I blink as I process what he’s saying. “You can command free will?” I whisper, almost in disbelief.
“In a way. But it drains me,” he admits. “It takes everything, and it feels... wrong. It’s easier to convince people without mental shields. And it’s also easier if it’s something small.”
Realization clicks. “The coffee. You made Jack, that rebel, deliver the coffee. And it had something in it?”
“Exactly.” He looks embarrassed and fierce at the same time. “Smaller tasks are easier. Convincing a man to deliver coffee is easier than convincing him to straight up attack another. I have tobe careful.”
I stare at him. This is a power unseen for centuries. I can understand wanting to keep it a secret. It could create a lot of distrusts among those in power. It’s also terrifying. I hope he means what he says when he says he hates using it.
“So how does this play into your plan?” I ask.
He leans forward, eyes steady on mine. “I think I can use it with the Council to keep you at the academy. Not the entire Council, I doubt I could do that. But I think I’d only need my father. If he supports it, a large majority of others will follow.” His jaw tightens. “I’ll admit, it’s a long shot. I’ve never used it on him. He has some of the strongest shields I’ve ever felt… And if he figures it out- if he knows I tried to manipulate him- Universe, Arwen, I don’t even want to imagine it.”
My chest is a mess of hope and terror. “This sounds insane,” I say, truthfully. “Dangerous. You could receive a punishment, or worse. I’ve already put enough people in danger chasing a place here. I can’t ask.”
He grabs my hand before I can refuse the words. His fingers close around mine, not too hard, but firm enough that I don’t pull away. There’s a steadiness in him that holds. “I’m doing this,” he says. “I don’t care if it’s dangerous. And I know we have a long road ahead for me to earn your trust back, but you are my bond. I’m going to protect you, like I should have all along.”
I don’t expect the rawness on his face. “What changed?” I ask, “This whole time you’ve been adamant about protecting your reputation for your faction, for your future. I don’t know how to just believe that all went away? Why would you want to help me now?”
He exhales and looks away. “Because I’ve felt what it feels like when you are hurting. I felt my soul crushed when I caused you pain. I feltthe miles that opened between us when I didn’t help. I felt you getting further and further away when you tried to run. It tore me apart.”
Stunned by his admission, I stay silent.
“I don’t think I can make it without you, Arwen. When I’m near you—it feels right in a way my life never felt before. I will not say I’ve fallen madly in love. I know you wouldn’t believe me if I did. We barely know each other. But I love what I have learned about you. Every bit and piece of you I’ve learned is like a drug. I just wake up every morning, dying to know more. Dying to be near you. And when I deny that, it’s so painful I can’t think. I don’t think I could physically handle your exile. But more than that, I don’t WANT to lose you. I’m tired of fighting the universe on this.”
His hand is warm in mine. The bond thrums under my ribs like a butterfly. Each beat of wings, slowly mending and easing the pain of the broken bond. It feels so good, so right, but I know better than to trust pretty words now.
“I think it will take some time to build my trust back up,” I say. Truth, sharp and small.
“Then don’t trust me fully,” he says. “Trust me enough to let me try.”
I nod. This is reckless, stupid, and maybe delusional. We both know the stakes. We both know how ugly the consequences might be.
“Tomorrow,” I hear myself say. “Meet me before class. We’ll rehearse.”
He squeezes my hand once, then lets go. “Tomorrow.”
My palms burn where his fingers had been. “I’ll walk you back to your room.”
36
Thou Shalt Not Bleed for Another’s Throne
Maddox
Ilean over the bench until the light catches the vial just right, and the color, the way it holds the dim light, it’s magical. It shivers like a living thing. Pale, but the rich substance reflects the light brightly. My liquid promise. I did it.
Blisters pepper my fingers, throbbing in a rhythm that matches the ticking of the clock. Nights blur into dawns while powders shift under my hands, the mortar and pestle groaning like it’s part of my skull. Every ratio reworked, every failure tasted in smoke and scorched skin. I would never mention how much work went into this to anyone. My gang knows the lab is off-limits; their questions never get past the door.
This vial… this one changes everything. It gleams with a promise that no formula before has dared. Feed it to any half-dead infant, and it would drag a dormant sin screaming into life. For a girl like her—sinless, long past the age of awakening—this is chemical violence distilled into liquid fire. It should strike at whatever sleeps in her bones, wake it, make it roar.
My thumb rests against the glass, tracing the cool surface while an odd pulse of warmth hums beneath it, like a small creature breathing inside. Sentiment isn’t my habit, but the thing glows as if it knowsexactly what it is. I built it. Made something that nobody else could make .
The eight-year-old inside me—the one shoved into a penthouse and trained to kill—licks his lips at the control in my hands, savoring how the world bends when I decide it should. Another, quieter pulse in me stirs, tugging at something unspoken, a softness I never name: the urge to hold her back from harm, not because it serves me, but because it feels right.
I could pin a medal on the wall for this. I don’t. Maddox West doesn’t chase applause; leverage is currency, and I collect it ruthlessly. Still, my fingers press a little harder, my movements sharper. She needs it. She needs me. And for the briefest flicker of a heartbeat, I want to be the man who can give her that.
“West.”
