226

226
Malrik’s POV
Confusion flickered across the others’ faces, but Zebulon’s expression hardened, the smug veneer stripped away. The laughter was gone. When he leaned forward this time, there was only gravity in his eyes deadly, deliberate.
“The woman with you,” he said slowly, “she’s not just anyone. She’s a direct descendant of the first Moonchild line. Orielle Moonchild’s own daughter. The compulsion gene runs in her blood.”
His gaze locked with mine, sharp enough to cut.
“Roarke’s been waiting for someone like her,” he went on. “And you you’ve delivered her to him, wrapped up like a gift.”
My pulse thundered in my ears. That level of precision those details weren’t something he could have conjured up out of thin air. This wasn’t bluffing.
“He didn’t know she existed at first,” Zebulon continued, his tone grim. “Everyone believed the daughter had died. But Roarke kept digging. Relentless. And I found out he used compulsion on Ysolde Pembroke when she was in custody.”
Cassian stiffened. Quillan’s brow furrowed.
Zebulon nodded, his voice tightening. “Of course Ysolde wouldn’t remember. Victims rarely do. But one of my men caught the signs reported it last week. That’s when I intensified my hunt for him.”
He sagged back in his chair, breath coming hard.
“I did it to keep him away from my cousin’s daughter.”
My fists curled, jaw clamped tight. Damn it, his story fit too perfectly. And that made it worse.
“You should have told me sooner,” I growled, stepping forward.
Zebulon’s eyes didn’t waver. “I suspected she didn’t know who she really was,” he said, voice dropping into something almost reverent. “And I knew you didn’t.”
He fixed me with a steady stare.
“I wasn’t sure how you’d react if you learned she was a Moonchild. Whether you’d shield her… or destroy her.”
His gaze darkened.
“I wanted to handle it quietly. Protect her. Let her have some semblance of a normal life. She’s the last with those potent genes. Orielle passed them down even if they’re dormant.”
The chains at his wrists clinked softly as he leaned closer.
“It couldn’t have skipped her. She’s too important. If she dies childless, the line ends forever.”
There was a tremor in his voice urgency mixed with obsession. It sounded real. Too real. And if it was a lie, it was the kind of lie only a master could tell.
My head spun.
Then Zebulon dropped the blade he’d been hiding.
“You want to know what really happened to Orielle?” His whisper cut through the air.
We went still.
He glanced from me to Quillan, then Cassian.
“Marzena ordered the tea,” he said. “She and Roarke planned it. Orielle would react to the poison, Rhydian would die in the chaos, and she’d be captured alive.”
His stare was a blade pressed to my throat.
“Roarke would finally get what he wanted her blood. Her mind. Her genes.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. This wasn’t a story someone could improvise. Not with this precision. Not with the way his voice cracked on Orielle’s name.
Cassian’s face had drained of color.
Quillan looked like he’d been handed a live grenade.
And me? I couldn’t breathe.
“But Orielle figured it out,” Zebulon went on, his voice now a low confession to a ghost. “I warned her. Told her she was next.”
He dropped his gaze to the floor.
“That’s why she ended her life when she understood what they’d done. She chose death over becoming a lab rat.”
The words landed like stones in my chest.
Across the room, Quillan’s voice came out tight. “Why would Marzena work with Roarke? She was a Mancini.”
Zebulon’s eyes flicked up, something grim in them.
“Yes,” he said. “Marzena was a Mancini but not the Mancini. Rhydian was the heir. Drethos was never meant to lead, and he didn’t care to. He was easygoing. Unambitious.”
Zebulon leaned forward, each word like a nail driven into wood.
“Marzena settled for Drethos. But it was Rhydian she wanted.”
My stomach twisted.
“And then Roarke appeared,” Zebulon continued. “More power than Drethos. A seat on the council. Influence. Wealth. Prestige.”
He shrugged faintly.
“Marzena came from a low-ranking family. Her only real ties to the upper echelon were through your aunt Dashira and Drethos. Not enough. She needed more.”
Quillan’s jaw locked, already seeing the shape of the betrayal.
“To be clear,” Zebulon added, “I don’t believe Roarke ever touched her. If he had, Drethos would’ve gutted him. But I do know this he promised to make her his Luna once his goals were achieved.”
He paused, then added, “And Marzena? She despises anyone who outshines her. She loathed Orielle. And from what I hear…” his eyes cut to mine, “your aunt Dashira’s recently joined that list.”
My chest tightened. Every word lined up. Marzena’s venom. Her hunger for power. Her ceaseless undermining of Dashira. Her simmering hatred for Dravina.
She’d always wanted to be more than she was. She wanted the same for her daughter. And now she’d found someone willing to deliver it no matter the cost.
And that cost might already be sitting inside my home.