Chapter 24 Chapter 24
Chapter 24 Chapter 24
Nathaniel’s PoV
A long, uncomfortable silence stretched between Lucien and me after I asked him to be my best man. He blinked several times, clearly caught off guard. Part of me wondered if he was stunned because I’d asked him to take on the role—or if he simply couldn’t believe I was even entertaining the notion of a wedding. Either way, he stood there, debating his answer in silence.
“Well?” I finally broke the tension, unable to tolerate it any longer.
“My lord… this is… unexpected,” he began, voice measured, yet laced with disbelief. “I am… beyond flattered.”
“But?” My stare hardened. I wasn’t accepting a ‘no.’ Lucien was the only man I trusted enough for this. The only man who could handle it.
“But…” He paused, drawing a slow, deliberate breath. “I still insist that you not go through with this. Miss Bailey… she’s not the only one who will suffer the consequences. You will too. You’re binding yourselves—physically, mentally. Every ache she feels, every wound… every psychological sting… you will feel as well.”
His words hit hard. He had a point. But I had endured pain and manipulation before. I was strong—far stronger than her. And that made it… all the sweeter.
“You need not worry about me. I am fully capable of handling it.”
He waved his hands, conceding, and presented a folder as if to change the subject.
“Then I’ll accept the role of best man,” he said, finally, “if only to keep a closer eye on the two of you.”
I offered him a bored glare and opened the folder. Inside were pages upon pages of medical analyses, meticulous laboratory findings, every detail accounted for—blood counts, genetic markers, everything. Lucien never spared effort in his work.
The subject was, naturally, Bailey Durant. According to his findings, she was in perfect health. Her heart was stable. Relief briefly lifted a weight from my chest. The next step was simple: find a way to extract the power from her without destroying it.
“Great. Then it’s settled. I want you ready for tonight.”
Lucien flinched, nearly spilling his coffee. “Tonight?! But the ceremony… the invitations?”
I waved him off. This was never meant to be a spectacle. Small and private—that was the theme.
He studied me, eyebrows furrowed, then relaxed. He didn’t need explanations; he always understood things without me saying a word.
“I intend to introduce her to the kingdom at the annual ball,” I added.
Lucien’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “And how exactly will you introduce her?”
“As the queen,” I said, arching an eyebrow at the obviousness of the question. “The priest pronounces us husband and wife, the mark appears—binding us publicly. Everyone will know.”
Lucien nodded, taking a slow sip of his coffee. He often kept his thoughts locked away, but this time… I let myself peek.
I delved into the deepest recesses of his mind—the memories he kept padlocked away. Scenes of his parents surfaced: Damien and Eliza Thorn, king and queen of Domhnall, a kingdom infamous for tragedy. The family had always been cursed by thorns, metaphorically and literally.
Damien Thorn was a man of insatiable ambition and ruthless cunning. From the moment he first grasped power, he would accept nothing less than total control. He betrayed his own father in the most cowardly of ways, killing him in his sleep to claim the throne. Yet Damien’s hunger for power never ended there. He obsessed over forbidden magic, particularly the Black Heart, a source of ultimate domination. He forced the succession of darkness upon the kingdom, systematically eliminating anyone who dared question him—including distant cousins, court advisors, and even trusted generals. There was no loyalty with Damien, only fear.
Eliza Thorn, my mother, was far more complex. Brilliant and strong-willed, she possessed great magical talent and an intellect that rivaled Damien’s, yet her compassion and love for her children were her defining traits. She opposed Damien at every turn, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. When Damien forced her to perform the dark ritual to transfer the Black Heart from its dying host into him, he threatened her children’s lives if she refused. Eliza, broken by fear for her family yet unwilling to surrender entirely, obeyed. Over the following year, she watched in horror as Damien used the power to commit atrocities across the kingdom—mass executions, cursed enchantments, and brutal punishments.
Even in her despair, my mother tried to shield us. She created hidden wards and pockets of safety within the castle, tiny enclaves of light amidst the encroaching darkness. But every act of protection came at a cost—her body began to deteriorate under the strain of the dark magic she was forced to manipulate. Slowly, she became a ghost of herself: a shell of the mother she once was, bound to her grief and haunted by Damien’s monstrosities.
When Damien was finally stopped and detained, Eliza performed another extraction ritual. The Black Heart was volatile, unstable, and contained unimaginable power. One wrong move could have killed us all. After deliberation, it was decided: either Tristan or I would become the next vessel. Tristan was chosen. My father died in the process, and the kingdom was left in the shadow of his cruel legacy.
Even in his absence, the darkness lingered in our home, a reminder of the horrors Damien had inflicted. My mother, physically and emotionally broken, could no longer be the woman she once was. Spiritually tethered to the forest just outside the kingdom, she lingered there as a fragment of her former self, preserved only to bear witness to what had been lost.
Lucien’s voice cut through the haze. “You gave me your word.”
I blinked, snapping back to reality. “What?”
“You promised never to enter my mind, yet I can feel your magic in my head.” He gestured to his temple, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior.
“Apologies… controlling it has been… difficult,” I shrugged.
He stared at me, astonished. “Did you just apologize to me?”
Before he could continue, a knock sounded at the door. A guard peeked in, forehead glistening with sweat, clearly terrified he’d arrived at the wrong moment.
“Forgive me, my lord,” he bowed.
“What is it?” I asked, voice neutral.
“The forest… it’s restless again, my lord.” His head stayed bowed, avoiding my gaze.
A heavy sigh escaped me. I stood and walked toward the door.
“Then it’s time to pay my mother a visit,” I muttered.
Do you want me to do that as well?