Chapter 67 The grand fathers secret
IRIS
“Next left,” I say. “We’re heading to the south ridge, outside the city.”
The driver nods, not asking questions. I sit back, letting the reality of everything catch up with me.
I’m running away. From my life, from everything I know. And yet, I don’t feel like I have a choice. Not with what Darian told me. Not with the fire I saw in his eyes when he said his father wanted me dead.
As the car makes the turn, Darian shifts beside me. “Thank you,” he says quietly.
I look over at him. “For what?”
“For trusting me. Even after all this.”
I’m quiet for a beat. “It’s not like I have much of a choice, is it?”
He winces slightly. “I guess not.”
I sigh. “I just… I don’t know how to feel, Darian. I don’t know if I should be scared for me or for you. If you’re right about that prophecy, then…then my existence ruins yours.”
He turns his head to face me, his expression intense. “You don’t ruin me. You saved me. I was drowning before you came along, Iris. Everything felt heavy and fake and scripted. You…” He stops, his throat working around the words. “You remind me what it feels like to want something for myself.”
His words settle deep in my chest, warm and terrifying all at once.
“You’re willing to give all this up for me?” I ask. “The title? The power? The legacy?”
He holds my gaze. “If it means saving your life, yes.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I glance away, eyes stinging suddenly. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t want to be the reason you lose everything.”
His voice is firm. “I’d rather lose a kingdom than lose you.”
We lapse into silence again, but this one feels… different. Heavier, but not unbearable. There’s an understanding now, a quiet bond forged in fear and choice and something deeper neither of us dares to name.
I look out the window as familiar landmarks fade, replaced by winding roads and open skies. The city is far behind us now, swallowed by trees and hills and silence. The further we go, the more real it becomes.
We’re really doing this.
Running.
Hiding.
Together.
I rest my head lightly against the window, watching the golden fields blur past. “He has a greenhouse,” I murmur.
“Hm?”
“My grandfather. He grows his own food. Doesn’t believe in store-bought vegetables.”
Darian chuckles, and the sound is surprisingly soft. “That sounds promising.”
“Don’t get too excited. He’s also incredibly grumpy and hates surprises.”
“Well, I’m a walking surprise,” Darian says dryly. “So I guess we’re off to a great start.”
I smile despite everything. Maybe this won’t be easy. Maybe nothing ever will be again. But for now, we’re together. We’re alive.
By the time we turn onto the gravel path leading to my grandfather’s land, the sun has started to dip, casting a warm gold across the overgrown fields. I stare through the windshield, blinking in disbelief.
I haven’t been here in years, maybe since I was thirteen, but somehow, the place hasn’t changed much.
A long stretch of grass lines the drive, dotted with wildflowers in purples and yellows. A crooked wooden fence runs along the border, weather-worn but still standing.
The house itself is small, modest, but it has this gentle charm, like it belongs to another time. Vines crawl up one side of the stone walls, and a wide porch wraps around the front, a wooden swing creaking softly in the breeze.
And beyond the house, tucked behind the apple trees and the toolshed, is the greenhouse.
It glows slightly in the amber light, the glass panels streaked with dust and leaves but still intact. Inside, I spot a figure moving, bent slightly, gathering something into a basket.
A rush of warmth floods me.
“Nana!” I call, throwing open the car door before it’s even fully stopped.
The woman in the greenhouse pauses, lifting her head. A smile breaks across her face before she hurries toward me, her basket swinging at her side.
“Iris?” she exclaims, meeting me halfway.
I throw my arms around her, burying my face in her shoulder. She smells like rosemary and soil and honey, exactly how I remembered.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” she says, holding me back by the shoulders to get a proper look. “Look at you! Taller. Prettier. And…” Her eyes flick to the side. “With a boy.”
Darian steps forward slowly, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He offers a faint smile.
“This is Darian,” I say.
My grandmother’s eyebrows rise a little too knowingly. “Mm-hmm,” she hums. “I see.”
I blush, stepping back. “It’s not…it’s complicated.”
“Isn’t it always?” she says, chuckling as she turns and waves us toward the house. “Come on, your grandfather’s inside. He’s been tinkering with that old radio again. Maybe having company will finally pull him away from it.”
As we make our way up the steps, Darian falls into step beside me. “She’s sweet,” he murmurs.
“She’s everything,” I reply quietly, glancing at her. “They both are.”
Inside, the house smells like cinnamon and pinewood. It’s small but cozy with books stacked on every surface, a crocheted blanket draped across the back of an old couch, and the fireplace crackling low even though it’s not cold enough to need it.
“Gray!” Nana calls, setting her basket down on the counter. “We have guests.”
From around the corner, I hear a chair scrape, and a man steps into view. He’s older now, his gray hair longer, tied back at the nape of his neck. His face is wrinkled, but those sharp eyes the same. Focused. Perceptive.
He freezes the second he sees Darian.
In turn around and Darian has a similar expression on his face.
My heart stutters.
Grandfather’s eyes widen, his mouth parting slightly in recognition or disbelief. “You…”
My breath catches. I look at Darian, whose expression mirrors my grandfather’s. He looks as if he’s seen a ghost.
I frown. “Wait. Do you two… know each other?”
But neither of them answers.
Darian finally speaks. Just one word.
“You.”
It lands in the room like thunder.
My grandfather steps forward slowly, his gaze still locked on Darian. “What the hell is a prince of the Lycan court doing in my house?”
“Wait,” I whisper, eyes darting between them. “How do you know who he is?”