Chapter 87

Hadrian's words echoed in my ears, each syllable slicing deeper into the wound in my heart. The crowd roared their approval for the future king and queen, their applause a deafening backdrop as I pressed myself against the cold stone wall, silently praying for some divine intervention to spirit me away. What was I even doing here? Once a cherished mistress, now discarded by the Lord Protector—the man who would soon ascend as king.

He didn’t spare me a single glance as he stood alongside Selene at the podium’s edge, the pair basking in the adulation of the crowd. The rhythmic clapping thundered in my ears, matching the erratic pounding of my heart.

My vision blurred. I hadn’t even realized I was crying until I felt the warmth of tears soaking into the neckline of my dress. Pathetic. This was my own doing—I’d let down every guard, allowed myself to believe in something that was never meant to be. And now, I bore the price of that foolish hope, bleeding from a wound I had practically opened for him.

“Are you all right?” A soft, familiar voice broke through the haze of my despair.

I knew that voice, but my tear-filled eyes refused to focus. I blinked hard, fighting to clear the veil clouding my sight. It was then I realized I was leaning heavily into the arms of Icarus. He must have caught me before I crumpled to the floor. His strong grip steadied me as he swiftly guided me away, slipping through a side door and into a deserted corridor.

When we were finally alone, he gently set me down. “Can you stand on your own?” he asked, concern lacing his tone as his gaze flicked to my trembling legs.

“Yes,” I replied, though the word felt hollow.

He hesitated, his expression wavering between sympathy and unease. “Don’t lose hope. King Hadrian… he’ll do right by you. I know it feels unfair now, but—”

“I trusted him,” I cut him off, my voice brittle. “Like a fool, I believed in some ridiculous fairy tale where things would work out in the end.” I let out a bitter laugh, the sound foreign even to me. “What an idiot I was.”

“He didn’t have a choice,” Icarus said earnestly. “Not yet. Once the army is fully under his command—”

“An army,” I interrupted with a mirthless chuckle.

“Not just any army,” Icarus insisted, his voice firm. “The royal army—vampires and mixed-breeds, trained and loyal to King Alaric for generations. They could wipe out half the world if commanded. Their loyalty is absolute, bound to whoever King Alaric named as his successor.”

“And what does that make me?” I asked, wiping at the tears streaking my cheeks. “I can’t be queen. So how am I supposed to stand by his side?”

Icarus hesitated, clearly searching for an answer he didn’t have.

I forced a weak smile, though my heart wasn’t in it. I hadn’t expected him to have an answer—not to that. This cruel dose of reality was far harsher than I could have prepared for.

“Icarus,” I murmured, testing the sound of his name on my lips.

He nodded.

“Take me away from here,” I pleaded, my eyes locking onto his with desperate intensity.

His mouth opened as though to protest, but I cut him off before he could refuse. “Please.” My voice broke, and I knew I was seconds away from falling apart all over again.

He sighed heavily, then grasped my hand. Without another word, he led me down the dim corridor, his steps swift and purposeful. I could only assume he’d memorized the palace layout during his assignment here. His confidence was all that kept me moving as the walls of the throne hall fell further behind us.

I didn’t care where we went. All I knew was that I needed to leave—I couldn’t breathe here, not with the weight of my humiliation pressing down on me like a suffocating fog.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Gareth’s sharp voice cut through the quiet, his figure looming ahead, blocking our path.

I clenched my fists. “He made his choice, Gareth. Why should I stay?”

“The queen’s title is only one of many positions the king can bestow,” Gareth said, his tone strained as though he were trying to reason with me.

“Then what will I be?” I demanded, tears spilling anew. “A nameless mistress? A concubine in his harem?”

Gareth’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he snapped his fingers, summoning two male servants from the shadows.

“I was ordered to ensure you remain in the palace—no matter the cost,” he said flatly.

Icarus released my hand, his expression pained and apologetic. I smiled bitterly at him, already resigned. I couldn’t blame him for giving up—at least he’d tried.

“This way, Miss Drayton,” one of the servants said, bowing slightly and gesturing toward an unmarked hallway.

With no other choice, I followed, my steps heavy with defeat. Icarus and Gareth trailed behind, silent.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked as we stepped out of the main building and into the night air.

“To your quarters, Miss Drayton,” the servant replied evenly.

“And where exactly is that?”

The question lingered in the air, unanswered, as the walls of the palace closed in around me like a cage.

"In the east wing, Ms. Drayton," the servant replied.

"Harem..." The word escaped my lips in a bitter whisper, laced with disdain.

A dry, ironic laugh followed, scraping against the hollow ache in my chest. My thoughts swirled chaotically, and my legs moved forward as if on autopilot, carrying me deeper into the maze of the palace. Hatred for the situation Hadrian had forced me into simmered beneath the surface, and the thought of sharing the man I loved with another woman—not to mention others—left a sour taste in my mouth. I felt cornered, trapped in a gilded cage of betrayal and heartbreak. Running away seemed the only option, but where could I go? I was lost, and my mind, like my heart, was in turmoil.

We climbed to the highest floor of the east wing, where the servants led us to a chamber nestled in the far corner.

As I stepped inside, my smile twisted with fresh bitterness. My belongings had already been unpacked, every detail meticulously arranged as if they’d been preparing this space for weeks. They must have known this moment would come. Had Hadrian known? That thought pierced through my grief like a blade. If he had, why hadn’t he warned me? If he’d told me earlier—about the coronation, about Selene—perhaps I could have braced myself. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt this much.

“Ms. Drayton...” Icarus’s voice was tentative as he reached for my shoulder, his hand warm with concern.

“I want to be alone,” I said sharply, brushing his hand away without looking at him.

The room fell silent as they all filed out. Icarus left reluctantly, his pity plain to see. Gareth’s face was a mask of practiced indifference, though I knew his thoughts were far from neutral. As for the servants, they didn’t bother to hide the glint of mockery in their eyes. To them, I was an outsider, a foolish human who dared to dream above her station. A pig pretending to be a swan. Perhaps they were right.

I turned to take in my latest prison. The chamber was vast, too grand for someone in my position. A spacious bedroom took up most of the area, adjoining a study lined with shelves filled with leather-bound books. A wide balcony stretched across the far side, offering a view of the military training grounds and the dense forest beyond. Even the bathroom was luxurious, with a massive bathtub and a shower large enough to accommodate more than one person—not that I had any intention of using it for such purposes.

My gaze landed on a chair by the window overlooking the entrance to the main building. I pulled it close and sat down, staring out at the fading activity below. The coronation was over, the crowd beginning to disperse.

Is he married already?

The thought tightened the knot in my chest, suffocating and inescapable.

A sudden creak startled me. It was faint, like the sound of a door opening. My eyes darted to the chamber door, but it remained closed. Then I realized—the noise was coming from the study. I stood slowly, my heart pounding, and turned to see the bookshelf sliding to the side, revealing a hidden passage.

Before I could react, Hadrian stepped through.

He stopped a few paces away, guilt etched into his expression. He looked at me silently, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. I wanted to lash out at him, to pierce him with my indifference or hurl a cutting remark. But I couldn’t summon the energy.

“Should I congratulate you?” I asked, my voice dull and lifeless.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he crossed the room in two strides and pulled me into his arms. His embrace was tight, almost desperate, but my body remained limp. I felt nothing. His touch, once intoxicating, now felt hollow. He kissed my cheeks, my neck, his lips moving over my skin as if trying to remind me of the connection we once shared.

But all it did was make me feel nauseated.

Finally, he stopped and pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes searched mine, pleading. “Thalassa, I—”

I didn’t let him finish. My hand flew up, and the crack of my palm against his cheek echoed in the chamber.

The force of the slap was enough to split his lip, and a thin line of blood marked the corner of his mouth. He stared at me, stunned, but I didn’t flinch. My body trembled, but not with fear. It was something deeper—something more broken.

“Listen to me!” he shouted, his voice cracking with urgency.

I swung again, but this time he caught my wrist. His grip was firm but gentle, as if he feared hurting me further.

“Please,” he whispered, lowering his head to rest against the curve of my neck. “Don’t leave me. Stay by my side. Just give me time, and I promise I’ll make this right.”

“Why should I believe you?” I mumbled, hating the way my heart wavered at his words.

He straightened, his eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, the weight of the world seemed to rest on his shoulders. Then, taking a deep breath, he said the words that shattered what remained of my defenses.

“Because I love you.”