for Aurora and me there is.”
Aurora looks between the two of us, her breath hitching as she absorbs my words. “I know you’re hiding more magic, Francois,” she whispers, her eyes flashing with a sudden, terrifying clarity. “Can you really get us out of Quo?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. No more games. No more tedious secrecy. “I have the capacity to dismantle this fortress from the inside out.”
She blinks, stunned by my blunt honesty. “But… if you could leave this entire time, why the fuck are you still here?”
I allow my gaze to linger on her, letting her see the raw, terrifying truth of my obsession.
“For you, chérie. I volunteered for this pit because I knew Thomas would try to break you from afar. My father truly thought I would be his hammer—the tool to crack you until you became a pliable, hollowed-out bride. Imbécile. I am not guarding his treasure; I am the pirate stealing it. I stayed to keep you safe from the barbarians, but the entertainment of this little escapade has waned. If you require a revolution to keep your family whole, then I am turning the keys.”
“She doesn’t need your protection,” the wolf growls, stepping between me and Aurora, his protective instinct stubborn to the point of suicide.
My patience finally eclipses. Before the wolf can even register my movement, my arm snaps forward.
My fingers wrap around his neck, biting into the corded muscle.
I do not do it out of malice, but out of an urgent need for absolute order.
He freezes as the black film floods his marrow, his eyes blowing wide as paralysis locks his jaw.
“Listen to me very carefully, Taliesin,” I hiss, leaning close enough to smell the copper of Imran’s blood on his shirt. “I have no time for your fragile masculine pride. If we are to survive what comes next, you will mind your manners and follow my lead. Do you understand?”
The wolf grunts, fighting the paralysis, before giving a single, tight nod. I release him, and he stumbles back onto the cot, gasping for air as Aurora beats a frantic, angry rhythm against my shoulder.
“Stop it! Stop touching him!” she screeches.
“Be calm. Hysterics will not help, Aurora. Now, do you have any indication of where this Grieves family would take the child?”
My furious girl swallows her rage, forcing her mind back to the logistics.
She sighs, a defeated sound. “Sky told me about an island… somewhere off the north coast with a massive blue mansion. That’s where they keep the stolen girls before they auction them.”
“An island with a blue house,” I repeat, my mind instantly mapping the coastal territories. “The Elites do love their fortresses. It narrows the parameters, but not enough.”
“She mentioned trees with pink flowers,” Aurora pushes on, her brow furrowing as she concentrates desperately. “And a statue of Athena.”
“Parfait. A slight improvement.”
“What about her brand?” the wolf coughs out, clutching his bruised throat. “Could it be a hidden frequency? A coordinate set?”
I pause, suppressing the urge to mock him. In the cold math of human trafficking, assets are logged, but coordinates? Idiot.
“Yes!” Aurora’s eyes light up with a sudden, triumphant spark. “The tattoo is the key—and I know someone else in this prison who is branded just the same.”
I arch an eyebrow, this could be helpful indeed. “Who?”
“London.”