“The other leads nowhere we can follow.” Eris’s gaze suddenly sharpens, focusing directly on me. “Choose carefully, Feeder. The future turns on choices not yet made.”
A chill runs down my spine. Seers rarely speak directly to individual Council members, and never in riddles this pointed.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I say.
“Don’t you?” Her smile is slight, knowing. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”
The meeting concludes with typical Council efficiency—assignments distributed, timelines established, responsibilities clarified. I sit through it all with perfect composure, playing the role they expect.
But inside, I’m calculating.
The Oath is open, but poisoned. The Council thinks they have their perfect compliant Source. And somewhere in the sanctuary, refugees will soon celebrating news that will ultimately destroy them.
All because they’re trusting a woman who isn’t the person they think she is.
As the others begin to disperse, Valdris catches my attention.
“Tell your queen we’re grateful for her obedience,” she says with a smile that suggests she knows exactly how that word will land.
Obedience.
I don’t answer. Just nod once and let the Council magic pull me back to the sanctuary.
But as I materialize in the garden where I started, one thought echoes through my mind with terrible clarity:
Bree would never have been obedient.
Which means I’m running out of time to save her.
Chapter 23
Jace
The firelight flickers across her skin like liquid gold.
I’m between her thighs, lost in the taste of her, the way she moves beneath my mouth. Her fingers are tangled in my hair, holding me exactly where she wants me, and fuck—I love this version of her. Confident. Demanding. No hesitation, no apologies.
“Don’t stop,” she breathes, and the command sends heat straight through me.
I wasn’t planning to. Haven’t been able to think about anything else for hours except making her feel good, making her forget everything except this moment. The way she says my name when I find the right spot, the way her thighs tighten around my shoulders when she’s close.
She’s different now. Stronger. More willing to take what she wants instead of waiting for permission. It started after that morning we found her in the chamber alone. Like something inside her finally clicked into place. The hesitation that used to make her flinch away from touch, from pleasure, from us—it’s gone. Replaced by something that makes my pulse race every time she looks at me.
The old Bree would have blushed at half the things she whispers in my ear now. Would have hidden under covers instead of sprawling across her bed like she owns the world.
This Bree? This Bree takes what she wants and makes no apologies for it.
I fucking love it.
My tongue finds that spot that makes her arch beneath me, and her grip in my hair tightens. “There,” she gasps. “Right there.”
The authority in her voice makes me want to do whatever it takes to keep hearing it. I’ve always been good at reading people, at finding what makes them laugh or squirm or lose control. But with her, it’s become an obsession. Every sound, every tremor, every breathless command.
The knock at the door makes me freeze mid-motion.
Any normal person would call out “just a minute” or tell whoever it is to go away. Any normal person would be mortified at the interruption.
“Come in,” she says instead, barely breathless, like having someone walk in on us is the most natural thing in the world.
