Chapter 83 Seed of Doubt
Chase‘s POV
The next few days passed in tense preparation. I coordinated with Jax remotely on the Rogue children investigation, reviewed security protocols, and tried repeatedly to reach Anne through text messages.
Did you ask your father about Arthur Vaughn's death? I sent on the second day.
No response.
Anne, this is important. I need to know what he said.
Still nothing.
Finally, on the fifth day, a response came through—terse and defensive.
My father knows nothing about it. Stop trying to pin crimes on him just because you want to justify choosing that girl over me.
I stared at the message, frustration warring with something that felt almost like pity. She was lying—to me, maybe, but more importantly to herself.
---
The morning of Bloodrock's visit, I woke to servants bustling through the halls, preparing the formal reception rooms with meticulous care. I dressed in formal attire and made my way to the main hall, where my father already stood beside the massive fireplace.
"Remember," he said quietly. "Civil. Professional. We're buying time."
I nodded, jaw clenched.
The doors opened, and Lord Draven Kaine strode in like he owned the place. He was massive—easily six and a half feet tall, with shoulders broad enough to fill a doorway. His face was all hard angles and cruel lines, eyes the color of old blood. Behind him, Anne followed with perfect poise.
"Lord Aldric," Draven's voice rumbled. "Thank you for receiving us."
They exchanged pleasantries, two powerful men performing the dance of diplomacy while measuring each other for weaknesses. Eventually, the conversation turned to the marriage alliance.
"I trust you've given our proposal due consideration," Draven said. "Anne is quite fond of young Chase here. They've known each other since childhood—it seems a natural match."
My father's expression remained neutral. "We have considered it carefully. However, I believe in respecting my son's autonomy in such matters. A forced marriage rarely produces the kind of partnership necessary for strong leadership."
Draven's expression hardened. "Autonomy is a luxury, Aldric. Our children's personal preferences must sometimes yield to greater needs."
"Perhaps," my father said carefully. "But I've found that the strongest alliances are built on mutual respect and genuine partnership, not obligation."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Draven turned his attention to me.
"And what are your thoughts on this, young Sterling? Surely you see the value in uniting our territories?"
I chose my words carefully. "I respect the political considerations. But I believe my father is right—marriage should be based on more than strategic advantage."
"How very modern of you," Draven said, moving closer. His hand landed on my shoulder, heavy and possessive. "Let me offer you some wisdom, boy. The world is not kind to idealists. Those who chase romance over pragmatism often find themselves outmaneuvered by those willing to make harder choices."
He leaned in closer. "You know what separates great leaders from mediocre ones? The ability to recognize when personal desires must be sacrificed for the greater good. So I ask you again—are you willing to do what's necessary? Or are you going to let your people down?"
Every instinct screamed at me to throw off his hand, to challenge his implicit threat. But I could feel my father's tension, could sense the delicate balance we were trying to maintain.
"I believe," I said carefully, "that understanding what one's people truly need—rather than what's merely convenient—is the mark of wisdom, not youth."
Draven's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening to the point of real pain. Then he released me abruptly, stepping back with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"You have spirit. I can appreciate that." He turned back to my father. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion over refreshments? Give the young people some time to get reacquainted?"
My father nodded. "Chase, perhaps you could show Anne the gardens?"
I inclined my head. "Of course. Anne, would you care to see the gardens?"
---
We walked in silence to the gardens, the roses in full bloom despite the late season. Anne stopped at a secluded alcove, her gaze fixed on a particularly large bloom—deep red, almost the color of blood.
"They're beautiful," she said quietly. "Your gardeners do excellent work."
"They do," I agreed.
She reached out, her fingers hovering over the petals. "In Bloodrock, we have roses too. But they're different—darker, with thorns that can draw blood even through gloves. My mother says they suit our territory. Beauty with teeth."
"You could pick one for me," Anne said suddenly, turning to face me. "It would be a gallant gesture. The kind of thing a potential suitor might do."
There was a challenge in her voice. I met her gaze directly. "I could. But we both know that would be a lie. And I think we're past the point of pretty lies, aren't we?"
Something flickered across her face. "So that's your answer? You're really not going to marry me, even knowing it would maximize your political advantage? Even knowing it could secure peace?"
"No," I said flatly. "I'm not. Especially not now that I know what your father really is."
Anne's face went pale. "What are you talking about?"
"Your father is a murderer, Anne. A manipulator. Someone who's been orchestrating conflicts between territories for his own gain. Someone who had Arthur Vaughn killed."
"That's not true," Anne said, but her voice lacked conviction. "My father wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't he? Anne, Owen Fletcher was going to testify about your father's operations. And the next day, Owen was dead."
"The medical examiner ruled it suicide—"
"Staged to look like suicide," I cut her off. "Anne, look at the pattern. Everyone who gets close to the truth ends up dead."
She turned away. "You're asking me to believe my father is a monster."
"I'm asking you to look at the evidence. To consider that maybe the man you think you know isn't who he really is."
She stared at me, tears threatening. Then she laughed—bitter and broken. "You really think I'm going to help you? The answer is no, Chase. I won't betray my family."
She started to walk away, but I caught her arm. "Because Owen died trying to save his sister. Because Lily is still out there, still trapped. Owen's last words were about saving her. She's in one of your territory's labor camps. If you could just look, just verify whether she's safe—"
"Let go of me," she said coldly.
"Owen begged us to get her out before he died. Lily Fletcher—thirteen years old, in your territory's facilities. You can verify whether I'm telling the truth."
Anne wrenched free. "What does it matter to me? What do I care about some dead Rogue's sister?"
She turned and ran; I grabbed her arm again. “By the way, a lot of Rogue kids have been abducted in a nearby town—your territory…”
She was startled at first, then seemed to think of something, confusion flickering before it turned to anger. “Don’t pin every crime on our territory,” she snapped, yanking free and disappearing around the hedge.
I stood alone in the garden, the scent of roses suddenly cloying, and wondered if I'd just made everything worse or if I'd finally planted a seed of doubt that might grow.