241

241


Malrik POV

It all made sense now.

Dravina’s blood was the missing piece. The final thread that would have bound Roarke’s serum together, held his body intact, kept his mind from splintering. With her, he could have stopped the bleeding eyes, the fractured thoughts, the unraveling flesh. Without her, the concoction tore him apart from the inside. What sat in that silver cage before us was no longer a man it was a nightmare in human form, clawing to contain power that had never been his to claim.

And yet, one question gnawed at me. Why?

He already had everything his family’s influence, his seat on the council, power in abundance. So why this? Why twist himself into a monster, betray the very institution he served? The silence he gave in return was more damning than any admission. He sat hollow-eyed and mute, as if defeat or delusion had already stripped him bare.

Marzena was no better. Except she wouldn’t stop crying.

Not for the dead.

Not for the daughter she’d ruined.

Not even for the chaos she’d unleashed.

Her tears were for Drethos.

“I never betrayed you,” she sobbed, her voice rising until it filled the chamber. “I only wanted more for us, for Zenovia. The Everstons would have robbed us, and you refused to lead. Someone had to protect what was ours. That girl she would have stolen what rightfully belonged to Zenovia. I couldn’t let it happen.”

Her voice broke under its own weight, desperation clinging to every word.

But Drethos didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. He stared at her as though she were nothing more than a ghost wearing the memory of his wife’s face. And when I looked closer, I saw why. No bond-mark scarred her neck. He had unmated her. Cast her out in the most permanent way.

No wonder she spiraled.

But for Drethos, it was liberation. Better the wound of betrayal, better the knife in the back, than the chains of remaining tied to her. His silence was colder than fury it was the silence of finality. She was already dead to him. All that remained was the council’s judgment to make it official.

And soon, it came.

The hall stilled as the verdict fell like iron.

Marzena Mancini.

Roarke Fenwick.

Sentenced to death by beheading.

No protest rose, no outrage echoed through the chamber. Just silence. Heavy. Absolute.

The ruling extended further still. Every scientist, every biochemist complicit in Roarke’s abominations would be executed. Their laboratories dismantled, every scrap of formula and serum destroyed. His legacy erased in fire and ash.

It fell to Cassian and me to see it through. A part of me wanted to argue for imprisonment, to let them rot with the weight of their sins. But the truth was brutal too much knowledge still lived in them. They could birth another Roarke. The world could not risk that. And from the resignation carved into their faces, they knew it as well. Treason demanded only one price.

One by one, they were led out. Marzena wept and pleaded. Roarke walked in silence, the madness in his eyes strangely subdued, like even he knew the game was finished. When the doors shut behind them, the chamber seemed to exhale.

Zebulon stepped forward to continue proceedings but Quillan rose before he could.

“End it,” Quillan said, his voice carrying like steel across stone. “Now. This law the one that legalized the hunting and killing of Moonchildren it dies here.”

The hall erupted in uneasy murmurs. He didn’t waver.

“This law has sown more ruin than protection. It bred the monster we just condemned. Fear and blind tradition gave Roarke the opening he needed. How long will we keep punishing a bloodline for the sins of a single king? How many Orielle Moonchilds have bled because of it? How many children slaughtered in shadows, stolen before they could even speak their names?”

His gaze cut to Dravina.

“She fought for us. Saved us. If Roarke had triumphed, none of us would be alive to argue in this room. The Moonchild did not destroy us this time. She delivered us. That is proof enough.”

The chamber quieted, the truth hanging heavy in the air.

Zebulon’s voice was calm, deliberate. “You are proposing a full repeal of the Moonchild Execution Edict?”

“I am,” Quillan answered without hesitation.

Cassian rose beside him, unflinching. “I second it. And I propose the repeal apply retroactively to every surviving Moonchild. No further arrests. No more executions. Their freedom begins today.”

Zebulon inclined his head, solemn. “Then the motion is on the floor. Council heads, prepare to vote.”

The air in the hall thickened again. But it wasn’t dread this time.

It was hope.