My spine goes rigid at Plague's presence. The knife in my hand begs to find a new home between his ribs, but I force myself to stay still. For now.
"Son of a bitch," Geo mutters, throwing his hands up. "Thanks for the heads up, Azzhole."
Azarel ignores him, eyes locked on Plague.
"Brother," Plague says, his clipped voice carrying disdain that only siblings can truly master. His eyes sweep over all of us clustered around Azarel like we're planning a murder. Which, to be fair, we were about five minutes ago. "I see you've made some friends."
"Fuck off, Hamsa," Azarel snaps, and oh, that's interesting. Using his real name like a weapon. The family dysfunction in this palace could fuel a thousand old-world soap operas.
"So," Plague says, ignoring him as he settles against the doorframe with infuriating casualness, "you show up here after betraying your own country, and you expect me to make the best physicians in the land available at your disposal?"
The smugness in his tone makes me want to laugh. Or stab him. Maybe both. Worst of all, it's kind of making me want to take Azarel's side, at least in this specific moment in time, and Ireallydon't like that.
Azarel's jaw tightens, muscle ticking in a way that strongly suggests violence is about to erupt. "You lied to me about where you were keeping my mate. I think providing medical care is the very least you can do." His voice drops to something dangerous. "And I would beremarkablygenerous to call it even."
"Guess I can see why Cosima put up with the guy after all," I quip to the other alphas in our mismatched pack, unable to help myself. If I don't say something ridiculous to blow off steam, I might actually start stabbing people.
Geo shoots me a look that could peel paint. "Speak for yourself."
Plague's gaze sweeps over all of us, calculating and cold in that way that reminds me uncomfortably of his brother. These royals and their fucking mind games. After what feels like a fucking eternity, he straightens. "Follow me."
He walks out of the room without another word and we all stare at each other for a moment before Azarel takes the lead.
And I'm not letting that fucker out of my sight.
We trail after him through the palace corridors like the world's most dysfunctional parade. Knight has to duck under doorways, as usual. Nikolai's got that look on his face that says he's memorizing every turn, every exit, every potential weapon we pass by. Geo's limping is getting worse, though he's trying to hide it. Azarel walks with the dreading energy and prickling awareness of a man heading to his own execution.
Plague leads us to what must be his study, and when we step inside, I have to bite back a laugh. The place is a disaster. Shattered glass glitters on the floor and papers are scattered everywhere. Buttoned-up, stuffy-as-fuck Plague who's clearly never seen a dust mote he didn't hate must really be pissed about the state of his office.
"Love what you've done with the place," I say, gesturing at the obvious destruction. "Very, um,avant-garde. The broken window really brings out the?—"
Plague's withering look could freeze hell itself.
He settles behind his replacement desk with the kind of dignity that suggests he's pretending the room isn't in shambles. What a fun game. "I'm willing to make arrangements to have Cosima examined," he says stiffly.
Azarel starts to speak, but Plague holds up a gloved hand.
"Not for your sake," he continues, and there's genuine venom in his voice now. "But because she is the omega of the new Ghosts."
The silence that follows is deafening. Azarel turns to look at us slowly, like we've all grown second heads. "Thewhat?"
"What, you don't think we look the part?" I ask innocently.
Knight heaves a sighing growl.
"Recent development," Nikolai mutters.
"Veryrecent," Geo adds with a sneer.
Plague leans back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him like some villain from a pre-war movie. "But I have conditions."
Of course he does. These royal types never give anything without strings attached. It's probably encoded in their DNA, right alongside the sticks-up-their-asses genes.
"One," Plague continues, "you cooperate fully with Surhiiran special forces in undermining Maybrecht's operations."
"I can't do that," Azarel says immediately, and I don't miss the tension in his voice. The edge of panic, however well hidden. We're all tigers pacing in a cage here. Even him.
Plague's expression hardens, but then something shifts. "Then agree to cooperate to the extent that it doesn't jeopardize Cosima's safety."
