Chapter 119 119
Could it be Amarien?!
I don't remember the walk back to my chambers.
One moment, I am in the apothecary, watching Ares' tiny chest struggle for each breath, and the next, I am shoving my doors open so hard they slam against the walls.
Silence greets me.
Silence and the familiar scent of parchment, wax, and old wood.
My gaze lands on the table, the maps, reports, and open books on herbs and wards I had been studying to protect him. To protect them all.
A bitter sound tears from my throat.
With one sweep of my arm, I send everything crashing to the floor.
Books scatter. Scrolls roll. Ink spills like blood across the carpet.
"Useless!" I roar.
The word echoes back at me from the stone.
My hands shake. My chest feels too tight, like my ribs are a cage closing in. I drag a hand through my hair and pace like a trapped beast.
I did everything.
Extra guards! Wards! Restricted access! Trusted nurses!
He was never alone!
Never outside without protection!!
So how?!
How does a curse slip through stone walls and watchful eyes?
I stalk to the window and shove it open. Cold air rushes in, biting my skin, but it does nothing to cool the fire under it.
The southern horizon lies far beyond sight, yet my eyes fix there anyway.
"Amarien…" Her name leaves my lips like a curse.
My jaw tightens.
"This better not be you."
The thought feels poisonous the moment it forms, yet I cannot stop it. The Scarlet Witch. The rumors. The timing. The way fate keeps circling back to us like a vulture.
But Amarien, no.
She had fire, rage, defiance. But children? Innocents?
My chest aches. Because I realize I don't fully know anymore. Too much has changed. Too much has been torn apart between us.
Ares' pale face flashes in my mind.
His little fingers curling around mine.
The way he quieted when I spoke.
My vision blurs.
I swallow hard, but the pressure behind my eyes burns. I am Emperor. A ruler. A warrior. Yet a single child's suffering brings me to the brink of tears like nothing else.
"I kept you safe," I whisper hoarsely. "I tried."
A low growl rolls through my mind.
Ezriel!
My wolf rises, restless, furious. His presence floods my veins like wildfire.
They struck our pup. He growled
My fingers curl against the window frame until the wood creaks.
"Yes," I breathe.
Strike back.
Ezriel's rage was clean and simple. Go south. Tear through their lands. Make them fear us. End the threat at its root.
Storm the south.
Find the witch.
Break her into a million shards.
Images of my nightmares flashed through my mind: claws, blood, howls under a red moon. My heart pounds in rhythm with the call of violence.
"They hurt him," I murmur. "A child!"
Ezriel pushes harder. My muscles tense, ready to shift, ready to run, ready to destroy.
For a moment, one terrible moment, I want it. I want the simplicity of fury. Of ripping apart anything that could threaten what is mine.
I slam my fist against the stone beside the window, stopping myself, stopping Ezriel.
Ezriel snarls in disagreement but recedes slightly, pacing within me.
My breath came heavy. My control feels like a fraying rope.
"If this is you, Amarien…" My voice cracks. "Why him? Why an innocent?"
The room offers no answers.
Only the distant sounds of palace life continue as if my world is not cracking open.
Ares might die.
The thought lands fully now, and it nearly brings me to my knees.
I did not father him. He does not share my blood. Yet the idea of losing him feels like losing a piece of my soul.
"Ares…" the tears threatened to fall when…
A sharp knock cuts through the storm in my head.
I turn, eyes blazing, ready to snap at whoever dares disturb me.
The door opens before I answer.
Zephyr steps in, calm as ever, though his gaze quickly scans the wrecked room and my state. He takes it in without judgment.
His voice is steady when he speaks.
"The shaman is here."