Wolfe stood exactly where he had been. One hand loose at his side. One thumb hooked casually in the pocket of his jacket. Immovable. Unshaken. Unforgiving.
And Barron?—
Barron was still staring out the tall glass windows at the city beyond. At the empire cracking under the marble. His back straight. His hands folded behind him. His breathing slow and heavy enough that I could hear it from where I knelt.
No one spoke. No one moved. No one breathed too loudly.
Because we all knew?—
The first sound would be the one that broke everything open. The first movement would be the spark that burned it all down.
So we stayed. Frozen. Breathing. Bleeding. Surviving. The guests kept pretending. Kept swirling in expensive silk. Kept sipping golden champagne. But the weight in the room shifted. Heavier. Sharper. The way it does before a body hits the floor. The way it does before a kingdom falls.
The governor’s wife passed. Her perfume wrapped sharp and cloying around me. I caught a fragment of her whisper as she leaned close to her husband: “They were always built to fall.”
Another woman laughed behind a gloved hand. “Not a dynasty. A funeral procession.”
The collar tightened as my breath hitched. Caught. Burned. But I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. Because obedience wasn’t about surviving the praise. It was about surviving the rot. Especially when it bloomed inside your own skin. Especially when you wanted to claw it out and couldn’t.
Barron finally turned from the window.
His face?—
God.
It wasn’t rage.
It wasn’t sorrow.
It was worse.
It was empty.
Like something vital had been carved out of him and no one bothered to stitch it closed.
His gaze cut across the room once. Past Wolfe. Past Royal. Past Loyal.Past me.He didn’t stop. He didn’t flinch. He just walked out. Silent. Final. A king leaving his own coronation in ruins.
Royal clinked his glass against the marble ledge once. “Well,” he drawled, voice thick with something close to grief disguised as mockery, “there goes the crown.”
Loyal said nothing. He didn’t need to. The silence was thicker than blood now. It soaked into the floorboards. Into the polished glass. Into the collars we all wore in different ways.
Wolfe didn’t follow Barron. He didn’t look at Royal. He didn’t look at Loyal. He looked at me. Once. A glance sharp enough to carve my ribs wider.
And I?—
I breathed.
Because that was all he needed from me.
All he wanted. All he owned. And it would never be enough. But I would bleed trying anyway. The ballroom didn’t empty. Not yet. The people stayed. Because they were rich. And powerful. And predators.And predators don’t leave until the blood runs dry.
But the tone changed. The laughter quieted. The music dulled.
The lighting suddenly felt too bright. As if it was trying to bleach the scandal out of the air. But scandal has a scent. And tonight—it smelled like ash and silk and a legacy cracking open.
Wolfe moved first. Not far. Just one step closer to me. My spine snapped straighter at the sound of his shoes on marble.
I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. My breath caught in my throat as I shifted instinctively. Knees tighter. Back straighter. Chin lowered. He didn’t touch me. Didn’t speak. He just looked down at the top of my bowed head like it was exactly where I was meant to be.
