Chapter 145

Damon

The guards opened the chamber doors without a word, and Ella swept in like she’d been given a choice in the matter.

Her gown was pearl-colored silk, too fine for a war room and too soft for the cruelty she carried. Her hair was pinned with mother-of-pearl combs, her lips curved in a smile I would take pleasure in breaking.

She dipped a shallow curtsy. “Your Majesty.”

I didn’t return the greeting.

“Close the doors,” I said, eyes never leaving her. “No one comes in.”

The guards obeyed. The latch clicked shut with finality.

Ella’s smile didn’t falter, but I saw the flicker of tension in her shoulders. Good.

I stood behind the oak table like it was a battlefield map and she was the last enemy standing on it.

“You’re not here for pleasantries,” I said.

“Of course not.” She adjusted a ring on her finger with deliberate slowness. “These are tying days.”

“I want the antidote.”

Her eyes sparked with interest. Not surprise. Just calculation.

“So it’s true,” she said, walking slowly around the room. “You finally pieced it together. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to ask.”

“I’m not asking,” I snapped. “I’m ordering. You created the poison that suppressed her wolf. You’ve kept the cure to yourself. You’re going to hand it over. Now.”

Ella turned back toward me, tilting her head like a curious bird. “And if I don’t?”

Zane surged beneath my skin, low and growling. I didn’t let him out, but I let her see it in my eyes.

“You will.”

She smiled again, slow and satisfied. “I will,” she echoed. “On one condition.”

My stomach turned.

She walked to the end of the table and rested both hands on it, her eyes level with mine now. “You will formally announce your engagement to Elena Ashford within the week. A royal betrothal to my daughter who was supposed to be here in the first place.”

“No.” I snapped.

Her lashes fluttered, feigned surprise. “No?”

“I’d rather burn this kingdom to ash than tie it to the Ashfords again.”

“That’s quite dramatic,” she said, almost wistful. “But not unexpected.”

She pulled a small velvet pouch from her sleeve and placed it on the table between us. It made no sound when it landed. Inside, I could smell it: mild, herbal, tinged with magic. The antidote.

I stepped closer, “Where did you get it?” My voice was low, almost growling.

Ella tilted her chin, feigning calm, though I caught the faint twitch of her fingers tightening on her skirts. “Trade secrets,” she purred.

I slammed my palm against the table, the sound echoing through the chamber. “Answer me.”

Her smile thinned but didn’t break. “Does it matter, Damon? You’ll give me what I want either way.”

I leaned across the table, close enough to see the flecks of green in her eyes. “I’ll remember this when you’re begging for mercy.”

“Careful,” she said. “It’s delicate. The formula doesn’t keep. And there’s only one drop in there. Can’t have you taking it before our deal is done, can I?”

I stared at the pouch, desperation a new and unwelcome feeling.

She leaned forward, voice silken. “You have until sundown tomorrow. If you don’t agree to the engagement by then… I destroy it. No cure. No second chance. No recovery for your mate.”

My jaw locked.

She straightened. “You can threaten me, Damon. You can growl and snap and pretend you’re still untouchable. But if she dies like this, without her wolf, it won’t be because of me.”

She turned, slowly, gathering her skirts. “I’ll be preparing the full dose. Assuming you make the correct choice.”

She walked to the door. Her hand lingered on the handle.

“Sometimes,” she said without looking back, “sacrifice is the cost of power.”

The door shut behind her and I stood in silence, my hands braced on the table, knuckles white.

I forced myself to move. My fingers uncurled from the table’s edge, leaving faint crescents pressed into the wood.

I circled the desk, pushing scattered papers back into place with quick, jerky motions. A goblet had tipped during the exchange; I righted it, wiped the spill with the edge of my sleeve, then shoved the cup aside with too much force.

I paced the length of the chamber twice, boots striking the floor in a steady rhythm. Then I stopped abruptly, pivoted toward the desk, and set my resolve.

Zane had gone near-feral with rage and the instinct to defend our mate. It took everything I had to contain him and focus.

Part of me agreed with him wholeheartedly, but I wasn’t just considering the cost anymore, I was about to pay it.

I paced, staring at the vial. A single drop. And began a new letter. Its words were formal and perfumed in protocol. A formal agreement of intent. An engagement contract.

Nothing was sealed yet, but it would set everything in motion.

My name was the only thing missing.

I stared at the space where it would go, pen in hand, ink already staining the edge of my thumb.

The silence in the room was absolute. Zane had gone preternaturally still. He’d growled his disapproval, let me feel his fury. Now he’d gone quiet out of grief.

I pressed the nib of the pen to parchment. And paused.

I felt the distance in Lila’s every question, in her every glance. The weight of what I hadn’t told her was growing heavier by the day.

And now… this.

I thought of her voice when she said my name; soft at night, fierce when angry, breathless when she forgot how to fight me or when I sheathed myself inside her the first time.

I thought of her fingers brushing mine under the table at that first council dinner, as if testing whether I’d pull away. I hadn’t. But I was pulling away now.

I didn’t see another way.

I dipped the pen again and signed.

Each stroke felt like betrayal. Like a vow snapping under its own weight.

Damon Sinclair.

False King. Coward. Liar.

I set the pen down.

The seal came next. I pressed the molten wax flat, imprinting it with my signet ring. The edges hardened almost instantly, a red circle of doom where my love should have lived.

I stared at it for a long time. And then I stood.

I dragged the chair back roughly, its legs scraping against floor. My hip clipped the edge of the table on my way past, but I barely felt it.

A bone-deep cold seeped into me. My body ached from battle, from days without sleep, but none of it hurt as much as knowing what I’d just done.

I crossed the room to the window. The curtains were drawn halfway open, revealing a sky smeared with stars. The same one flickered, dim and unsteady.

I pressed my fingers to the glass. Every part of me already felt like it was being hollowed out, one oath at a time.

Would she still call for me when she learned? Would she hate me enough to leave?

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into the dark.

The glass fogged faintly with my breath.

“Please don’t hate me for this.” If she did, I could live with that. But if she died from this poison, I wouldn’t survive it.

The star didn’t provide any answers. But I stayed there a long time, unmoving, waiting for dawn like it might bring absolution. Or ruin.

I didn’t know which would hurt less.