Chapter 37 1145 AM
Chapter thirty-seven
The warm water had eased some of the pain, but Shadera’s body still felt like a battlefield—each movement a fresh skirmish against her broken ribs and battered flesh.
She stood in the center of the bedroom, hair dripping onto the floor, the towel clutched to her chest. Every breath was a negotiation, shallow and careful, to avoid disturbing the fractured treaty with her rib cage.
Her gaze drifted to the bed. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d come home, had been too deep in her mind to see anything but the pathway to the bathroom.
A dress—long, white silk, with a slit that would reach her thigh and a neck and back that plunged dangerously low.
Beside it lay a shawl to cover her arms and shoulders, and her mask.
The skull stared back at her, almost taunting her.
Reminding her of what she brought into this world. Death.
Something else caught her eye—a small silver tray holding a folded note and a collection of white pills.
Shadera moved toward it, each step sending ripples of pain through her body. Her muscles protested, begging for rest, for stillness, for mercy she couldn’t afford to grant them. Not today.
She reached the bed and picked up the note with fingers that felt clumsy and swollen. The handwriting was elegant, flowing—nothing like her own jagged scrawl.
Your dress for today. Do not hide the damage he has done to you, let the world see the monster he really is when the time is right. The pills are for the pain, you will need them.
Her eyes moved on to the next line as she stilled.
For what it’s worth, I always wanted a sister.
xo, Li
PS. You can trust the Captain.
Shadera read the note again, then a third time, the words sinking into her consciousness and churning out guilt. She didn’t know what she’d done to her brother.
She read the words again.
I always wanted a sister.
Sister. Family. Belonging. Things Shadera had buried so deep within herself that she’d nearly forgotten the ache of their absence. Things she’d convinced herself she didn’t need, didn’t want, couldn’t have.
Shadera pushed the thoughts away, picking up the tray and dumping the pills into her mouth. She swallowed them dry, feeling their bitter taste scrape down her throat. Whatever they were—painkillers, stimulants, poison—she’d know soon enough. At this point, relief in any form was welcome.
She let the towel drop, the air cool against her naked skin, and avoided her reflection in the mirror as she moved toward the window.
The plaza below was filling with people—Heart citizens in their finest clothes, their masks gleaming as they gathered for the spectacle to come.
Her stomach twisted at the sight of them, at their eager anticipation of the ceremony that would bind her to Greyson forever.
Not that forever would be very long for either of them. Death seemed the most likely outcome for both of them, regardless of what choices they made, what orders they chose to obey.
The drugs began to take effect, spreading through her system like warm honey, dulling the sharp edges of her pain without clouding her mind. Relief flooded her muscles, allowing her to straighten slightly, to draw a deeper breath without the knife-like stab between her ribs.
She took one last look at the plaza below, at the predators gathering hungry for others’ suffering, then turned away and moved toward the dress.
The fabric slipped through her fingers like water, cool and sleek against her skin. Lira had chosen well—the high slit would allow her to move, to fight if necessary, but she’d doubted that was her reason for choosing it.
Do not hide the damage he has done to you, let the world see the monster he really is when the time is right.
Understanding dawned slowly. This wasn’t just a dress—it was a statement. A weapon. Evidence.
Shadera slipped it over her head, wincing as she raised her arms to guide it down her body.
The silk clung to her curves, the white fabric stark against her dark skin.
The neckline dipped between her breasts, exposing more bruising along her collarbones, while the back plunged low enough to reveal the constellation of scars and bruising littered there.
She gathered the scarf in her arms as she slipped into the black heels at the foot of the bed, then reached for the mask last, the familiar weight settling in her hands. The skull grinned back at her as if it were the promise of death, a reminder of what she was—what she’d always been.
She forced herself to take a deep breath, testing the medicine’s limits, then exhaled as she turned toward the door.
It was time.
Greyson stood in the center of the living room, staring at the note in his hand as if it might transform into something else if he glared at it long enough. Lira’s script swam before his eyes, each word a weight settling into his bones.
Trust the Captain. He’s with us. When the time comes, follow his lead.
The rest of the note contained instructions for the ceremony, details he’d already committed to memory, but it was those three words that kept repeating in his head.
Trust the captain.
A soft sound pulled his attention away from the paper, the soft click of heels against marble. He dragged his eyes upward and audibly gasped.
She was light given form standing at the edge of the room. The dress exposed the brutality of what she’d survived these last few days, the bruises blooming across flesh like violent flowers.
And yet, despite it all—despite the damage mapped across her skin—she was breathtaking.
Something caught in Greyson’s chest as the realization finally, truly, settled into him. This woman was about to become his wife.
The thought should have disgusted him. Should have filled him with rage, with revulsion. Instead, he felt a strange, twisted knot of emotions that he couldn’t begin to untangle—protectiveness, admiration, desire, guilt, all of it tangled up with one single, horrifying truth.
He wanted to be her husband.
“Did you get one from Lira too?” Shadera asked, her voice rougher than usual, proof of the screams she’d swallowed in that cell.
Greyson’s throat worked, suddenly dry. He cleared it with a sharp cough, forcing his gaze back to the paper in his hand. “Yes,” he answered, the word coming out hoarse. “It was left by my suit.”
She took a step into the room, moving carefully.
She must have received medicine as well, he realized, noting how she held herself straighter than should have been possible with her injuries.
Still, he could see the cost of each movement in the tightness around her mouth, the careful way she distributed her weight.
The air was tight between them now, charged and uneasy in a way it hadn’t been before. The casualness in how they’d existed around the other, even while planning each other’s deaths, was gone, replaced by caution.
“Mine said we can trust the captain,” she said, her good eye fixed on his face, searching for his reaction.
Greyson nodded once, sharp and quick. “Mine says the same.” His gaze flicked toward the door separating them from the Veyra, then back to her. “If that’s the case, we should prepare ourselves.”
Confusion flickered across her features. “What do you mean?”
He gestured his head toward his bedroom at her back as he strode toward it. As Greyson passed her, for one single second his eyes fluttered shut, his breath catching in his lungs as her scent engulfed him. A low groan slipped over his lips as he forced himself to keep moving.
She followed him down the hallway and into his room, then paused at the threshold of his closet as he entered. He moved to the back corner and knelt. His fingers found the edge of a floorboard, lifting it to reveal a hidden compartment beneath.
Inside lay a small arsenal—four handguns, a collection of knives, spare ammunition, all with serial numbers that would never be traced back to him, unlike the ones in his weapons room.
He glanced up at Shadera as she leaned against the doorframe to steady herself. Greyson selected one of the guns and checked its chamber, then rose, extending the weapon toward her grip first.
“Are you going to shoot me with this one?” he asked, trying to push them back to comfortable territory.
She stared at the gun, then at him, her brow furrowing as the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “. . . Yes?”
Something loosened in Greyson’s chest, a knot of tension unwinding at this small sign that not everything between them was broken beyond repair. He found himself almost smiling back, a grim twist of his lips that felt foreign on his face after days of pain and rage.
“Well, can you at least wait until after I’ve shot my father?”
She pulled the gun from his hand. “I can definitely try, but I’ll probably get to him before you.”
“You wanna bet?” he asked, selecting another gun for himself. “Twenty credits says I shoot him first.”
Shadera laughed now and the sound almost brought him to his knees. “A thousand credits says you won’t even have the safety off before I put a bullet in his skull and yours.”
Greyson shook his head, a grin now spreading over his face. “Deal”
Greyson met her gaze, and even with the humor, he saw the same murderous intent reflected there that burned in his own chest. In that moment, they understood each other perfectly—two weapons pointed now at the same man.
He turned back to the cache as Shadera took another step into the room, selecting a smaller gun that could be concealed in an ankle holster. “Take as many as you can hide,” he advised, reaching for a knife next. “We don’t know how this will play out, but—”
“If I were you, I’d carry as many as possible.”
The voice from the doorway sent Greyson spinning, gun raised and aimed before he’d fully registered the movement. He stepped in front of Shadera in the same motion, his body instinctively placing itself between her and the threat.
Mikel stood in the entrance to his room, his Veyra mask betraying nothing of his expression beneath.
He made no move to draw his own weapon, showed no reaction to the gun pointed at his chest. He simply stood there, hands clasped behind his back in that perfect military posture Greyson had seen his entire life.
“It’s eleven forty-five, we need to go. The ceremony begins in fifteen minutes.” Mikel said, gesturing toward the window before turning away from them. “I’ll be by the door.”
Greyson slowly lowered his gun, turning back to face Shadera whose eyes were just as wild as she clung to his arm.
Trust the captain.