Mikel nodded once, sharply, then stepped back, allowing Greyson to close the door. As soon as it clicked shut, Greyson turned to face the others.

  “This could be a trap,” Shadera said quietly, voicing what they were all thinking.

  Greyson turned to her, struck by the realization that she was afraid. Not for herself—he doubted she’d ever feared for her own life—but for what their discovery might mean for the rings, for the thousands whose lives hung in the balance of their ability to deceive his father.

  “I know,” Greyson breathed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s just get it over with.” He glanced to Callum. “Tonight. Your place. If for some reason we aren’t there, make a plan. Move forward with or without us.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN IT DID NOT MAKE ME WEAK

  SHADERA FELT THE WEIGHT of Maximus Serel’s gaze through his mask as she and Greyson were ushered into the pristine office atop Haven Tower. The space breathed power—polished stone, floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a God’s view of the city below. His city. His people. His property. She kept her spine straight despite the exhaustion dragging at her limbs.

  The President sat behind the desk, his golden mask catching the early afternoon light filtering through bulletproof glass. Even seated, even silent, he dominated the room like a predator surveying prey.

  Mikel stepped out of the room as it closed behind them with a soft pneumatic hiss, sealing them in with the monster who ruled this city. Greyson’s body was a rigid line beside her, taut with a tension she could feel radiating from him in waves. She could sense the rage he struggled to contain with each measured breath as he stared at his father.

  “Sit,” Maximus commanded, the single word vibrating with disdain.

  Two chairs waited before the massive desk. Greyson moved first, placing himself slightly ahead of her, a subtle shield between her and his father. The gesture wasn’t lost on Maximus, whose head tilted a fraction.

  As they sat, Greyson leaned toward her, his shoulder brushing hers. A small gesture. A promise. They were in this together now, whether they liked it or not.

  “I have been hearing whispers,” Maximus began, setting down a tablet he’d been examining when they entered. His voice was smooth, almost pleasant, which somehow made the hairs on the back of Shadera’s neck rise faster than any threat could have. “Whispers of late night activities that concern me.”

  Neither responded. The silence stretched until it was something thin, fragile.

  A chuckle leaked from behind the golden mask, the sound hollow and manufactured. “One of my Veyra units never reported back after their assignment last night. Eight officers, simply… disappeared.” His fingers drummed once against the desk. “Would either of you care to explain that?”

  Shadera kept her expression neutral behind her mask, her eyes fixed on a point just above Maximus’s shoulder. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, wouldn’t betray the flash of memory—blood spattering across kitchen tiles, her finger squeezing a trigger, Greyson’s hands moving over her body.

  Beside her, Greyson shifted forward, and she felt her breath catch. He was going to lie. He had to lie.

  Please fucking lie.

  “I killed them.”

  The words dropped into the room like rebel bodies on the platform. Shadera’s head snapped toward him, disbelief freezing her in place. What the fuck is he doing?

  Maximus went very still. “You killed them,” he repeated slowly. “All eight?”

  “Yes.” Greyson’s voice was flat, emotionless. The Executioner’s voice.

  “Alone?” The question carried a dangerous edge.

  “Alone.”

  He was protecting her.

  Maximus leaned back in his chair, the golden mask sending sparkling prisms dancing over his desk. “Strange. My sources tell me two people engaged in a fight. Not one.”

  “Your sources are mistaken,” Greyson replied evenly.

  “And you dispatched eight trained Veyra officers by yourself?” Skepticism dripped from every word.

  “Your training served me well, Father.” Greyson’s voice took on a cruel edge that matched his father’s. “Or have you forgotten the lessons you so enjoyed teaching me?”

  The jab landed. Shadera could see it in the subtle tensing of Maximus’s shoulders, the slight curl of his fingers against the polished surface of his desk.

  “You admit to killing these Veyra officers,” Maximus said after a moment, each word measured. “Do you understand what that means, Greyson? Even for the Executioner, even for my son, that is treason. Treason is punishable by death.”

  “They broke into my home, threatened my fiancée,” Greyson responded, his tone remaining steady. “I was protecting what’s mine.”

  Mine.

  The word sent a jolt through Shadera, but she kept her reaction hidden, understanding what he was doing. Playing the role his father expected—the entitled heir defending his territory, his possession.

  “What’s yours,” Maximus repeated, his attention shifting to Shadera. She could feel his gaze traveling over her face, her body, assessing and calculating in a way that made her skin crawl. “Interesting how protective you’ve become of a woman sent to kill you.”

  “She’s as good as my wife now.” Greyson’s hand moved to rest on her thigh, the gesture casual but deliberate. A claim. “Entering my apartment without permission was foolish. I suspected they might be rescuers sent for her. I acted accordingly.”

  Maximus was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice carried a new edge. “Perhaps I should bring your sister in for questioning, she seems to be privy to the inner workings of your life. I understand she and Callum Thane were at your apartment early this morning.”

  Shadera felt Greyson’s body tense, his fingers flexing against her thigh at the mention of Lira. One wrong word, one wrong move, could kill them all. She reached for his hand, her fingers wrapping around it and squeezing.

  “The Vow ceremony is in two days,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm, even as her heart thundered in her chest. “Callum and Lira arrived to help us prepare. Greyson took me into the Heart last night to celebrate. I… got carried away with the drinking.”

  Greyson’s hand turned in hers, his fingers interlacing with her own. He understood what she was doing, was playing along.

  “Callum offered to adjust the security to give us privacy,” she continued, the lie flowing easily. “So we could truly get to know each other before the ceremony.”

  Maximus’s gaze dropped to their intertwined hands, and a low laugh bubbled from behind his mask. “How touching.” The words dripped condescension. “The mercenary and the Executioner, finding common ground.”

  His attention shifted back to Greyson. “You have always been reckless, my son. Impulsive. Quick to anger. Last night was yet another example of that.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. “It is why I have never fully trusted you with the Heart’s future.”

  “I’ve never wanted your trust,” Greyson said, his voice still measured despite the facade of calm slipping. “Or your future.”

  “And yet here you are,” Maximus countered, gesturing to the room around them, to the city beyond the windows. “Playing your part. Taking the Vow. Fulfilling your duty to the Heart, to our family.”

  Greyson’s grip tightened around Shadera’s hand, his anger trapped between their palms.

  “Given the circumstances,” Maximus continued, his tone shifting to something that mimicked regret, “I’m afraid I must insist on certain precautions until the ceremony.”

  “What precautions?” Greyson asked, wariness evident in the sharpening of his voice.

  “Since you are so desperate to get to know one another, you will be quarantined until the Vow. No outside communication. No visitors.” Maximus’s fingers steepled in front of his golden face. “For your protection, of course.”

  “I will not let you cage me.” Greyson’s voice had dropped to a growl as he said the words.

  “Then maybe the Daggermouth’s second assassination attempt was more successful than the first.” The threat hung in the air between them. “Perhaps she turned you against your family, against the Heart. Perhaps you are both threats that must be eliminated.”

  “This is fucking ridiculous,” Greyson snarled, rising to his feet. “You can’t—”

  “I can,” Maximus cut him off, his voice hardening. “I can and I will. You killed eight of my men, Greyson. Be grateful I’m allowing you to live, to continue with the ceremony. Be grateful I’m not having your bitch dragged to the platform this very moment and putting a bullet in the back of her head like I did her parents.” Maximus slowly leaned across the desk, toward his son. “Do not forget your sister has a perfectly good womb. Heirs are replaceable. Even if sons are not.”

  Something snapped inside Shadera at his words, at the casual cruelty with which he threatened her life, their lives. She stood beside Greyson, hand still clasping his, her eyes burning into Maximus Serel’s golden mask.

  “One day,” she said, her voice low, deadly, “you will pay for every crime you’ve committed. Against my parents. Against the rings. Against your son.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “Against your daughter.”

  Maximus went rigid. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees in an instant.

  “Is that a threat, Ms. Kael?” he asked, his voice silk over poison.

  “It’s a promise,” she replied. “The Heart will fall. You will fall. And I will be there to watch it happen.”

  Maximus rose slowly from his chair, his height and breadth emphasizing the power he wielded. “No one will stand against me. Not the rings. Not my enemies. Not my own blood.” He moved around the desk with measured steps, stopping directly before her. “And certainly not Daggermouth scum like you, Shadera Kael.”

  His voice dropped to a whisper.

  “You think you know what power is? What cruelty is? You have not seen anything yet. When this is over, when you have served your purpose, you will die like all the rest, as an example to all who would challenge me.”

  The doors burst open behind them. Mikel entered, flanked by six more Veyra officers, their weapons drawn.

  “Father—” Greyson started, fury igniting in his voice.

  “Take them,” Maximus ordered, stepping back. “Separate cells. No contact until the ceremony.”

  The Veyra descended upon them like wolves. Shadera felt hands grabbing her arms, wrenching her away from Greyson. She clung to his hand, fighting instinctively. She landed an elbow to one officer’s throat, heard him choke and stumble back. Her leg swept out, catching another behind the knees.

  “Shadera.” Greyson’s voice cut through her thunderous heartbeats, desperation in his voice. “Don’t fight them, they’ll hurt you.”

  A blow landed between her shoulder blades, driving her to her knees. Hands tangled in her hair, yanking her head back as Greyson’s fingers were ripped from hers. She felt it then, real, exquisite fear as she frantically clawed for him.

  She watched Greyson struggling against three officers, his eyes locked on hers even as they forced him to the ground. Rage reflected in his eyes as the butt of a rifle landed in the center of her abdomen.

  She buckled over as the air vanished from her lungs, choking as she tried to draw in oxygen.

  “Don’t fucking touch her,” Greyson roared as a fist connected with his jaw.

  The sound of his nose snapping filled the air as a black bag descended over her head, plunging her into darkness. She screamed, a wordless sound of pure hate, thrashing against the hands that held her. Then she screamed for him, his name slipping over her lips, frantic and terrified as she felt herself being lifted from the ground and carried away.

  Her name echoed back to her, his voice penetrating through the fabric as she reached out blindly in the dark, fingers grasping for something, for someone, for him.

  * * *

  LIRA WATCHED THE EVENING light filter through the high windows of Callum’s apartment, painting long golden fingers across the polished floor. The shadows had grown longer since she’d arrived, stretching toward her like an ominous clock.

  No word from Greyson or Shadera, no message—nothing but the hollow reassurances Callum offered with decreasing conviction as time passed. She traced the rim of her untouched whiskey glass, focusing on the cool touch of crystal against her fingertip rather than the knot of dread tightening in her stomach.

  “They’re fine,” Callum said from across the room, not looking up from the security feeds he monitored on his tablet. “Your father likes to make people wait. It’s a power play.”

  “You don’t know that,” Lira replied, her voice flat as she glanced down at her mask resting on the side table. “Something about this feels wrong.”

  Callum set down his tablet with a sigh, running a hand through his thick brown hair. He’d been pacing, checking his networks, calling in favors to gather scraps of information—all without result. “It’s still early,” he insisted, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed his concern. “If something had happened, we’d have heard. The Heart loves its gossip.”

  Lira didn’t respond. Her father was many things, but predictable wasn’t one of them. Not anymore. Not since the growing unrest in the rings had begun eating away at his control, at his power. A cornered animal was most dangerous when it sensed its territory slipping away.

  Callum moved to sit beside her on the plush couch, close enough that she could feel his warmth but not touching. He’d been careful with her since morning—since she’d put a bullet in Marcus Webb’s head, since the truth about her past had spilled from her lips like poison finally purged. The careful distance between them now was new, unfamiliar, as if he feared she might shatter at his touch.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked suddenly, his voice low. The question that had been hanging between them all day unspoken until now.

  Her fingers tightened around the glass. “What would you have done if I had?”

  Callum was silent for a long moment. “I would’ve killed them.”

  “Exactly.” She turned to face him, meeting his eyes. “You would have gotten yourself put on that platform. And I couldn’t risk losing you too.”

  “You were a child,” he said, the words catching in his throat. “A child, Lira. And I was supposed to protect you. We all were supposed to protect you.”

  “Protect me?” A harsh laugh escaped her. “That was never your job, Callum. That was my father’s duty. My mother’s duty. And they failed.”

  His face twisted with something like guilt, and she realized he was blaming himself for not seeing, for not knowing. For not saving her from a horror that had occurred before they’d even become close.

  “Don’t,” she said, her voice sharpening. “I don’t have the energy to console your male shame.” She paused then sighed, her tone softening slightly. “Don’t take on guilt that isn’t yours to carry. You have your own nightmares from surviving in this place.”

  “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “All these years, I thought I was protecting you from the ugly realities of the Heart, from the violence and corruption. I thought you needed sheltering from the things I did, the choices I made.” His hands clenched into fists on his thighs. “And all along, you were the one protecting me.”

  Lira set her glass down. “Is that why you kept me at a distance all these years? Why you never told me about your work for the rebellion? Because you thought I needed protection from the truth?”

  “Yes,” he admitted after a pause. “That and… I didn’t want you to have to choose. Between me and your family. Between me and your duty to the Heart.”

  She stared at him, anger flaring sudden and hot in her chest. “I thought I’d found a man I could trust,” she said, each word precise and cutting. “Someone who saw me as an equal, not just a Serel daughter to be used or protected. And now I learn that you’ve been hiding half your life from me, making decisions about what I could handle, what I should know.” She shook her head. “I’m angry, Callum. I’m fucking furious.”

  “At me?” he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.

  “At everyone,” she replied. “At the fucking world we live in.” Her voice hardened. “And yes, at you. For thinking I was too fragile to handle your truth.”

  “I never thought you—” he started to protest, but she cut him off.

  “Didn’t you?” She stood, moving away from him, needing space as the words poured out. “You’ve treated me like glass from the moment we met. Always so careful, so controlled around me. Never letting me see the man who was capable of torturing Marcus Webb this morning, who disposes of bodies without thinking twice.” She turned back to face him. “Did you think I’d run screaming? Did you think I was so naive to what you do in your clubs?”

  Callum rose to his feet, his own anger beginning to show. “Do you think I wanted to hide my true self from you? That I enjoyed a second of it?” He stepped closer. “I was trying to give you one fucking corner of this city that wasn’t soaked in blood and betrayal, Lira. One relationship that wasn’t built on violence and fear.”

  “So instead you built it on lies.” The words burst from her, louder than she’d intended. “I never wanted to be the precious, perfect thing you kept on a shelf, untouched by the dirt of your real life.”

  “And I never wanted to be the man who added to your nightmares!” he shouted back, his control finally slipping. “Do you have any idea what it does to me, knowing what happened to you? Knowing I’ve spent years in this apartment with you, talking to you, wanting you, and never suspecting the pain you were carrying?”

  The raw honesty in his voice stopped her. She stared at him, seeing the anguish in his eyes, the self loathing. They stood facing each other across the room, two people who had spent years circling a truth neither had been brave enough to name.

  “I don’t care,” she said finally. “I don’t give a damn about the violence in your life, Callum. I don’t care what you’ve done, who you’ve hurt, how many men you’ve tortured or killed.”