His eyebrow lifts. “Tread lightly, Kemp.”
“I won’t. Not about this.” I shake my head, anger boiling over. “That girl takes every fucking thing we throw at her, has taken everything that’s been donetoher, and no one in this goddamn city can judge her for being a basket case. You keep telling us it’s our job to watch and protect her, but how the hell are we supposed to do that when you’re the one making it worse?”
He exhales through his nose. “I’ve been nothing but patient with that girl. I could have torn up the agreement when Remy abandoned the Barons, but I didn’t. I’ve given her a home, a family, a royal title?—”
“You’re really playing the martyr right now? Like you didn’t walk away with something in that deal?” I circle the desk, getting closer. “And don’t pretend like you don’t like her in your bed… just like we do.”
His eyes narrow. “Is that what this is about? Me breaking your fuck toy?”
“What if it is?” I ask, feeling no shame. “We worked hard to get her where she is, and taking her to a lame party seems like the very least you could do to keep her from burning down someone else's house.”
His eyes and jaw tighten. “None of that is relevant to the Mercer holiday party and her ability to function like a normal person.”
“I think it is.” I step closer, close enough that he has to tilt his head slightly to meet my gaze. “Because my biggest question is–since when do you give a shit what other people think? It doesn’t matter if you’re wearing the mask or not; you’re a powerful man. People fear and respect you. Who the hell cares if you’ve got a batshit crazy wife that gives amazing blow jobs and lets us do every single thing we want to her without complaint?”
The room goes still. Just the soft tick of the clock on the wall and the distant sound of the city below. The phone on his desk rings, cutting through the tension like a blade.
The King doesn’t flinch. He reaches for it without looking away from me and lifts the receiver to his ear. His expression stays calm–too calm, the kind of calm that means he’s already decided how this conversation ends. He listens for a long beat. Nods once, twice.
“I see,” he says. “Interesting. Thank you for the call.”
He hangs up, the click loud.
I wait for the argument to reignite. For him to tell me I’ve crossed another line, that I don’t get to speak to him like that in his own goddamn hotel. But he doesn’t. Instead, he sits, leaning back in the chair, fingers steepled under his chin.
“That was Max,” he finally says. “They tested the hair tie for DNA.”
My pulse kicks up. Curiosity slices cleanly through the anger. “Did they find something?”
“Yes.” He lets the word hang, heavy with implication. “The DNA found was male.”
I blink. “No female at all?”
He shakes his head once. “None.”
“Do they have a name?”
“Not yet, but they can do further testing.”
I open my mouth to ask more questions I already know he doesn’t have the answer to, but he holds his hand up. “Go,” he says, voice quiet, but still tinged with annoyance. “Get back to the house and tell Hunter what we learned. See if he has any ideas.”
I stare at him. He stares back. The silence stretches–thick, electric, and dangerous. The argument is definitely not forgotten.
I turn, walk out, and let the door close behind me with a soft, final click.
I don’t care if I overstepped.
I don’t care if he’s angry.
I only care that when I get home, she’s still breathing, still fighting, still ours.
The house isdark when I get back, just the little light over the door guiding me back in. I kick off my boots in the foyer, hang my coat, and head toward the wing of the chapel where our bedroom is located. The panicked voices I heard earlier have gone quiet. I push the door open softly, bracing myself for the worst.
Ares spots me first, lifting his head from the end of the bed, tail wagging once before he settles again. Hunter’s sitting on the floor, back against the bed in the low light from the bedside lamp. Above him, Arianette’s curled on her side in the middle of the bed, knees tucked up, breathing slow and even. She’s finally asleep. Her eyelashes are thick and long, fanning over her cheeks, and the tension has bled out of her shoulders. She looks small. Fragile.
Mine.
Hunter glances up when I step inside. He doesn’t speak right away–just nods once, like he’s been waiting for me to show up.
