Chapter 10 Chapter 10
Nathaniel’s POV
“Wash up… Take a bath, and get dressed… You have some clothes in the closet… I will send somebody for you to bring you to Lucian, so he can examine you… If in any way you try to be stupid and escape… I will kill any form of joy you have…”
With that, I slammed the door behind me. That should keep her in check for a while. Even though I didn’t know any form of joy she possessed. Never mind—I’d figure it out eventually. Secrets never stayed hidden from me for long.
The frustrating part of all this is that I can’t wield my powers the way I usually do. One stray surge could trigger a heart attack, which isn’t beneficial to either of us. Worse, it could get us both killed. I don’t even know how this works now. This has never happened before. I scoured every record I could find about the history of the heart—there was no precedent for this. Just what did Tristan do exactly?
I am not powerless. My abilities remain, but they are muted, stifled. The girl displays the same early-stage symptoms I had when I first acquired it. And that telepathy-blocking effect—utterly new. I’ll have to investigate that later.
I walked along the corridor, watching the sunrise spill over the castle’s spires. Morning already. Another sleepless night wasted. Strangely, I felt… tired. That hadn’t happened in years. I need answers, and fast, before other side effects emerge.
The pirates will surely try to capture her again. Those red-eyed twins don’t give up easily—especially Alex. If I am to defeat them, I need to be prepared. Lucian’s lab might hold some answers. I did not spend a fortune on that scanner for nothing.
Kara’s room was nearby. She’ll escort Bailey to Lucian. A woman would be more… familiar. Though Kara is often a bitch. I don’t recall her ever being kind to anyone. Except to me, of course, which I exploit whenever convenient. Other women? Forgettable.
I stopped at her door. Knocking? I do not knock. Doorknobs? Useless. This is my castle.
A simple telekinetic shove and the door flew open.
No sweating. No heavy breathing. No elevated heart rate. Good. The girl is stronger than I thought. Perhaps I should grant her some credit… Yeah, right.
Kara stood in front of her closet, half-naked again. Men everywhere would be captivated by that figure. Too bad she’s loyal only to me. The allure was undeniable, but pleasure would have to wait.
“Oh, I see somebody’s already missed me,” I muttered, observing her seductive approach. Her hands drifted from my shoulders to my waist, offering a yearning look. I grabbed her hands before they could descend further—regret flaring immediately. Business first.
“Not now. Some work requires your attention.”
Her eyes widened, offended. I don’t care. She moved away, disappointed, and continued dressing. Kara is vain—rejection bruises her ego. That’s always amusing.
“What is it that you need me to do, milord?”
She tried bending and stretching suggestively. Futile. She understood she had lost this round and returned to her task.
“I need you to escort a young woman to Lucian’s lab for examination.”
She froze mid-skirt adjustment, a mix of shock and rage on her face. Jealousy, perhaps? Interesting. I’ll tease her later.
“A woman?” she managed.
“Problem?” I raised an eyebrow.
“No, sir,” she muttered, adjusting her skirt. “Where do I pick her up?”
I smirked. This is going to be… entertaining.
“She’s in my room… likely bathing in my tub. Make her familiar with the castle—but not too comfortable. I don’t want an escape plan.”
I turned, but paused at the doorway.
“Oh, and Kara… Don’t screw this up. I’ll not be pleased.”
I slammed the door. Always satisfying.
Next stop: the ballroom. Last year’s ending was… unpleasant, but not my fault. If Ares’ incompetent thug hadn’t tried to steal from me, the evening would have been peaceful. But he didn’t. I made sure everyone witnessed his demise, reinforcing my authority.
Walking is tiresome. I could teleport, but a certain someone cannot handle that level of power. The elevator jams again, as usual. Spiral stairs it is. Annoying, noisy, migraine-inducing. This castle needs repair.
The ballroom lies directly below the glass corridor—a design choice of mine, allowing observation of those I choose to intimidate. Curiously, my powers are muted around her. Telekinesis works; empathy does not.
I reached the entrance. Massive silver doors, floral engravings. Servants froze at my presence, faces slick with sweat and terror. I pushed the doors open with a telekinetic shove. The room fell silent. A clean pathway formed instinctively. They knew their place. Good.
“As you all know, last year we had a… little incident.”
Heads dropped. Eyes to the floor. Excellent. Fear has a way of keeping people obedient.
“This year, I am inspecting preparations myself. So far, fortunately for you all, things run smoothly. Maintain that standard. You know what I am capable of, so do not test my patience. The ball will proceed as expected.”
No one dared meet my gaze. Perfect.
“Menu prepared?”
“Yes, milord,” the chef said, voice trembling.
“Décor?”
“The servants are finishing, your Highness. By day’s end, it will be ready.”
“And invitations? Security doubled?”
“Yes, your Highness!”
“Good. We have a new addition to our kingdom. She will be presented at the ball. Part of this castle for a while…”
Surprise flickered across their faces. Some mouths opened, then shut. Idiots. They think I bring a bride. Marriage is extinct here—a myth. Trust is scarce. Family is betrayal incarnate. My focus must remain on extracting the heart.
I entered the kitchen. The chef and assistants froze. Suspicious. I approached with deliberate menace, a devilish smile in place.
“What’s tasty on the menu?”
The chef stammered, sweating, avoiding eye contact. Lying. Another spy. Convenient. Not Alex, not the twins—someone else entirely.
“I don’t mind tasting it while still cooking,” I said smoothly. “I love tasting things beforehand.”
Fear and indecision rippled through him. I handed him the spoon. Hesitant, he tasted it. And ran. Predictable. Telekinesis engaged. I pinned him to the wall, diaphragm constricted. Trembling, eyes upward.
Power radiated off him. Camouflaging magic—strong. Another spy.
“You’re not the cook. Not your true form.”
Fist clenched, telekinetic energy pulsating, I commanded:
“Manifesto!”
His form twisted, skin waving, settling into the real shape beneath the disguise. Hair grew, eyes shifted from brown to ocean blue, body transformed from fat to lean, strong, undeniably masculine.
Recognition hit me like a dagger to the chest. My pulse quickened—not from fear, but anticipation. The mask of civility dropped. Here was a threat cloaked as a servant, a challenge waiting to be addressed. The dark lord in me awakened fully, relishing the game about to begin.
The ballroom’s golden light glinted off his new form, but all I saw was the danger hidden behind that calm, confident gaze. A predator, and perhaps, just perhaps… an equal.
And just like that, the silence of the kitchen became the stage for a confrontation that would decide more than just the outcome of a ball.