Chapter 59: Who says?

Chapter 59: Who says?
I hate surprises. Always have, always will. From the onset of my life, there’s been a lingering dread in my gut whenever the unexpected comes lurking around the corner. Birthday surprises? My mother quickly learned not to attempt them again after she tried once, throwing me a lavish party filled with faces I’d never seen. The shock, the overwhelming unknown, it was all too much. The memory of that day—a jumble of forced smiles and stifled panic—still haunts me. After that, my gifts were never even wrapped. The thought of holding something concealed in my hands, something I couldn’t see or predict… It was unbearable.

And now, here I am, drowning in a sea of the unexpected. Only this time, the stakes are higher than any birthday surprise, and the consequences of my ignorance weigh heavily on my chest.

The scent.

I can’t believe I missed it, how I let myself overlook something so vital. Why didn’t I put two and two together sooner? The faint, lingering trace of something dark, something... lethal, had been there all along. Perhaps if I’d followed my instincts instead of brushing them aside, I could have pieced together the puzzle before it was too late. Maybe I could’ve stopped the deaths. Maybe I could’ve... Fuck.

It’s late by the time I return—Carla’s home, to be precise. The entire house is dark, silent, as though even the walls are mourning the truths I’ve recently uncovered. I make my way into the kitchen, the familiar scent of dust and old wood grounding me, if only for a moment. Opening the cabinet, I pull out a bottle of whiskey, letting the cap fall away with a careless flick of my wrist. I don’t even bother with a glass. I raise the bottle to my mouth and drink deeply, the sting a temporary balm against the chaos in my head. Only if I wasn’t immune to alcohol.

It takes several long gulps before I finally stop, but my solace is short-lived. I hear footsteps—a light, barely-there rhythm against the hardwood floor—and the unmistakable scent of her fills the air, the familiar sweetness that always seems to calm the storm within me. Sometimes I wonder if my heightened sense of smell, this curse of the Moon Lykae, is a blessing or a curse. Right now, I’m not sure which.

“The last time I saw you drinking like this,” her voice is a soft murmur in the quiet kitchen, a melody that teases my ears, “you told me you wanted to be King. What strange ambition will you confess to tonight?”

Her words are laced with a gentle teasing, a lightness that somehow tugs at the ache lodged in my chest. But there’s also an edge of something else, something that sharpens the tone—concern, maybe? Whatever it is, it cuts through me like a knife.

“Would you stay by my side, Lilac Hirav-Aspen, if I told you I wanted to be King?” I ask, not meeting her gaze, my eyes focused solely on the dark liquid in my hand.

She pauses, just long enough that I almost wish I hadn’t asked. “I don’t know what it means to be with a king,” she finally replies, her voice a mix of caution and curiosity, “but I could sit still and look pretty, if that’s what supporting you would mean.”

I turn to her, and for a brief second, my control slips. She’s close enough that the light from the kitchen casts a soft glow over her figure, illuminating the faint shimmer of her skin. Lilac stands there, dressed in a barely-there, sheer nightgown that stops just above her knees, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, with a few strands falling down to frame her face. And she’s barefoot.

“You’re so much more than looking pretty, Lilac,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them. I meet her gaze fully now, regretting it instantly because the image of her is seared into my mind, impossible to ignore.

She steps closer, her smile mischievous, her eyes alight with a challenge. “So, tell me then—what does being a queen entail?”

She’s close enough now that if I stretch out my hand, I could pull her against me, feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine. She fits so perfectly there, like she belongs nowhere else. But I don’t touch her—not yet. “What do you think it would entail?”

She narrows her eyes at me, a slight frown pulling at her lips. “If I knew, I wouldn’t ask.”

“Fair enough.” I take another drink, savoring the sting in my throat as if it could burn away the turmoil. Her presence, the scent of her, makes it hard to think, harder to hold back the urge simmering just beneath the surface.

Her gaze sharpens, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. “I turn twenty in two weeks,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “On the day of the final ball of the mating season.”

She leans in, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. The distance between us narrows, and her scent—faintly floral, intoxicating—fills my senses, clouding my thoughts. I wonder if she can hear the way my heart thrums, each beat heavy with a desire that borders on desperation.

“You turn twenty,” I murmur, my voice rough, unsteady. I try to look away, to break free from the spell she’s casting over me. But it’s futile. Tonight, with the weight of everything pressing down on me, Lilac is the only thing that feels real.

“Why are you looking away from me, Kael?” Her voice is soft, but there’s a challenge there, one that’s impossible to ignore. She’s bold tonight, bolder than usual, and it’s undoing me.

Before I can respond, she reaches out and snatches the whiskey bottle from my hand, setting it far out of reach on the countertop. Her gaze is fierce, and I feel a pang of guilt at the fire in her eyes. “Is the drink more important than me?”

“No, it’s not,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. I promised her once that I would be open with her, that I’d let her in. And yet here I am, retreating, hiding behind a bottle. “Princess, what do you do when you find out something that shocks the life out of you?”

She raises an eyebrow, a skeptical look crossing her face as if trying to read my thoughts. “Well, if it were me, I’d probably...” She trails off, biting her lip. “Honestly, I have no idea. I guess it depends on the situation.”

I give a low hum in response, and she studies me, curiosity glinting in her gaze. “So, what has gotten your knickers in a twist, husband?”

I chuckle despite myself, the sound surprising me. “I love hearing you call me that.”

She grins, a warmth spreading through her features that makes my chest ache. “I love seeing you smile.”

The next thing I know, I’m leaning forward, closing the distance between us. My hand finds the nape of her neck, pulling her to me. Her lips meet mine, soft and warm, and in that moment, nothing else exists. The worries, the questions, the fears—they all fade, leaving only this. My other arm circles her waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us.

Her scent, her warmth, everything about her fills me, drowning out the darkness. I trace her lips with my tongue, savoring the taste of her, the way she yields to me, moving in perfect harmony. My fingers tangle in her hair, and she lets out a soft moan against my mouth, a sound that sends a thrill racing down my spine.

And then, the words slip out, unbidden but undeniable. “I love you, Princess.” It’s a confession I’ve never spoken aloud, but one I know to be true with every fiber of my being. I love Lilac. More than a fated bond, more than destiny. Enough that I can’t imagine a life without her, enough that I’d give anything to keep her safe, to see her smile.

“I love you,” I whisper again, feeling her tense against me. She tries to step back, but I hold her, unwilling to let her go just yet. “Look at me, Princess.”

Slowly, she raises her eyes to meet mine, and in them, I see the questions, the doubt. “Do you really think you can love me?” Her voice is a fragile whisper.

I take her hand, pressing it to my chest, where my heart beats a steady rhythm beneath her touch. “Do you feel that, Princess? This heart was made to beat for you, and you alone.”

She blinks, her eyes growing glassy. “Carla says I’m your fated,” she murmurs. “But if I weren’t, would you still... feel this way? What if it’s just the bond?”

“Carla,” I mutter, frustration threading through my tone. “I don’t think I love you, Lilac. I’m telling you that I do—regardless of any bond between us.”

Before she can protest, I kiss her again, silencing the doubts, the questions. I pull back, resting my forehead against hers. “The Fates knew I’d fall for you, that’s why you’re my fated. Can you think of it that way?”

Her lips curve into a faint smile, and in that moment, it’s as if every wall between us crumbles, leaving only the two of us, no barriers, no pretenses. She doesn’t say the words back, but she doesn’t need to. The way she looks at me, with a depth that goes beyond words, tells me all I need to know. For now, my love is enough for both of us.

We walk back to our room, her hand warm in mine, a steady reassurance anchoring me to the present, away from the storm of worries clawing at the edges of my mind. The dark hallways feel less ominous, softened somehow by her presence. When we reach the bedroom, I pull her close, wrapping her securely in my arms as we settle on the bed. She fits perfectly there, nestled against my chest, her breathing soft and even as she rests.

As the silence stretches on, a thought that’s been nagging at me all night finally pushes its way to the surface, breaking free from the clutter in my head. It’s something I haven’t been able to shake, a question weighing heavily on my mind.

“Lilac,” I murmur, feeling the way her head tilts ever so slightly, her eyes half-closed but attentive. “Do you think I’d make a good king?”

She blinks, taken aback by the question, and I brace myself for her answer, unsure of what she’ll say. I’ve never confided these ambitions in anyone—not even myself, until recently. But with everything I’ve learned, with the secrets unearthed and the responsibilities weighing down on me, I’m beginning to see that the throne may not just be an option. It may be a necessity.

Lilac’s gaze softens, and she reaches up, her fingers brushing against my cheek in a tender gesture that somehow steadies the frayed edges of my resolve. “I think,” she begins, her voice a quiet strength that settles over me like a balm, “you have a good heart, Kael. And that’s what would make you a great king.”

Her answer catches me off guard, the simplicity of it somehow more profound than anything I could’ve expected. In her words, I find the reassurance I didn’t realize I’d been searching for, a quiet confirmation that perhaps this path I’m considering isn’t as misguided as I feared.

As I close my eyes, pulling her close once more, her words linger, echoing in the quiet of my mind. I’ve never craved power or titles, but for the first time, the idea of stepping up, of claiming what might be rightfully mine, feels less like an obligation and more like a calling. Lilac’s faith in me, her unwavering trust, stirs something within me—a resolve that feels unbreakable.

In the silence, with her heart beating softly against mine, I make a silent vow. I will restore Lycania. For my mother. For all those who’ve lost their lives unjustly. And for Lilac, who sees something in me even I struggle to see.

With that promise etched firmly in my heart, I finally let myself drift into sleep, my mind quiet for the first time in what feels like forever.