Chapter 32 Jasmine #2
Julien’s gaze takes in each man before landing on me. “It’s best not to dwell on what could have been,” he says quietly.
But the shadows creep in, thickened by the dread seeping from them all. The air hums with their thoughts, and I don’t need to hear them to know what they’re all thinking.
What happens when it’s me who’s gone?
Kane said I’m not immortal, not yet, but how does he know it’ll happen? Beings of light live longer, not forever… and whatever I am, even with the dark, immortality isn’t promised.
I need to change the topic, scrape these emotions and sickening thoughts away.
“So you’re going to tell the Leads we’ve got dragons on our side?” I add a half-smile, and some of the darkness fades.
“It’ll get a reaction, maybe make someone slip,” Ezekial says, then his gaze darkens. “We know what fear does. How it distorts, exposes, breaks.”
A bitter sickness crawls under my skin, curdles my stomach. I know exactly what fear has done to each of them. I’ve seen it, heard the stories they rarely tell.
And now I carry every one of them.
The heaviness clings, but I push it aside, searching for something less likely to crush me.
“Wait.” I glance at Julien. “Please tell me Kacey knows her bond is a prince?”
Julien and Kane exchange a glance, and that silent gesture answers it.
I shake my head. “She needs to know. He can’t hide something like that from her.”
They share another look, but this one shifts past me. My brow furrows, just as I feel that familiar hum, and Sai’s hand ghosts over my hip.
“Remember when I told you about my bitch of a mother?”
I turn in a slow semi-circle until I’m facing him. “You’re not.”
Sai gives me a wicked smile.
“You’re a royal?” My mouth drops. “You’re a hundred and fifty years old—”
“Approximately.” My gaze slices to Julien, who promptly looks away.
“And you’re a royal?” I huff a sound of disbelief. “You said she was a High Fae, not royalty?”
He squints one eye, wincing. “Yeah, well, turns out she’s from some distant, fucked-up royal bloodline. Anyways, pretty sure I lost the title when I got locked away.”
I flinch at the reminder, but there’s no time to dwell when anger sparks—mine, but not only mine.
Their fury rises like heat, so intense and sharp I can taste the bitterness. My shadows bloom, feeding off the rage, tethering to the violent need for revenge.
This is the last headspace we need before an interrogation, but the three of them won’t rein it in.
They care for Sai so fiercely, it’s wordless, a heat that twists into hunger for vengeance. A storm of silent loyalty. A deadly vow. For Sai, they would burn everything. And I know, without question, they’d do the same for each other…
Maybe even for me.
I draw a steady breath, looking at Sai with a slow smirk. “So… should I start calling you Your Highness?”
At my teasing tone, there’s a crack in the fury, and I feel eyes on me.
Sai’s grin is quick and wide, unaware of the chaos these men will create for him.
“Or should I bow?”
Sai’s hand tightens on my hip. “You? Bow to me?” His head tilts, eyes glinting wickedly. “No, baby. But I’ll take any excuse to get on my knees for you.”
Ezekial groans, rubbing his temples, the fury now downgraded to irritation. “Please, don’t encourage him.”
Julien exhales a sharp laugh, and at last the mood lightens. The anger’s still there, simmering… but leashed, for now.
“Fuck, you’d look so good in a crown.” Sai’s rumbling voice slips through my mind, private and sinful. “On a throne, me kneeling—”
“Sai, I need you to be on your best behaviour right now.” My tone is light but firm, and his eyes spark. “We only get one shot of surprise, so no more of… this. Let’s focus.”
But he’s enjoying this too, the way I’m speaking to him, that grin becoming more feral.
I place my fingers on his chest plate, peering up at him with a teasing smile. “Can you do that for me, Sai? Can you be good?”
He leans in, eyes dropping to my mouth, but I step away before he can close the distance. I lean back against the wall by the meeting room door, making my focus clear.
His eyes follow, trailing over me—from black heeled boots to thin tights, the short skirt, the dark silk blouse with two buttons undone. Up my pin-straight hair, to my eyes, lips.
“You’re asking an awful lot of me, Red.” His gaze dips to the chains around my neck, one holding his darkness, the other Julien’s. “How can I focus on anything else when you’re in the room?”
He takes his time looking over me again, crossing his muscular arms over his chest plate. Markings on full display from his biceps up to his fingertips. Pulsing.
When I finally reach his face, he’s still conducting a slow appraisal, which is exactly why I dressed this way. For them, yes. But I also want the beings in that room to question everything: how I walk, how I’ve dressed, how I stay silent until…
“Don’t introduce me,” I say suddenly, catching each of their eyes. “Just pretend I’m not even there.”
“Sure, I’ll stop breathing while I’m at it.”
I roll my eyes, but don’t hide my smile. Sai grins back, biting his tongue between his teeth as he winks.
“Smart strategy,” Kane says, and the brief, unexpected compliment spikes my adrenaline. The room turns silent.
“Smart strategy,” Sai repeats in a mockingly deep voice, glancing at Julien.
Julien smirks, Ezekial coughs over a laugh, and Kane blinks once, then turns away.
***
Four beings sit at the long meeting table, but rise as we enter.
I follow behind Ezekial and Kane, with Julien and Sai moving in after us, each placing themselves with casual precision around the room—strategic and watchful.
Kane stands beside Ezekial, on his right. I choose the chair off to the side, behind Ezekial’s left shoulder, quiet in the corner.
Julien and Sai stay standing, Julien a silent sentinel behind the Leads’ chairs, close enough to loom, Sai leaning back against the wall, arms loose but eyes sharp.
One of the Commanders, strangely the one with a strip of dark cloth over his eyes, shifts to glance behind him. The rest remain still.
When Ezekial sits, they all follow suit—except Kane, Julien and Sai, who all remain on their feet.
“Prince Amon Drakaris, heir to the Dragon shifter throne, lead beneficiary to this organisation, has requested this meeting today,” Ezekial begins immediately, no pleasantries, voice firm.
From the moment Amon’s title was said, everything became quieter.
“He has a personal interest in the Green Robes,” Ezekial continues. “His Royal Highness is willing to provide any funds or services required. Including his army.” He controls the silence, creating a pause long enough for the Leads to digest the weight of his words.
An army of dragons. The power the Council now holds magnified, as is the destruction they could cause.
“However, His Highness finds it troubling that we have yet to locate Lord Prospero, or any of these robed beings. Despite the funding each district and its leaders provide. Despite all the extensive training of your units. Despite the intel we’ve shared.
” He rests his arms on the table, clasping his hands as he leans forwards slightly.
“Despite the trust we have mistakenly placed in you.”
One of the Lead Commanders—a woman with a shaved head covered in intricate white tattoos—straightens. Her sharp gaze meets Ezekial’s.
Twenty years in her post, a skilled mage of light with a sharp tongue and fierce rule. Her units respect and fear her.
“Lord, are you suggesting that we’ve done something wrong?” Her voice is measured, but there’s a flicker of frustration and fear beneath it. “You know we have been working tirelessly. Our units have been on patrol every moment we can spare.”
“Yet we have made no progress. Nothing to show. We’re chasing his shadow, always one step behind.”
I do my best to stay shrouded in the corner, but I’m compelled to watch him, the way he commands the room.
“You do not trust us, my Lord?” A man with a long russet beard speaks, eyes narrowing, the corners creased with tension. His large arms are tense, ready to defend his stance or possibly brace for a blow.
This is the warlock who specialises in fire and healing, I remember thinking it was an unusual combination. He joined the enforcer training programme as soon as he turned eighteen, and never left. Never took a break. Systematically rose through the ranks.
“No.” Kane’s voice cuts through the room like a guillotine.
All four Commanders snap to him, and terror oozes from them.
When Kane speaks, even the dead listen.
“Someone has betrayed us.” Another slice as his black gaze sweeps them. “Someone is lying.” He bends the silence around those words. “We will find out who,” he vows.
If I was ever to believe a vow, it would be Kane’s. And it seems the Commanders feel the same. They cast quick glances at one another. Too wary to speak. Terrified to face Kane’s wrath.
“Sir, with the utmost respect...” The youngest Lead begins, his words trailing off when Kane’s stare pins him in place.
A tall, lithe, earth elemental with long, mousy curls and, from his notes, extremely skilled in poison. He raced through his training in three years, Lead Commander for seven.
“You’ve been with us on most patrols. You know—”
“You dare to presume things you have no concept of?” The shadows explode, but Kane’s voice remains level.
There’s no anger. No emotion. Just that quiet, creeping dread he builds so well, every slow sweep of his gaze, every precise flicker of shadows. He appears unaffected. Cold.
The only sound is the rustle of fabric as someone shifts in their chair.
But then I catch it, just a flicker, a brief spike of panic from one of them. Like something slipping through a crack in a mask.
“I’m going to amplify their emotions,” I say. They all remain perfectly focused. Even Sai. As though nothing has passed between us.
Damn, they are good at this. And why does that make my pulse skip?