“Where’s Ares?” I ask, moving toward the door. “I thought he was on guard duty.”
“Checking the perimeter,” Poe replies, a hint of smugness in his tone. “He’s so focused on keeping Logan away from you that he forgot how easy it is for me to slip around unnoticed.”
I pause with my hand on the doorknob, weighing my options. I could refuse to let him in, maintain the solitude I’ve used as both shield and weapon these past days. But curiosity wins out, as it so often does with me.
I open the door to find Poe leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest. He looks both exhausted and determined.
But it’s the note of sadness on his face that has me silently back up far enough to let him in.
He moves into the room with that liquid grace that always makes me think of predators—silent, efficient, dangerous. I close the door behind him, more from habit than any real desire for privacy. The walls and doors of the house are thin enough to provide only the illusion of privacy.
I sit on the edge of the bed, crossing my arms over my chest in a mirror of his earlier posture. A defensive stance, I realize too late. I force my shoulders to relax, my hands to unclench.
“Make your case,” I say, lifting my chin slightly. “I’m listening.”
Poe’s expression flickers with something that might be annoyance before settling into a brief smile. “I like this version of you,” he says, surprising me. “The one who’s not afraid to speak her mind.”
I meet his searching gaze. “I don’t think she’s going anywhere at this point.”
“Good.” He studies me for a long moment, his head tilted slightly as if seeing me clearly for the first time. “That’s why I know the worst thing you can do is run from this. The king will never let you quietly disappear. Even if it takes months or years, you’ll always have to live with one eye looking back over your shoulder.”
“So it’s better to let the king kill us all now?” I ask dryly.
“There’s a huge difference in dying slowly versus quickly,” Poe replies, his expression deadly serious.
“Why are you trying so hard to convince me?” I ask, genuine curiosity in my voice. “You can’t really think Logan is going to leave the decision to me.”
Poe’s mouth twists in a grimace. “After everything that’s happened, we all deserve to have a voice. Logan damn well better appreciate that.”
I watch him carefully, weighing his words against his tone, his expression, the subtle tells in his body language. He’s not lying—at least, not entirely. But he’s not telling me everything either. There’s something deeper here, something personal that’s driving this unexpected rebellion against Logan’s authority.
“Where is this coming from, Poe?” I ask, leaning forward slightly. “This animus against Logan. What’s really going on?”
His eyes narrow. “You think what he let happen to you isn’t enough of a reason?”
“That would be flattering if it were true,” I say, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “But we both know it isn’t. This isn’t just about me.”
Poe holds my gaze for a long moment, then sighs, a sound so human it startles me. “I’ve realized that I don’t believe Logan is capable of putting his allegiance to our pack over a lifetime of following his father’s every will. Allowing you to come to serious harm is proof of that. I just don’t trust him anymore.”
I tilt my head, studying him more intently. “And what if I decide we should run? Will you follow us?”
The question seems to catch him off guard. “Does that mean you’re asking me to? You’ve decided?”
“Not yet,” I reply carefully, the words feeling significant as they leave my lips. “But I’d like to have some idea what would happen if it came to that.”
Silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken possibilities. Poe’s gaze never leaves mine, searching for something—sincerity, perhaps, or manipulation. I keep my expression open, honest. This isn’t a game I’m playing; it’s survival I’m planning.
“I have never felt fear in the way I did when I realized you had been taken,” he says finally, each word deliberate and weighted. “Logan has never turned away from the king, no matter how much blood it has left on Logan’s hands. I don’t truly believe he would allow his own Omega to become a sacrifice, but I can’t be sure. Especially not after what happened to the queen.”
“The queen?” I repeat, confusion evident in my voice. “What are you talking about?”
Poe’s expression closes slightly, the habitual mask of indifference sliding back into place. Even now, even in this moment of apparent honesty, his loyalty to Logan runs deep. The conflict plays out across his features—the desire to sway me battling with years of ingrained secrecy.
“Poe,” I press, sensing this is important. “What happened to Queen Midale?”
He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “The Omega women of court would always gossip around me,” he says finally, voice low. “As if I were a piece of furniture, not a person who could hear and understand. One of their more popular theories is that the king had Queen Midale killed.”
I stare at him, shock rippling through me. “Killed? But why? The love story between the king and queen is practically a legend.”
