Chapter 49
Rell
Me.
That single syllable detonated in the silence, its shockwave rippling through the room.
A harsh sound tore from Rell’s throat—something between a laugh and a choke—as his mind struggled to process what he’d just heard.
One look at Elora’s face—jaw set like stone, eyes burning with resolve—and Florence’s slight nod of approval told him everything.
The laughter died in his throat, replaced by heat rushing up his neck like wildfire.
“Not a chance in hell,” he growled, each word like flint striking steel. His mind flooded with images of Elora back in Thorn’s grasp, and something primal inside him recoiled with such violence he could barely breathe.
Elora faced him, mouth opening to argue, but Rell cut her off with a swift gesture.
“No.” He shook his head so hard his vision blurred. “I’m sorry, Sunshine. I’ll back almost any reckless thing you decide to do. But this isn’t one of them.”
“Rell, I understand you want to—”
“Have you forgotten what that monster is capable of? What he’s already done to you?” His fingers curled and uncurled at his sides, knuckles whitening with each clench.
The signs had piled up in his head since he met her: fragments of terror escaping her lips during nightmares, how she flinched when a door opened, fingers that wouldn’t stay still before bathing, the way she recoiled from others’ hands—yet somehow, rarely from his.
Elora stared at him, her golden eyes unblinking, assessing. “Would you actually stop me?” she asked.
It sounded like a simple question on the surface, the words themselves uncomplicated. But Rell understood the weight behind them, the true question she was asking: Would you take my choice away?
His chest tightened painfully. Her bravery usually struck him like sunlight—how she refuses to bend even when everything around her breaks.
He’d seen it countless times: in her unflinching gaze, in how she stands before men like Symond and Gerard without retreating an inch.
But now, with the possibility of losing her suddenly feeling terrifyingly real, admiration crumbled beneath the weight of his fear.
The thought of restraining her freedom made his stomach turn. He’d seen enough people try to do that—he’d die before becoming one of them.
But this...
This wasn’t about ownership. It was about the sick certainty that if he let her walk back in there alone, he might never get her back out.
Rell glanced toward Florence. A muscle twitched in her jaw—the only sign of tension in her otherwise composed demeanor. Rell looked back at Elora, her golden eyes unwavering, challenging him to answer.
“We need to talk.” The words came out like gravel. “Privately.”
Without waiting for her response, he caught her elbow and steered them toward the far corner where a bookshelf cast shadows across the floorboards.
He pivoted to face her, his hands finding her shoulders.
His fingers pressed into the fabric just enough to dimple it, then immediately relaxed—a silent apology.
“Listen to me,” he whispered, leaning down so his words would reach only her. “There are only a few people in this world I would risk everything to protect, and you’re at the top of that list.”
Her eyes widened slightly, irises catching the light from the window.
“I’m sorry,” he continued, voice barely audible.
“You can hate me for this if you want, but I’m not going to let you give yourself to Thorn.
” His grip tightened fractionally, thumbs pressing into the soft fabric of her robe.
“Not unless I can be there to protect you. I don’t care if it means disguising myself as a fucking guard. I will be there.”
Elora’s shoulders stiffened beneath his palms. She stepped back, breaking his hold, and the distance separating them felt vast.
“No,” she said, her voice flat and final. “You’re not coming.”
The words struck him like a fist to the sternum. Rell’s teeth ground together hard enough to send a dull ache radiating through his temples.
“Then you’re not going,” he stated, the words coming out rougher than he intended. He forced his hands to his sides, fingers curling into loose fists. “That’s how this is going to work, Sunshine. Both of us or neither.”
Her eyes flashed gold in the shadowed corner, pupils contracting to thin vertical slits. “You don’t get to make that decision for me.”
“I’m not making it for you.” He leaned closer, keeping his voice low enough that Florence couldn’t overhear. “I’m telling you my terms. You want to walk back into that place? Fine. But I’ll be right there beside you, and that’s non-negotiable.”
Elora’s chest rose with a sharp inhale, the black satin pulling tight across her collarbones. “I’m not your responsibility, Rell.”
“Maybe not,” he said, holding her gaze. “But you can’t tell me you trust Florence to get you out if things go sideways in there.”
Elora’s mouth opened, then closed. She pursed her lips tightly.
“I sure as hell don’t.” He glanced over his shoulder at Florence, who was pretending to study the map with far more attention than it deserved. “She’ll sacrifice you if it serves her grand revolution. You know that.”
Something shifted in Elora’s expression—a subtle recalculation, like watching gears turn behind those golden eyes. Her gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, then lifted again with new determination.
“Violette, then,” she said, the words coming out fast, almost rehearsed. “She could come with me instead. She’s capable, strategic. Thorn wouldn’t suspect—”
The sentence dissolved as Rell’s vision tunneled.
Violette.
Images flashed unbidden through his mind—Violette’s quiet strength, the way she’d always been his anchor through some of the worst moments in his life. And Elora, fierce and fragile in equal measure. Both of them, at Thorn’s mercy.
His chest constricted so painfully he had to force his next breath. “Violette?” The word came out strangled. “You think that’s better?”
“She isn’t so attached,” she muttered under her breath.
The words should have stung, but Rell barely registered them through the panic rising in his throat.
His mind raced through scenarios—Thorn discovering Violette’s true allegiance, Violette being tortured alongside Elora. Him losing both of them in a single breath.
“No.” He shook his head, the word coming out harder than he intended. “There’s no way in hell that’s happening.”
“You don’t know Thorn like I do,” she said quietly. “If he allows someone to ‘protect’ me, the motivation is anything but protection.” Her voice lowered. “It’s control. Ownership. Making sure everyone understands I belong to him.”
“That’s what he’ll do anyway.”
“No.” Her voice cracked harder than she intended.
“You don’t understand what happens in that place.
” She dragged a hand through her hair, pacing once before turning back toward him.
“You think you’ll be able to step in if something goes wrong, but Thorn doesn’t lose control of situations. He creates them.”
Rell held her gaze without flinching.
“Then I’ll adapt.”
A bitter laugh escaped her. “That’s your plan?”
“My plan is not leaving you alone with him.”
Silence stretched between them.
Elora searched his face for hesitation and found none. No uncertainty. No fear strong enough to outweigh the stubborn resolve settling into every line of his expression.
The realization exhausted her more than she expected.
Because he meant it.
He really would stop her from going alone.
Her shoulders sagged slightly.
“Fine,” she said at last.
He hated the defeat in her voice. She came to him when the walls started closing in, when the dark pressed too close—why was having him there, in that place, any different?
“But Rell, you need to understand what you’re agreeing to.” Her voice dropped even lower, barely audible over the sound of Florence shuffling papers at her desk.
“With Florence back and Tehvan gone, Thorn might not even care about me anymore. But if he does...” She swallowed hard. “Whatever happens in there, our disguises can’t slip. Not once.”
Her fingers dug into his forearm. “There might be moments—” The words seemed to catch, her eyes finding his again with fierce intensity. “You’ll have to watch and do nothing. I need you to promise you’ll wait for my signal, that you’ll trust me to know when to endure and when to act.”
The thought of standing by while she suffered clawed at his insides. “I understand,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t regret it. “But I’m not letting you face that alone. Not again.”
Her expression shifted like light through stained glass. “We need to discuss terms,” Elora said, her voice returning to normal as she addressed the Queen Bee. “If I’m going to be your bargaining chip, I want guarantees.”
Florence’s eyebrows rose slightly, but the rest of her remained carefully neutral. “What kind of guarantees?”
“First,” Elora said, “Rell comes with me.”
Florence frowned, her gaze sliding to Rell and back to Elora. “That complicates things significantly. Thorn knows all his guards. A stranger would be noticed immediately.”
“Then make him not a stranger,” Elora countered. “Forge documents. Create a backstory. I don’t care how you do it, but he comes with me or there’s no deal.”
Something warm moved through his chest at her insistence—then stalled.
He watched her profile, the set of her jaw, the careful neutrality of her expression as she waited for Florence’s response.
She wasn’t doing this for him. She was doing this because he’d left her no other option, and she was smart enough to know it.
Florence studied them from behind her desk, fingers steepled under her chin. “Fine. I can arrange for Rell to accompany us.” A hint of respect flickered across Florence’s otherwise calculating features. “What else?”
Elora lifted her chin. “Second,” she said, each word sharper than the last, “you will make yourself Thorn’s primary focus. Not me.”
When Florence’s expression remained unchanged, Elora leaned forward, palms flat against the desk.
“And when his attention inevitably turns my way, you will intervene. I have my limits.” Her voice lowered to something barely above a whisper, yet it filled the room like smoke.
“Test those limits, and I’ll claw his face off before he ever names you heir. Are we clear?”
Florence moved around the desk until she stood directly in front of them. “I am not Abernathy Thorn. Though we may be related by blood, I have no desire to see you—or anyone—at his unrestricted mercy.”
Rell narrowed his eyes, skepticism crawling up his spine.
“I give you my word,” Florence continued.
Elora nodded once, seemingly satisfied. “Good. Then we have a deal.”
Florence returned to her desk, pulling out fresh parchment and a pen.
“I have preparations to make—many of them. Creating a believable cover for Rell, arranging transportation that won’t draw attention, crafting the right approach to Thorn.
” She dipped her pen in ink and began writing rapidly. “Give me three days.”
“Three days,” Elora agreed. She turned to leave.
The corridor swallowed their footsteps as they retreated from Florence’s office, neither speaking as the magnitude of their commitment sank in.
Rell’s thoughts tumbled over one another—The Institute’s labyrinthine halls, Thorn’s calculating cruelty, Florence’s precarious schemes—each possibility more dangerous than the last. Pure insanity was what they were attempting.
Yet beside him walked Elora, chin lifted, those amber eyes fixed on some point beyond the present, and he recognized the futility of second thoughts.