Chapter 33 King Xavier- POV
He was no longer a man; he was a ghost, a silent witness to the treachery that was about to unfold.
Inside the chamber, the silence didn't last. As James moved invisibly back through the cracked doors, the "vultures" began to stir.
Through the connection the scroll provided, a faint ringing in my ears that allowed me to catch the echoes of the room, I heard the rustle of silk as Duke Vane finally stood.
"He’s gone mad," Vane’s voice drifted out, trembling with a mixture of rage and shock. "To spill noble blood over a... a commoner. A nameless girl from the mud."
"Is she nameless?" a sharper, feminine voice cut in—the Countess of Marrow. I could almost see her narrowing her eyes at the blood-stained table. "Xavier doesn't kill for commoners. He barely looks at the High Ladies of the court. If he brought her through the Dragon’s Throat, if he’s keeping her in the Royal Wing... she isn't a guest. She’s a gambit."
"A pawn," Earl Thorne’s voice was like grinding stone. "The Hearts. Could she be one of them? We heard rumors of a survivor in the borderlands. If the King is trying to forge an alliance with the ghosts of the past, we are all in danger."
"We need to see her," Vane hissed. I heard the sound of a fist hitting the table, right next to Harken's cooling head. "We need to know what she is. If she’s his heart, we’ll cut it out. If she’s his weapon, we’ll turn it against him. No woman is worth the life of a Viscount."
I leaned my head against the cold stone of the hallway, a dark, jagged smile playing on my lips. They were already plotting. They were already trying to find a way to use her.
They saw her as a girl, a vulnerability. They didn't know she was a Heart. They didn't know she was a blade I had sharpened myself in the heat of a burning cottage.
Let them try, I thought, the Draconian fire in my veins flickering to life. Let them search for her. By the time they realize she isn't the pawn—that she’s the Queen—the game will already be over.
I pushed off the wall and began the long walk toward the gardens. James would stay in the shadows, recording every name and every threat.
But I needed the sun. I needed the scent of lilies and the sight of a woman who looked at me not as a crown to be stolen, but as a man to be saved.
I was going to Elena. And god help anyone who stood in my way.
The walk to the gardens was a slow descent from the freezing atmosphere of the council to the humid, living warmth of the conservatory.
As I moved, I stripped the heavy, blood-flecked outer coat, tossing it to a page without a word. I couldn't go to her smelling of death. Not today.
I pushed open the glass-paned doors to the South Garden.
The air changed instantly, floral, damp, and sweet. The light filtered through the crystalline ceiling in soft, golden shafts, dancing over the ferns and the koi ponds. And there, seated by a marble fountain, was Elena.
She looked small against the vastness of the palace, yet she commanded the space. She was sipping tea, her movements studied and elegant, the perfect picture of a noble guest.
A new maid stood behind her, fanning her with a rhythmic, hypnotic motion. To anyone else, it was a scene of domestic luxury. To me, it was a tableau of two predators waiting in a field of flowers.
As I approached, I watched Elena’s shoulders stiffen. She didn't turn around, she didn't have to. She knew my scent, my stride, the very weight of my presence.
"The cookies are excellent, Xavier," she said, her voice carrying across the water, smooth and untroubled. "Though the tea is a bit cold. Much like the temper of your council, I imagine?"
I stepped into her line of sight. I didn't sit; I stood before her, letting the sun warm my back. I looked at her, really looked at her. The dirt was gone, her skin was luminous, and she wore a gown of soft cream silk that made her look ethereal.
"The council is exactly as it always is," I replied, my voice dropping to that low, private register reserved only for her. "A room full of men wondering which one of them is next to lose their head."
I flicked my gaze toward the new maid. She didn't stop fanning, her eyes remaining fixed on the horizon, but I saw the slight tightening of her jaw. She was listening. She was a Heart agent, through and through.
"You’ve made a mess, haven't you?" Elena asked, finally setting her cup down. She looked up at me, and for a moment, the 'guest' mask slipped. In her eyes was the girl from the cottage, the one who had held me while I bled. "I heard a bell toll. A heavy sound. The kind that follows a funeral."
"Viscount Harken was indiscreet," I said simply. I reached out, my fingers grazing the petal of a lily in the vase Grace had brought. "He spoke of things he did not understand. He spoke of you in a way that required a permanent silence."
Elena’s eyes widened slightly, a flash of something—fear? or perhaps a dark, twisted thrill?—flickering in the amber depths of her pupils. She knew what that meant. In the world of the Drakes, 'permanent silence' only had one definition.
"You killed a man for my honor?" she whispered.
"I killed a traitor for his insolence," I corrected, though we both knew the truth. I stepped closer, leaning down until I could see the reflection of the garden in her eyes. "They are talking now, Elena. James is listening to their shadows. They know you are here. They know you are the variable they can't control."
I reached out, my hand hovering near her cheek before I pulled back, remembering the eyes that the agent maid, and the hidden palace guards, kept on us.
"They think you are a pawn," I murmured. "A farmer's daughter I plucked from the mud to spite them. They are planning to 'investigate' you. To find out what you are."
Elena leaned forward, her face inches from mine. A small, dangerous smile touched her lips, the smile of a woman who had been trained by Lana Heart.
"Let them come, Xavier," she breathed. "I've spent twenty years learning how to be exactly what people want to see. If they want a pawn, I will give them a pawn. And when they reach for me..." She trailed off, her eyes glancing toward the sharp, silver tea knife on the tray.
The slow burn of the morning air seemed to thicken. I wanted to pull her into my arms and hide her from the vultures, but I also wanted to stand back and watch her tear them apart.
"I told James to bring you to my chambers tonight," I said, my voice a rasp. "Not as a guest. As my shadow. We need to look at the maps, Elena. If the Council is conspiring with the Border-Breakers, we don't have weeks. We have days."
"And if your people see me entering your room again?" she asked, her brow arching.
"Let them look," I said, a dark smugness returning to my tone. "Let them wonder why the Monster of Drakmor sleeps with a blade at his side. They’ll be too afraid to ask which one of us is the one they should truly fear."
I turned to leave, but stopped, looking back at her one last time. "Enjoy the tea, Elena. And Grace?"
The maid's fanning stuttered for a fraction of a second. "Fan her well," I said. "She’s the only heart this palace has left."