Chapter 182

Bianca

“I loved you.”

The words felt like a bullet slamming into my chest.

Loved. He loved me.

Not love. But once, he did love me. Just as I loved him.

“Past tense,” I blurted out before I could stop the words. “You loved me.”

Isaac’s jaw clenched. “What the fuck do you expect me to say, Bianca? That I still love you? After you let me believe you were dead for five years? After you kept my son from me?”

“I did what I had to do to protect him.”

“From me,” Isaac laughed bitterly. “You protected him from me, his father, because you actually thought I was capable of—” He broke off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

I looked down at the documents spread across the table. My father’s handwriting. My father’s plan to have me killed.

Could it be true? Could my own father have wanted me dead?

It wasn’t hard to believe, honestly. Oliver Ravenwood had never shown me an ounce of real affection. And he had had my mother killed.

Goddess, how could I have let myself believe that Isaac had been the one to order my death?

Isaac sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. When he looked back up at me, some of the anger in his gaze had faded. “You were right about one thing,” he said quietly. “I’m not a true Thorne. Not by blood, anyway.”

Even though I’d suspected it for years, hearing him confirm it still sent a jolt through me.

“My mother was a servant in the palace. The Queen had her killed—or perhaps she paid her off, gave her enough money to disappear. I don’t know for sure. But my father had no hand in that.”

A small, ugly part of me wanted to laugh. So I had been right about that, if nothing else. He had lied to me—let me believe, throughout all the time we spent together, that he was the Queen’s son. He had let me prop him up, help him in his quest to take the throne, when he really had no claim to it.

If only he had just told me, then I would have helped him.

“So technically, I’m not suitable for the throne by blood,” he went on. “But it was my father’s last wish for me to take it. He knew my brothers would make incompetent rulers. I’ve always worked harder for it, cared more about our people than they ever did.”

“So the playboy act—”

“Started off as a facade,” Isaac admitted, glancing at Ethan. “A way to keep my brothers from examining me too hard and potentially finding out about my true lineage. But I got too comfortable with it, and for several years, it became more real than not.”

I wasn’t sure if I could fault him for that. Not entirely, anyway. But I was still pissed that he had lied to my face.

Then again, I supposed now we’d both lied to each other.

“In the beginning,” Isaac continued, “when I first met you, I only wanted to have a suitable heir to solidify my claim to the throne. I figured having a family, especially with someone like you, would be an easy way to appear competent enough to take the throne.”

That stung, even though I’d suspected it. I looked away, blinking hard to dispel the tears that had begun to form.

“But,” he went on, his voice softening, “that changed. After I fell for you, I stopped caring so much about the throne. I just wanted a family with you, Bianca. I wanted you.”

I took a deep breath and glanced back at him. The sincerity in his eyes made my heart twist.

The silence stretched on for several long moments. Zane shifted beside me, and I could feel the distrust radiating from the hard set of his shoulders like heat. He still didn’t trust Isaac, and I couldn’t blame him. I still didn’t know if I could trust him, either.

Isaac, as if reading my thoughts, said, “I understand if you don’t believe me. I understand if you never trust me again. But there’s one thing I need to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“Can I meet him?” Isaac asked. “Our son. Just once. I just… I need to see him, Bianca. Please.”

The request punched the air out of my lungs. My first instinct was to refuse, of course. But then I thought about Callum and all the questions he’d started asking about his father. About the way his eyes lit up whenever the topic came up and the way his little face fell whenever I told him that he could never meet Isaac.

“I’ll… consider it,” I choked out. Zane snapped his head toward me, but I didn’t look at him. I didn’t look at Isaac or Ethan, either. I just stared at my lap, silently wondering why I was even considering this. All the while, my wolf howled with relief.

“Thank you,” Isaac whispered. “That’s all I ask.”

As Zane and I prepared to leave, I couldn’t help but glance back at Isaac one more time. He was watching me go, and the longing in his eyes made a scar that had long since healed in my heart suddenly crack open for the first time in five years.

Had I made a terrible mistake? Had I stolen five years from a father who had never meant his son any harm?

The thought haunted me all the way back to Silvermist.

I arrived home just after dawn, so exhausted I could barely keep my eyes open as I pulled my rusty pickup truck down the driveway leading to the manor. I had dropped Zane off at his parents’ house—he wasn’t really talking to me, still thinking I was being foolish—but Clara was waiting for me, wringing her hands on the front porch as the morning mist swirled around the eaves.

She didn’t speak, just pulled me into a tight, bone-crushing hug before I’d even fully ascended the stairs to the porch.

“He knows,” I whispered into her shoulder. “Isaac knows I’m alive.”

Clara had heard the news, of course. She didn’t let go. “What happened? Are you alright? Did he threaten you?”

Once we made our way inside, where steaming cups of coffee were waiting for us, I explained everything as Clara listened. When I was finished, she sat in silence for several long moments, staring into her now-cold coffee.

“Do you believe him?” she finally asked.

I thought about it for a long moment. Did I believe Isaac? I wanted to. My wolf certainly wanted me to.

For five years, all I’d ever wanted was to do what was best for my son. And during those cold, lonely nights, laying alone in my bed, all I could think about was the fact that what was best for my son was giving him a family.

I had often dreamed of Isaac exonerating himself, of coming to me, finding me, making everything right so the three of us could be together. And now that it seemed possible…

Well, I supposed I was the one who had to exonerate herself now if what he was telling me was true. I had made Isaac mourn in the way no person should ever have to, just because I was too afraid to confront him. And I had kept Callum from him for all these years.

“I… I think I do believe him,” I admitted. “Which means I’ve been wrong all these years. I kept Callum from his father for nothing.”

“You did what you thought was right,” Clara said firmly. “You were protecting your son.”

“Was I?” I rubbed my hands over my face. “Or was I just a coward?”

Clara had no answer for that, and I didn’t expect one.

After Clara left, I went to check on Callum. He was still asleep, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I sat on the edge of his bed and gently shook him awake.

“Mama?” he slurred.

“Hey, baby,” I smiled, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. “Sorry I woke you.”

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “It’s okay, Mama. I’m glad you’re home.” He blinked owlishly at me. “You look sad.”

Leave it to a five-year-old to see right through me.

I took a deep breath. This was it. The moment I’d been avoiding for five years.

“Callum, how would you feel about meeting your father?”

His little face lit up, eyes going wide and mouth dropping open. “My daddy? Really? Is he coming here? When? Today?”

“Not today,” I said carefully. “But maybe soon. Would you like that?”

“Yes!” Callum bounced on the bed. “Is he big and strong? Does he look like me? Can he do magic? Uncle Benjamin said my daddy was a king. Is that true? Is he really a king?”

The questions kept coming, each one a fresh cut to my heart. All this time, my son had been wondering about his father, building him up like a god in his imagination. And I had kept them apart.

I knew, then, that I couldn’t bring myself to keep Isaac from him any longer. They had to meet, even if only once.