Chapter 281

Chapter 281


Drea should not have followed the patrol.

She knew that before she reached the lower hall, before Cole gave her that narrow-eyed look from beside the door, before the first bite of outside air slipped under her cloak and made her stomach turn. She knew it the way she knew Logan would be furious if he found out, which was not a reason to stop. Lately, every room in the Snow Palace felt like a trap wearing velvet curtains and polished stone. Outside, at least, the cold told the truth.

“I only want to walk to the outer edge,” she said when one of the guards shifted in front of her. “I am not running. I am not throwing myself into the woods. I am walking.”

The guard looked at Cole for permission, which irritated her so sharply that she almost laughed. Everyone here kept waiting for a man to decide whether she could breathe.

Cole did not look thrilled either, but he stepped aside. “You stay between us.”

“How generous.”

“You stay between us,” he repeated.

Drea pulled her cloak tighter and walked past him before he could change his mind. The patrol moved slower than they would have without her, and she knew it. The men kept a careful formation around her, one ahead, two behind, Cole near her left shoulder. Snow fell in thin flakes, barely enough to cover the packed path leading toward the outer wall. The sky was pale, almost colorless, and the mansion rose behind them like something carved to intimidate the world.

She tried not to think about Logan in his room with Kael’s letter in his hand.

You have something we want Logan Frost.

She did not know about the letter yet, but something in the mansion had shifted after midnight. She had felt it in the guards, in the way servants stopped speaking when she approached, in the way Cole had checked the corridor twice before letting her out. Logan had not come to her room that morning. That was another shift, and she did not know whether she was relieved or angry.

Her stomach twisted before they reached the first watch post.

Drea stopped walking.

Cole noticed instantly. “Drea?”

“I am fine.” The words barely left her mouth before the sickness rose too fast for pride. She turned away from the path, stumbled two steps toward a low stone wall, and bent over as her stomach emptied into the snow.

The guards moved at once.

One reached for her shoulder. Another stepped closer with a flask. Cole came up beside her, one hand hovering near her back but not touching.

Drea lifted a shaking hand. “Do not.”

“Sit down,” Cole said.

“I said I am fine.”

“You are vomiting in the snow.”

“What remarkable powers of observation.”

Cole’s mouth flattened. “You should go back inside.”

Drea spat once, wiped her mouth with the back of her glove, and hated the tears that had sprung to her eyes from the force of it. “I need a minute.”

The guard with the flask held it out carefully. “Water, miss.”

She took it because refusing would make her look worse. The water was cold enough to hurt her teeth. She rinsed her mouth, swallowed a little, and forced herself upright even though the world swayed for one ugly second.

Cole’s gaze sharpened. “You are pale.”

“That tends to happen after puking.”

“This has happened before.”

Drea looked at him too quickly.

Cole saw it.

Of course he saw it.

She turned away before he could ask more. “Are we done discussing my stomach, or should we call the whole pack and make a proper council of it?”

One of the guards wisely looked down.

Cole did not smile. “We are going back.”

Drea wanted to argue, but the strength had already drained from her legs. She nodded once, furious with her own body, and let them turn the patrol around. The mansion looked farther away on the return path, too bright against the snow, too full of eyes she could not see.

Then she looked up.

On the upper terrace, Brianna stood alone.

Drea stopped without meaning to.

The older woman was wrapped in a white fur cloak, her dark hair pinned elegantly at the back of her head. From that distance, she should have looked harmless. Grieving mother. Powerful matriarch. The woman who had lost Damien Frost and rebuilt herself around Logan’s future.

But there was nothing harmless in her face.

Brianna was staring down at Drea with a look so sharp and wicked that the cold seemed to pass clean through the cloak and into Drea’s bones. Her mouth curved slightly. Not enough to be a smile. Enough to make Drea’s hand move, instinctively, toward her stomach.

Drea caught herself and dropped her arm.

Brianna’s eyes followed the movement.

Drea’s pulse jumped.

For a moment, neither woman moved. Snow fell between them. Cole said something near Drea’s shoulder, but she did not hear him clearly. All she could see was Brianna’s face, and the terrible satisfaction there.

She knows.

Or she suspects.

Both were dangerous.

“Drea,” Cole said, firmer this time.

She forced herself to move. “I am coming.”

She walked back into the palace with her skin too tight and her stomach still turning. The warmth inside did not comfort her. It made her feel exposed. Every guard seemed too aware. Every hallway felt too long. Cole offered to escort her back to her room, and she almost accepted because it would have been easier.

Then she thought of Brianna on the terrace.

No.

She needed answers, and she needed them from someone who did not worship Logan or hate her for carrying his future.

“I want to see Noel,” she said.

Cole stopped. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Noel is not someone you visit casually.”

“Then I will visit him seriously.”

Cole stared at her. “Logan would not like this.”

“Logan does not like many things.”

“That does not make them wise.”

Drea turned to face him fully. “Are you going to drag me to my room?”

His jaw worked.

She held his gaze.

Finally, he stepped aside. “Five minutes.”

Drea almost thanked him. She stopped herself. Gratitude was too close to dependence, and she had enough of that in this place already.

Noel’s room was in one of the inner wings, near the strategy offices rather than the family quarters. That told her more than anyone had. He was important, close enough to Logan’s command to be useful but not close enough to be trusted in the private heart of the palace. Or maybe Logan trusted him plenty. Maybe Logan trusted the wrong people more often than he realized.

She knocked before she could lose nerve.

“Enter,” Noel called.

Drea opened the door and stepped inside.

Noel looked up from a table covered in papers. He was dressed in dark clothes, sleeves rolled to his forearms, a half-filled glass beside his hand. His gaze flicked over her cloak, her pale face, the guard visible behind her, then settled on her with cool amusement.

“Well,” he said. “This is unexpected.”

Drea shut the door behind her before Cole could object.

Noel’s brows lifted slightly. “Bold.”

“I know about Project X,” she said.

That wiped the amusement from his face.

For one second, he only stared at her. Then he leaned back in his chair and nodded slowly, as if some private piece had clicked into place.

“Logan told you.”

“He told me everything.”

Noel’s mouth twisted. “I doubt that.”

“Enough.”

“Enough to make you feel sorry for him?”

Drea stepped farther into the room. “That is not why I am here.”

“Then why are you here?”

She looked at the papers on his table, the neat lines of ink, the mapped patrol routes, the little pins marking movement along the borders. “Because everyone here keeps acting as if Westside deserved every drop of blood spilled there.”

Noel watched her carefully now. “And you disagree.”

“I disagree with pretending guilt passes through walls and blankets and children.”

He studied her for a moment, then gave a short nod, almost approving. “Now I see why you can’t do anything useful with the truth.”

Drea frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you are still trying to separate the innocent from the guilty after the fire already burned through the house.” Noel stood, slowly, and came around the table. “You want justice to be tidy. It isn’t. Project X was not one man. It was not one room. It was a network of Alphas, scientists, guards, healers, messengers, silence, money, and fear. A machine like that does not run because one evil man pulls a lever. It runs because everyone near it decides their hands are clean enough.”

Drea hated that he sounded intelligent. She hated that part of her understood. “That still does not explain why you look at me like I should be grateful to be here.”

Noel’s gaze moved over her face. “Grateful? No. Practical? Yes.”

“For what?”

“For being alive.”

Her throat tightened. “I am alive because Logan decided I was useful.”

“Maybe at first.”

Drea’s pulse jumped, and she hated that he noticed.

Noel tilted his head. “That bothers you.”

“Everything bothers me.”

“Good. That means you are paying attention.”

She folded her arms, partly to steady herself. “Do you know what it feels like to be told your father was a monster and the man who took you is the wounded one?”

Noel’s expression shifted faintly. “Logan is wounded. That does not make him gentle.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

Drea’s anger flared. “Do not speak to me like I am stupid.”

“I am speaking to you like you are surrounded.” His voice lowered slightly. “Because you are.”

The room felt colder suddenly, though Drea did not know if that came from the palace or her own body. “By whom?”

Noel’s eyes narrowed. “You really do not know.”

“By Brianna,” Drea said before she could stop herself. “By Kathryn. By this entire place deciding what I am allowed to be before I have even decided what I want.”

Noel went still.

Drea was too angry now to pull back. The sickness, Brianna’s stare, Logan’s story, the dream, all of it had become a pressure behind her ribs. “You all talk about Project X like it was the great evil, and maybe it was. But you still look at people and decide what their bodies are for. You still decide who gets sacrificed for power, for revenge, for legacy.” Her hand pressed hard against her stomach before she realized she had moved. “My baby can’t grow here.”

The room went silent.

Noel’s gaze dropped to her hand.

Drea froze.

The words replayed in her head.

My baby.

Noel’s expression changed so fast that fear cut through her anger cleanly.

He lifted one hand, stopping the conversation before she could stumble into another sentence. “Wait.”

Drea swallowed.

Noel stepped forward.

His voice was quiet now, all sharpness gone.

“Did you say your baby?”

Drea’s mouth went dry.

Noel took another step.

“Drea,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “Are you pregnant?”