“She probably had a heart attack in her sleep,” Jarek said gently. “It happens, even to people who seem healthy.”
The castle healer, an elderly woman with kind eyes and gentle hands, arrived and confirmed what they already knew. “Based on her condition, I’d estimate she passed around two in the morning. It appears to be cardiac arrest. Sometimes the heart simply stops, even in those who seem perfectly healthy.”
Draven’s expression grew dark and troubled. “Something feels off about this. My mother was in excellent health. And this... this feels like the same weird energy I felt when my father died mysteriously.”
Lila’s blood ran cold at his words. The timing was too convenient—Veyra’s anger the night before, her presence in the castle, and now this sudden death of the one person closest to Draven.
Could Veyra really be capable of something this horrible? Of murdering the Queen?
The thought seemed too monstrous to contemplate, but Lila’s intuition was screaming.
After the healer and Jarek carefully removed Queen Serenya’s body, leaving them alone in the empty chambers, Draven stood abruptly.
“I need to get out of this castle,” he said, his voice rough with barely controlled emotion. “I’m taking you to my cabin. I can’t think clearly here.”
Lila wanted to suggest he stay close to his support system and the council, but the raw pain in his eyes made her reconsider. Sometimes healing required distance from the scene of trauma.
“If that’s what you need,” she said softly, “then that’s what we’ll do.”
As they prepared to leave, one thought kept echoing in her mind.
I’m going to find out what happened to Queen Serenya, even if it means investigating Veyra myself.
SIXTEEN
DRAVEN
The winding road to Draven’s cabin blurred past in a haze of volcanic ridges and lush purple trees as he gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. He’d insisted on driving despite Lila’s concerned protests, thinking the familiar route through the deep woods might clear his head. Instead, every twist in the road reminded him of racing here eighteen years ago after his father’s death, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of a crown he’d never wanted so young.
Nothing’s changed. I’m still that terrified sixteen-year-old boy running away from responsibility.
The cabin materialized through the towering pines like a sanctuary carved from living wood and stone. Massive timber beams supported a structure that blended seamlessly with the volcanic landscape, its windows reflecting the twin suns that cast everything in shades of orange and gold. This place had been his refuge when the fire madness first began manifesting, when his mother had wisely allowed him to grieve while learning to rule from a distance.
Draven killed the engine and sat motionless, his hands still gripping the wheel as waves of memory crashed over him. The cabin held too much history—his father teaching him to shifthere when he was a young boy, his mother bringing him meals when he’d refused to eat during those first days after his father’s death, and the occasional nights he’d come here over the past eighteen years to roar his grief to the moons in dragon form.
“You should rest,” Lila said softly, her hand covering his on the wheel. The mate bond pulsed between them, carrying her calming energy like a balm to his shattered nerves.
He turned to look at her. “How can I possibly rest when my mother just died? When she was perfectly healthy last night and now...” His voice cracked. “A heart attack, Lila? Does that seem right to you?”
She squeezed his hand, her touch anchoring him to the present. “I know this feels wrong. I know you’re seeing patterns that worry you.”
“Yeah, the same pattern from when my father died mysteriously,” he growled, alpha dominance bleeding through his grief. “Medical emergencies that make no sense. Perfect health one day, dead the next.”
Lila studied his face with those perceptive eyes that saw too much. “We’ll figure it out. But right now, you need to take care of yourself first.”
They carried their hastily packed overnight bags into the cabin, the familiar scent of pine and woodsmoke enveloping them like an old friend’s embrace. Draven dropped his bag by the stone fireplace and prowled toward the windows, his dragon too restless beneath his skin.
“I’ll make us something to eat,” Lila announced, disappearing into the rustic kitchen with a purposeful stride that made his chest tighten with unexpected emotion.
She’s taking care of me without being asked.
The shrill buzz of his communicator shattered the cabin’s peace, making him flinch. He ignored it. But then another call. He ignored that one too. But another came right after that. Thedevice vibrated against his wrist with relentless persistence—councilors, nobles, distant relatives, all demanding his attention when he could barely string two coherent thoughts together.
“Give me your communicator,” Lila commanded, appearing in the kitchen doorway with flour dusting her hands and determination blazing in her eyes.
“You don’t have to?—”
“Draven.” His name on her lips carried the authority of a future queen, stopping his protest cold. “You’re in no state to handle anything right now. Trust me.”
