“It is.” Lyric squared her shoulders. “Four days ago, I was contacted by Roan, shaman of the Kingdom of Claws. He told me he was coming here, bringing a human named Maddie. They never arrived. I have reason to believe they landed and even made it to the estate.”
Aurelius’s lips pressed into a hard line. “And you believe they are still here?”
Lyric hesitated, choosing her words with care. “I believe something is keeping them hidden. There is a darkness in the magic of our halls, a sense of . . . wrongness. If there is a spell, or a ward, only Queen Athena could unravel it.”
The silence that followed was brittle, the tension in the room stretching tighter with every second.
Athena’s eyes flashed, her voice sharp. “You think I would allow anyone—anyone—to capture a shaman from another kingdom under my roof? That someone in Silk would dare to take a guest, let alone one from KOC, who has a friend mated to the Prime’s son? I am no fool. It was bad enough when they’d come here with ideas that we were in bed with Azure and his awful schemes. But, now this?”
Lyric didn’t flinch, but she felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Considering what happened with Azure and other kingdoms that might have been involved in his plan, there is unrest within some of the Damarians. I don’t know the reason behind it. Azure was driven by a desire for his males to be mated, not for the right reasons, but because they can’t shift otherwise. But, I know there are males, even in the Kingdom of Silk, who are desperate for mates for the right reasons, because they want to love and to be loved and to feel whole, with a sense of purpose. Desperation can lead people to do things they wouldn’t normally do. I’mnot accusing, Your Majesty. I’m asking for your help before this becomes a war.”
Athena rose, her black gown pooling around her like dark water. “You come into my throne room and suggest my people are traitors because they aren’t willing to wait for?—”
Aurelius lifted a hand, his voice calm but steel-edged. “Athena. Let her finish.”
Lyric dipped her chin in gratitude, forcing her voice to remain steady. “If word gets out, Prime Taras and Alpha Nox will descend on us. Maddie is the best friend of the Dire wolf’s mate, so we will incur his wrath as well. I need your help to find the truth before that happens.”
Athena’s jaw was clenched so tightly Lyric worried she’d snap a tooth. “I will consider your request. You may go.”
Lyric bowed again and backed from the room, her heart pounding in her chest. The doors closed behind her with a finality she felt in her bones. Something was wrong. Everything inside her screamed that Azure was the tip of the iceberg when it came to unrest in the Damarian race. Perhaps not all the rulers were involved, but Lyric would bet there were at least a few members ineverykingdom that were willing to do surprising things in order to find their mates.
They’d had peace for so long. Had they been foolish to think that it would last forever?
The doors had barely clicked shut before Athena let out a low, frustrated hiss. She turned away from Aurelius, pacing the marble floor, her skirt whispering like a warning.
“She dares,” Athena seethed, “to suggest that one of ours would betray the trust of the kingdoms. That we would allow it under our watch?”
Aurelius watched her with those calm, cool eyes that never missed much. “Lyric is careful, she’s smart, and she cares not only for our kingdom, but for the Damarian race. She’s not accusing—she’s worried. And you know as well as I do, something has been off in this place.”
Athena paused, her lips pressed thin. “There are threads I cannot see. A heaviness in the air. I thought it was only the tension from the council’s accusations, the rumors about Azure, the animi, the human women . . . but now?”
He stood, crossing to her, placing both hands on her shoulders. “You are the Queen of Silk. Your power runs through every web, every thread. If there is darkness here, it is time to unmask it.”
She looked up at him, her pride and anger warring with the icy chill of fear. “If Roan and the human are here, if anyone in Silk has hidden them, it will bring chaos to our doorstep. Claws and Fangs will not wait for answers. They will come for vengeance.”
Aurelius’s voice was soft but unyielding. “Then we must find them first. Reach out to the arachnids. Even the wild ones, every loyal web-spinner. See what they have seen.”
Athena nodded, her resolve hardening. “It will take time. The wild ones are not easy to reach. But I will do it. We will not have war in our halls.”
He pressed a kiss to her brow, a silent promise of partnership. “We will face what comes together.”
Lyric lingered just outside the throne room, pressed into the shadow of a tapestry, the voices within carrying clearly through the old stone. She listened to Athena’s outrage, Aurelius’s calm, and heard the undercurrent of fear in their words.
The royals had felt it, too—something wrong, a shadow in the web.
Lyric exhaled, her mind already racing ahead. She needed to move quickly, reach out to someone who would listen and act, but not overreact. Someone reckless enough to be useful and sane enough not to start a war by accident.
Nico.
She pulled out her phone, thumbs flying.Need to talk. Urgent. Roan and Maddie may be hidden in Silk. Something’s wrong here. Tell no one else. Someone may hear if we speak over the phone. Meet?
She hit send, her heart pounding, and slipped away into the warren of corridors, determined to find the truth—before this could turn into a bigger disaster.
Raphael had always thought he’d be prepared for anything—he was, after all, a demon who’d survived the worst the realms could throw at him. But nothing in his centuries of experience had prepared him for the four days spent holed up in a safehouse with three newly marked potential mates and the inexorable, gnawing realization that his own mate was among them.
The ink on their skin wasn’t the kind that faded. It was the kind that bled truth.
He sat in the corner of the cramped living room, elbows on his knees, watching Morgan, Akira, and Miryam as they traced the new tattoos on their arms. Verion, the tattoo artist, had made himself at home at the rickety dining table, rolling and unrolling his kit with the absentminded focus of a man who knew he’d just upended half a dozen lives.
