Chapter 199
ATASHA’S POV
Love?
The word tasted wrong in my head. I kept my face still, but something curled at the corner of my mouth before I forced it down. Maybe she wanted to say I was no longer the woman she could push around with a few tears and a soft voice. That would have been closer to the truth.
Naturally, I could not say any of that now.
I needed her to hold onto one idea and one idea only, that Cassian had wrapped his hand around my mind. and twisted until I forgot myself. I needed her to see me as a woman under control, someone who needed saving from her own husband.
This was the only way…
“Sister…” I let my brows draw together, let my voice thin just a little. “I… I do not understand. Are we not-”
“He must have brainwashed you,” Celeste cut in, voice rising. “That is the only reason. That is the only way you would choose them over me.”
Her composure started to crack.
The smooth, polished woman who always knew how to tilt her chin at just the right angle and smile at just the right time slipped. She looked like someone who had been told the sun would not rise for her alone anymore and could not accept it.
She had never been anything but the center of every room she walked into. This was the first time that center had shifted away from her, and watching her struggle with it would have almost been amusing if I did not remember what her selfishness had already cost me.
“You refuse to leave this place even when I am here,” she continued, each word sharper than the last. “You defend him. You defend this frozen fortress. You sit here eating like everything is normal while he locks me in a room and treats me like a prisoner. That is not you. You would never let anyone treat me like that. You would never put strangers above your own blood. This is not you, Atasha. He changed you.”
She spat the last three words out as if they were poison.
There it is, I thought.
She pushed back from the table so hard the chair legs scraped against the floor. “We must leave this place,” she said suddenly.
I stilled. “Leave?” I repeated. “What do you
mean?”
“You and I,” Celeste said. “We have to get out of here. We will go back to the South. We will speak to the Beta and wait for father to wake up. Once they see what he has done to you, once they see how he is using you, they will not allow it. We will fix this. We will take you home, away from him, away from this cursed fortress. You do not belong here, Atasha. You belong with us.”
There it was again, that small slip.
She did not say, “I will take you somewhere safe.” She said, “We will take you home.” She said, “We will fix this.” She already saw herself as the one leading me by the hand, dragging me back to the life where I never questioned her place above mine.
My mouth opened, ready to feed her exactly the piece of helplessness she wanted to hear.
As if on cue, a knock sounded on the door.
“Your Highness,” Grace said. “Forgive the interruption. You are needed in the infirmary.”
I met the door with my eyes first, then let my gaze slide to the side where I knew Grace would be standing with the guards. I pictured her face, the way we had spoken earlier, the brief exchange when she brought the last set of reports.
Grace really did know how to play a part when she needed to.
I pushed my chair back and rose to my feet. The movement was calm, almost casual, as if a summons like this were nothing new, as if I had not just been asked to escape the North and run back to the people who sold me.
Celeste’s hand shot out and wrapped around my wrist. “Stop,” she said sharply. “You are not going anywhere. We are not done talking.”
I looked down at her fingers on my skin, then up at her face.
“I am going to the infirmary,” I said. “There are wounded men waiting. This conversation can continue later.”
Her grip tightened. “Then I am coming with you.”
I shook her hand off. “Do as you wish,” I said. “Just do not stand in my way.”
I turned toward the door without waiting to see her expression. My heart beat a little faster, not from fear, but from the quiet satisfaction curling through me.
Of course you will come, I thought. You cannot resist a chance to see what is happening, to measure what you can gain from it. You are nothing if not consistent.
If there was one thing I could always count on with Celeste, it was that she would choose herself first in every situation. She would chase power, attention, and control the same way she always had. All I needed to do was set the stage and walk in the direction she could not ignore.
The guards straightened as I opened the door. Grace bowed her head, eyes flicking over my shoulder for the briefest moment to confirm Celeste was indeed following.
“Your Highness,” Grace said. “The carriage is waiting. They brought in another patrol from the eastern border. One of them is in bad condition.”
I nodded and stepped into the corridor. The air felt cooler here, carrying the faint smell of snow and smoke from the courtyard. Celeste hurried to my side, skirts whispering around her ankles, her chin lifted in that proud angle she wore like armor.
Neither of us spoke as we walked.
The silence stretched between us all the way down the stairs, past the rows of guards who bowed as we passed, out into the open where the wind bit at our faces. The carriage stood ready, wheels edged with snow, horses stamping against the cold.
I climbed in without assistance. Celeste followed, settling across from me, hands clenched in her lap. The door shut with a dull thud, and the carriage lurched forward.
She watched me the whole time, eyes flicking to my face, then to my hands, then back again, as if she could find some crack in the mask I had chosen to wear. I let my gaze drift toward the small window, watching the fortress blur past. The courtyard stained earlier by blood now held only scattered marks, covered slowly by falling flakes.
Fine, I thought. Study me. You will see what I want you to sec.
The ride did not take long. Soon the distant sounds of strained voices and clattering metal reached us even through the carriage walls. When we stopped, I stepped down first. The cold air hit me fully, sharper here, tinged with the sour scent of herbs and blood that leaked from the infirmary doors.
I did not wait to see if Celeste would hesitate.
I moved, skirts brushing the stone as I crossed the narrow path and pushed into the long hall that had already become too familiar. The heat inside hit me in a wave. Cots still crowded the room, though fewer were occupied now. The ones that remained held the worst cases, the men who had not yet turned the corner toward recovery.
Mendez spotted me before I had taken three steps. He broke away from a cluster of healers and crossed the room, bowing his head once.
“Your Highness,” he said. “Thank you for coming. One of the scouts from the eastern watchtower returned with a grave wound. The healer on duty did what he could, but the bleeding will not stop.”
I nodded, my eyes already scanning the rows. “Where is he?”
“This way,” Mendez said, turning on his heel.
I followed him down the narrow gap between the cots. I could feel Celeste behind me without needing to look. The murmurs in the room lowered as soldiers noticed us pass, some bowing their heads, others watching with the kind of wide, curious eyes they reserved for stories they did not quite believe.
We stopped beside a cot near the far wall.
The man lying there was young, younger than he should have been to have that many scars on his arms. His tunic had been cut away on one side. Bandages wrapped his torso, but red had already soaked through most of the fabric, spreading in a sluggish, steady bloom. His skin was pale beneath the grime. His breathing came in uneven pulls, each one shorter than the last.
The healer standing at his side stepped back the moment he saw me. “Your Highness,” he said, wiping his hands on a cloth. “The arrow pierced near the kidney. We removed the shaft, but the bleeding inside will not stop and his body isn’t healing fast enough. He is… slipping.”
Almost immediately, I reached for the blood-stained wraps and laid my hand gently against the skin just
above them.
The soldier flinched weakly at the first touch, eyes flickering open. For a second, he seemed to focus on my face. His lips parted, shaping my title without sound. I felt Celeste move closer behind me, felt her focus sharpen like a blade pressed to the back of my neck.
Good, I thought. Watch.
I closed my eyes and drew in a breath. The familiar pull started in my chest, that strange hollow opening just enough for the power to slip through. Heat bloomed in my palm, then spread into the torn flesh beneath it. The soldier’s breath hitched, then steadied as the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat began to slow.
The bleeding eased. I felt it before anyone could see it.
Under my hand, the ragged edges of the wound knit together. Muscle pulled back into place. The damaged vessels sealed one by one. The angry heat around the injury cooled to something more manageable. And then color crept back into the man’s cheeks, faint but there.
I lifted my hand only when I was sure the worst had passed.
The bandages were still stained, but the flow had stopped. The skin beneath my fingers felt warmer, steadier. The scout’s eyes closed again, but this time his face relaxed, jaw unclenching as his body finally moved away from the edge it had been balancing on. I knew his wolf was doing the rest.
“Keep him warm,” I said, my voice steady. “Change the wrappings and watch his fever. He should wake in a few hours.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the healer answered quickly.
I wiped my palm on a clean cloth before I straightened.
Only then did I turn my head slightly, enough to catch Celeste in the corner of my vision.
She stood a few steps back, as if she was afraid to come closer but could not make herself move away. Her eyes were fixed on my hand, wide and bright, reflecting the lamplight and something else, greed, fear, fascination, all tangled together until it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
That is right, I thought, letting my gaze slide away before she could see the small satisfaction there.
Look at what I can do and imagine what it would mean to have it. Imagine what it would mean to control it. Imagine what you could trade it for, who you could impress, who you could bend to your will.
If there was anything I understood about Celeste, it was that she could not look at power without wondering how it would feel in her own hands.
I allowed myself a small, inward smile.
