Chapter 32 Marcus
MARCUS
When we get home, I don’t allow myself the luxury of hesitation. The doors barely swing open before I’m moving, each step deliberate, fueled by the weight of what has to be done.
The staff are already assembled in the grand hall—no doubt at Sebastian’s command—their faces pale, eyes darting nervously between one another and me. The air hums with unspoken questions, the kind that crackle like static, restless and searching for answers I can’t afford to give.
“Please, everyone, join me in the living room.” The words leave my mouth before I think, and immediately I feel like a fool.
As if they don’t know where the living room is—most of them have served this house for decades.
But still, they hesitate, shifting uncertainly.
It isn’t formality that holds them back—it’s fear.
Fear of being caught in the wrong place if Sebastian disapproves.
All eyes flick to him. He gives the barest nod, a scowl cutting deep into his forehead. Only then do they move. We file into the living room together, Esmerelda at my side. I’m grateful for her presence, whether it’s a show for the staff or not.
“Sit, please.” A few obey, most remain standing. I know better than to press. Respect, to them, is measured in silence, not in chairs.
“First, I want to thank you all for holding the fort while we were away. If there had been any other choice, I wouldn’t have left you without explanation.
These last weeks have been difficult, and I am deeply grateful for your loyalty.
As such, we wanted you to have this bonus as a token of gratitude. ”
Sebastian steps forward, handing a stack of envelopes to Esme.
For a moment, I worry she doesn’t know them all as well as he does, but she proves me wrong.
One by one, she delivers each envelope with a word or two, recalling a detail about their families, their hobbies, even the smallest things that show she saw them.
The way their faces shift with surprise and gratitude makes my throat burn.
I clear it quickly, redirecting attention before it catches in my voice. “With the utmost respect, I must ask you to keep what has transpired a secret. For your safety, and for the family’s. If you want the families to live, you must not breathe a word of this to anyone.”
I don’t lace the words with threats. If there is a traitor among them, retribution won’t come from me. It will come from the fates, and I’ll stand by with a heavy heart.
The weight of the moment presses down, cold and immovable. Eyes pin me in place—dozens of them, heavy as rocks. The usual shuffle of feet, murmurs, the background hum of life is all gone. Silence replaces it, thick, suffocating, sharp with fear.
I don’t see them as staff anymore. Not as cooks or guards or cleaners.
That veil has been stripped away. What stands before me are soldiers—an unwilling army, waiting for certainty I don’t dare give.
They need me to be unflinching, to tell them it will be all right.
But all I can offer is a chance to walk away.
Inside, panic claws at me. My chest cinches tight, my breaths shallow and sharp.
One crack in my voice, and fear will spread like wildfire, undoing everything we’ve fought to hold together.
So, I force stillness into my body, lift my chin, and meet their gazes one by one.
Steady. Deliberate. My silence becomes a promise: you are safe because I will make it so.
And maybe that’s a lie. Maybe I’m standing on the precipice with nothing but a frayed rope to tether me. But in this moment, they need to believe it.
I need to believe it too.
“Go now. Go far. And be careful.”
Some exchange glances, unease flickering sharp and fast. But none refuse. My tone leaves no room for argument—it crushes the thought before it can form.
The truth burns in my chest: any of them could be destroyed simply for their association with us. That knowledge is a weight almost too heavy to carry. One by one they file out, until the house is silent.
I sink into the couch, exhaustion pressing deep into my bones. The silence feels unnatural, oppressive. Then Esmerelda perches on the arm of my chair, her hand settling on my shoulder. Just that—simple, steady—and it anchors me more than she could ever know.
The following few days, we all spring into action and make plans.
These days it feels as though that’s all we do.
The tension coils tighter with every movement.
Time flies by like it usually does when there isn’t enough of it.
We’re quiet and deliberate, setting things in place.
No one says what they’re doing aloud. Every instruction is a glance, a nod, a sharp tilt of the chin.
The room hums with restrained energy, like the air before a thunderstorm.
Bundles are unwrapped, tools laid out, objects shifted from one hand to another with the kind of care that says each piece matters, even if I can’t see how it all connects.
I catch fragments—Esmerelda’s jaw tight with focus, Minerva’s lips moving as if she’s counting under her breath, Belvedere pacing like a caged predator. Serafina hovers near the window, eyes sharp on the horizon.
No explanations. No reassurances. Just the sense that every small action is weaving us into a larger, unseen design. And though I know the final result will give us a fighting chance, I don’t know how much of a fighting chance we’ll get.
Reinforcements arrive in drips and drabs. Bear shifters as big as forts. One wolf with eyes like silver steel. A witch whose power isn’t divine but runs clean and raw through her blood. Different, but strong.
I find Serafina bent over a table one afternoon, the witch beside her. Symbols glow faintly on parchment between them. She looks up as I step in, worry creasing her face.
“We need backups,” she says, voice tight. “This kind of magic—I’ve only ever read about it in legends. Neither of us can promise it’ll work. If it fails—”
“It won’t.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “If anyone can do this, it’s you. And when doubt creeps in, remember this—your sister would believe in you without hesitation. So believe in yourself for her sake, if not for your own.” I don’t know if that’s true, but the lie feels warranted.
Her throat works as she swallows. Her eyes shine, but she nods, spine straightening with resolve. For once, I don’t look away. I hold her gaze until I’m sure she believes it.
Night creeps in, and with it, Victoria takes her place at the planning table. Another piece in the web. I excuse myself eventually, exhaustion dragging me under. I’ve been running on scraps of sleep, but tonight it feels heavier, like I’m carrying the whole damn house on my shoulders.
I open the door to my chambers—and freeze.
Esmerelda stands on the balcony, bathed in moonlight. Her nightgown clings to her like water, silk pale against her skin. I’ve never seen it before.
She notices my stare, color rising in her cheeks. “I brought it on our honeymoon,” she admits softly.
A crooked smile tugs at my mouth. “We didn’t see much of each other at night on our honeymoon, did we?”
Her laugh is quiet, genuine, and it cracks something open in me. But it doesn’t last. The weight of tomorrow seeps back in, settling between us. Esmerelda chews on her lip, a sign she’s mulling things over.
“Marcus. If things go wrong,” she says finally, her voice steady even as her eyes flick away, “this may be the last time we see each other. And if things go right… if our families are restored… the council will undo the marriage. Maximillian was the root of the conflict. Once he’s gone, they’ll have no reason to keep us bound. ”
The words hit like a fist to the chest. Losing her to death, or losing her to politics—it doesn’t matter which. Either way, I lose her.
I cross the room, slow, deliberate. “If tomorrow isn’t promised,” I rasp, “then we should make the most of what nights we have left.”
She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. The way she looks at me, the way her breath hitches when my fingers brush hers—that’s enough.
I kiss her like it might be the last time.
Urgent, then softer, then reverent. I memorize her with every touch, every sigh, every inch of her body under my hands.
The first couple of times, desperation ruled.
Last time, it was gentler, and yet I still held back.
Maybe she did too. Tonight, it’s different.
I strip, heat coiling as her eyes rove over my naked form, devouring me with their heat. I hold out a hand to her, and she clasps it. I lead her to what used to be my bed but became hers. Tonight, I want to make it mine.
Gently, I lay her down and crawl up her body.
I kiss her and make sure to savor the feel of her lips, the taste of her tongue.
I commit the way she moves beneath me into my memory.
Agonizingly slowly, I bunch the silk around her hips and suck in a breath when I realize she isn’t wearing any panties.
I push into her. Inch by inch, she swallows me in her heat, and I pray to the gods this isn’t the last time I’ll get to love my wife.
I try push the desperation from me. To focus on the sensations and not on the lasts.
The last time I’ll watch the breath slip out of her parted lips.
The last time I’ll watch her arch her back.
The last time a tear will slip from her eye as she pulses around me, giving me her release.
Later, when the heat fades into exhaustion, we curl together in silence. I don’t let her go. I don’t even try. Sleep drags at me, but I fight it long enough to memorize the rhythm of her breath and the weight of her against me.
Because tomorrow, one way or another, I lose her.
And still, selfish bastard that I am, I want everything.