What Jace Wants
? Ivy ?
The inquiry doesn’t resume immediately. Rowan gives orders near the door while the council clerk gathers the marked pages into a leather folder. Holt stays close to the records. Dane speaks with the guard. Nora lowers the cloth from my cheek after deciding the swelling is ugly but not serious.
Roman stays beside me, close enough that I can feel his warmth, far enough that no one can pretend his hand is a leash.
Nora tucks the cloth into her bag and eyes my cheek. “It’ll bruise.”
“I assumed.”
“She hit hard.”
“I noticed.”
Nora’s gaze flicks to mine, then away.
“I’m recovering.”
Dane coughs into his fist. Roman’s mouth almost moves, and the bond warms for half a breath before the guard at the adjoining chamber steps forward.
“Elder Rowan.”
Rowan turns. “What’s it?”
“Prince Jace requests permission to speak with Luna Maddox.”
Roman looks at me and waits.
That’s all he does, and somehow it’s enough.
Nora mutters, “He can speak from the doorway.”
Dane nods.
Holt doesn’t look away from the records. “He’ll keep trying until she answers.”
Jace doesn’t want to speak because he’s worried. If worry mattered, he would’ve found his voice beneath the arch, or in the archive, or before Sloane’s hand left a mark.
He wants to speak because the room has changed around me.
I straighten, though my cheek pulls painfully. “He can speak here.”
The guard hesitates. “He asked for a private word.”
“He rejected me in a public chamber,” I say. “He can say whatever he has to say now in a supervised one.”
Rowan’s eyes settle on me. “The door remains open. A guard remains present. Alpha Maddox and Luna Maddox’s attendants remain within sight. Prince Jace won’t approach unless invited.”
I glance at Roman. “Is that enough?”
His jaw works once. “I don’t like it.” He looks at me. “If you want it, yes.”
I nod to Rowan. “Let him in.”
The guard opens the adjoining door.
Jace enters with the calm of a prince who has been watched all his life and rarely punished for what people saw. His coat is perfect, his hair is neat, and his face is already shaped into concern before his eyes find mine.
“Ivy,” he says.
Roman’s hand stops beside mine. Jace catches himself. “Luna Maddox.”
The correction comes too fast to be sincere, but at least he has learned.
“What do you want?” I ask.
His gaze drops to my cheek. “I wanted to see if you were all right.”
“No.”
Jace blinks.
“You chose the answer that makes you look decent.”
Nora makes a faint sound behind me.
His concern thins. Impatience shows beneath it, brief and sharp, before he smooths his face again.
“I came to apologize.”
“Then apologize.”
Jace draws a breath. “I never meant for you to be humiliated the way you were.”
I study him. “Which part did you mean?” His face tightens.
“Luna Maddox,” I correct.
A flush touches his cheekbones. “Luna Maddox. I didn’t mean for the rejection to become cruel.”
“You rejected me in front of everyone who mattered to you. What part wasn’t cruel?”
Jace looks past me for half a second, as if searching for a softer answer on someone else’s face. No one gives him one.
“I was trapped,” he says.
Roman’s hand closes at his side, but he stays where he is.
“So was I,” I say.
“I know that now.”
“You know people are watching you now.”
His lips part, then close. Rowan’s clerk begins writing. Jace notices the pen and lowers his voice.
“I was told things about you.”
I already know what’s coming, but I want him to say it where everyone can hear.
“What things?”
“That you were sheltered.”
His gaze flicks to Roman. “That you were unprepared for court life.”
“That’s the polite version.”
Jace’s jaw tightens. “They said you were quiet, dependent, and too weak for the throne.”
“You mean weak.”
“I was given the wrong picture.”
“You were given one that made your choice easy.”
He takes a step forward before he remembers Rowan’s rule. The guard moves one hand to his belt, and Jace stops.
“I made the choice expected of me,” he says.
“I know.”
His expression flickers.
“You chose exactly what the court taught you to choose.”
“You say that as if you know what it’s like to be raised under the crown.”
“I know what it’s like to be raised for someone else’s use.”
Marissa makes a small, wounded sound from the far side of the room.
Jace hears it and uses it. “Your family lied to both of us. You can’t blame me for what they hid.”
“I blame you for what you did with what you believed.”
“I was trying to prevent a disastrous match.”
“By making me the problem.”
His eyes flash. “That isn’t fair.”
“Neither was the altar.”
For a moment, his polish cracks enough to show the man beneath the prince. He looks younger when he’s angry, less golden and more plain, but plain men can still be cruel.
He gathers himself quickly. “If I’d known there were questions about your bloodline, I would’ve asked different questions.”
I smile, and it hurts my cheek enough to make the smile sharper.
“There it is.”
Jace frowns. “What?”
“If you’d known my blood mattered, you would’ve waited.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.”
“I meant that a prince has duties. Bloodlines matter. The crown matters.”
“I didn’t matter until my blood did.”
His silence answers before he can.
Leather creaks softly as Roman’s hand tightens again.
Jace notices. “This is what I mean.” My gaze sharpens. “Say it.”
“He’s barely holding himself back.”
“Roman is standing where I allowed him to stand.”
“Allowed?” Jace asks, and the word slips out before he can polish it.
Roman’s attention shifts toward me. He heard it too.
Jace tries to recover. “Roman is dangerous. He’s older, bound to you through an unknown vow, and his scar reacted under the arch.”
“The court isn’t making him sound noble.”
“No,” Jace says. “You are.”
The words are meant to bruise, and I refuse to touch the wound for him.
“Be careful, Jace.”
He almost smiles. “Now you sound like your father.” Wade stiffens.
I don’t look away. “Decide whether you’re accusing him.”
Rowan’s voice cuts in from the doorway. “Prince Jace, choose your next words with care.”
Jace looks from the clerk’s pen to me. The record has finally made him understand that rank may not save him.
“I’m asking questions.”
“No. You’re circling an accusation.”
“I’m concerned.”
“Concern isn’t an answer.”
His gaze drops to my wrist. “Can you honestly say any choice made inside all this is free?”
“Yes.”
He looks startled by how quickly I answer.
I step closer. “Roman asks what I want when the answer costs him. You never asked when the cost was mine.”
Jace’s face darkens. “That’s not the same.”
“That’s how I know the difference.”
He looks at Roman. “And if she asked to leave?”
Roman answers before I can. “Then she leaves.”
The simple answer lands harder than anger.
Jace stares at him. “You expect us to believe that?”
“She knows the door is open,” Roman says.
I feel those words settle inside me like a door being held open, even if holding it open would break him.
Jace sees it too, and he hates it.
“You think that makes you noble,” Jace says.
“No. It makes the door real.”
My breath catches. Jace turns back to me too quickly. “You’re letting him set the rules.”
“I’m standing here setting them myself.”
“You’re standing beside him.”
“Because I choose to.”
“You’ve known him for weeks.”
“I knew you for years,” I say. “Time didn’t make you kind.”
That cuts clean. Jace flinches, and for one moment, I see stunned pride beneath the court polish. “I did care for you.”
The words are soft enough to be dangerous.
I study him, searching for the girl inside me who once would’ve treasured that sentence for years. I find the memory of her, but not the ache.
“You liked being kind when it cost you nothing.”
His eyes harden. “That’s cruel.”
“It’s true.”
“You don’t know what I felt.”
“I know what you did.”
He looks away, and that’s the first honest thing he has done since entering.
When he speaks again, his voice is lower. “I regret hurting you.” I believe that, oddly enough.
I believe he regrets the mark on my cheek, the council record, and the way the court has begun to look at him. I believe he regrets that the girl he rejected is no longer useful as proof that he escaped cleanly.
But regret isn’t the same as being sorry.
“What did you regret first?” I ask.
His brow furrows. “What?”
“The hurt or the mistake?”
He doesn’t answer. I nod once. “That’s what I thought.”
Jace’s calm slips again. “You’re not thinking clearly.” Nora laughs outright.
Jace’s gaze cuts to her. “Is something amusing?”
“Yes,” Nora says. “She’s thinking clearly. Find another argument.”
Dane murmurs, “That was the polite version.”
Jace takes the hit because he has no choice, but I can see him adding Nora to the list of people he thinks have chosen the wrong side.
“I’m trying to warn you,” Jace says.
“Then stop wrapping the warning in concern and speak plainly.”
His gaze goes to Rowan. Rowan says, “You requested the conversation, Prince Jace.”
Jace looks at me and finally says what he came to say. “If your bloodline is tied to Vance, and if the old compact law is involved, the council won’t simply let you return north as if nothing has changed.”
Roman’s wolf rises inside the bond, but his body remains still.
“That’s what you came to say,” I tell him.
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“Grant won’t ignore a foreign blood claim. The council can’t ignore it either. If you’re connected to that bloodline, where you stand matters more than a northern vow.”
The danger under his argument is real. If a surviving Vance Alpha is my father, the western compact may claim jurisdiction over my blood, and the Brooks guardianship that placed me in the royal match may be void.
“Where I stand?”
His face tightens as if he hears the mistake too late.
I step back, not because I’m retreating, but because I want the whole room to see him clearly. “You came here to apologize, and you ended by talking about where I should stand.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s always what men mean when they start talking about the crown.”
Jace’s eyes flash. “You think Roman will be different when your blood threatens his territory?”
Roman’s voice turns cold. “Don’t put your thoughts in my mouth.”
Jace ignores him. “The north has wanted a weapon against the crown for years. If you’re Vance blood, you’re that weapon.”
“And if I stand near you, what am I?”
His silence is brief, but it’s enough.
I laugh once. “You don’t want me safe. You want me near the throne.”
“You’re twisting this.”
“I’m finally hearing it.”
“Ivy, I can help you.”
The room reacts to my name, but I lift a hand before anyone corrects him. I want this one to stand.
“You can’t help me,” I say. “You can only help yourself near me.”
His face pales. For a heartbeat, he looks like he might say something honest and ugly. Honest ugliness would be easier to survive than pretty concern. Instead, he bows his head.
It’s the correct move, and it’s also a retreat.
“I hope you’re not making a mistake,” he says.
“I already survived the mistake you made.”
He lifts his eyes. “And if Roman becomes one?”
Roman goes colder than I’ve ever felt him.
I turn my head enough to meet my husband’s gaze. His face is carved from restraint, but the bond beneath it is fire and fear and something heartbreakingly careful.
Then I look back at Jace. “Then I’ll name it myself.”
Jace has no answer for that.
Rowan gestures to the guard. “This conversation is concluded.” The guard steps forward.
Jace holds my gaze for one more second, and the concern is gone now. Pride and want remain, stripped of their nicer clothes.
When the guard escorts him back through the adjoining door, Jace doesn’t look at Roman. He looks only at me. The door closes.
Nora exhales. “That apology had all the grace of a man falling down stairs while blaming the stairs.”
Dane says, “I thought it was more like watching someone walk into a trap he set himself.”
Holt, still near the records, says, “Both images have merit.”
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it, and this one hurts less than the last. Roman doesn’t laugh. I turn to him.
His eyes search my face, but he still doesn’t reach for me. “Are you all right?”
“No,” I say.
His expression tightens. Then I add, “But I’m clear.”
That changes him. His shoulders lower a fraction, and the bond steadies.
“Good,” he says softly.
I glance toward the closed door where Jace disappeared.
The old ache is gone. There’s no grief left for the prince who rejected me, no secret wish that he’d finally look back and see the girl he humiliated. He looked back today. He saw me better than he ever had, and what came into his eyes wasn’t love.
It was claim dressed up as regret.
Jace came for the authority attached to my name. The worse truth is that one part of his argument may survive him: if Vance law recognizes me, the crown can turn my blood into a border dispute before my father reaches the gates.