The Voice in the Dark

"Rusk."

Lucien's voice was low, rough from disuse, and carried through the room like a drawn blade.

The captain entered with his sword half out. He stopped when he saw the prince's open eyes.

"Bring Ives. Seal these apartments. No one enters without my order."

Rusk obeyed before surprise left his face.

Lucien released my wrist as soon as he saw me flinch. His hand turned beneath mine instead, palm open on the sheet.

"You are safe here. Tell me what was given to you."

"I do not know. There was a cloth."

His gaze sharpened. The wolf moved to the door and stood across it.

Dr. Ives arrived carrying her bag. Lucien tried to rise, and pain cut across his face so suddenly that I caught his shoulder.

"Do not," the doctor ordered. "You will tear something that is barely holding."

He sank back, furious with the effort it cost him.

"Treat her first."

She checked my eyes and pulse, asked precise questions, and gave me something bitter in a small glass. A cool cloth followed. Slowly, the unbearable heat began to loosen its grip.

Lucien watched every movement.

When she asked who had been in the receiving room, I looked at the door.

"My brother," I said. "He is twelve. He is still at Briar Hollow."

Lucien understood before I finished.

"Rusk, send men for Owen Vale. Quietly. Place him under my protection, and bring him here."

I caught his hand. "Please do not let my father turn them away."

"He cannot."

He said it without raising his voice, without adding a promise he could not explain. Rusk was already giving instructions outside.

I began to shake.

The doctor put a blanket around me. Lucien's fingers closed over mine, not restraining, simply staying.

"You do not have to tell me his name tonight," he said. "Your brother will be protected whether you speak or not."

That was what broke me.

I had held myself together through the corridor, through Derek's threat, through the desperate certainty that any wrong word could kill Owen.

Now I cried so hard I could not make a sound.

Lucien looked toward the doctor with an expression I could not read. She touched my shoulder and moved to prepare another cloth.

He waited until I could breathe.

"Was it the man who brought the roses?"

I stared at him.

"You heard that?"

"I heard the servant announce him. I heard you leave. After that, I could not reach anything."

His jaw tightened. "I have never hated a closed door more."

"Derek Mercer," I whispered.

He repeated the name once, quietly enough to frighten me.

Then he asked Rusk to bar Derek from the royal wing and preserve the receiving room. Not to storm Briar Hollow. Not to make a public spectacle while Owen was still there.

He had listened.

Dr. Ives eventually helped me into a chair by the bed. The fever receded to an ache, leaving exhaustion behind. She said I should be watched through the night and made it clear that no succession preparations would proceed under her care.

Lucien looked at her.

"What preparations?"

The silence that followed was dreadful.

Mrs. Holt stood just inside the door, summoned by Rusk. She explained my title, the selection, the documents.

Lucien listened without interruption.

"My parents can discuss their lineage with me," he said when she finished. "They will not discuss her body as if she has left it in their custody. Remove those papers from her rooms."

Mrs. Holt bowed stiffly.

"And the meeting?" he asked. "Who authorized Mercer to be alone with her?"

"The pack liaison's office sent an approval bearing the royal seal."

"Bring it to Rusk. Until he examines it, every private meeting is suspended."

When she left, I studied his profile.

"You believe me."

He looked back. "You arrived drugged, frightened, and trying to protect a child. What part am I meant to doubt?"

I looked down at our hands.

Derek had spent years making every hurt feel like a misunderstanding I was too emotional to solve. Lucien had been awake for less than an hour and had asked only what I needed.

That frightened me in another way.

I did not know how to accept something without searching for its price.

His thumb moved once over my knuckles.

"You are waiting for me to ask for something."

I could not deny it.

A tired shadow crossed his mouth.

"I do need your help. But it is a separate matter. You are permitted to refuse."

"What help?"

He glanced toward the door. Dr. Ives was speaking quietly to Rusk outside; the wolf remained at the threshold.

"Very few people may know I am awake. Ives, Rusk, Holt, and you. My parents will be told when I can speak to them without being surrounded by advisers."

"Why?"

His fingers slackened. A sheen of sweat had appeared at his temple.

"Because illness did not put me in this bed."

The dark line around his wrist shifted beneath his skin.

I leaned closer despite myself.

"Someone did this?"

"Someone who still has access to this palace."

His eyelids lowered, then lifted with visible effort.

I wanted to ask a hundred questions. Instead, I wet the cloth and touched it to his forehead.

He went very still.

"Is that all right?" I asked.

"Yes."

I wiped the sweat from his temple. Such a small task after all he had done, yet his eyes followed me as though it mattered.

"You spoke to my wolf," he said.

I felt my face warm. "I thought you could not hear."

"I heard you tell him you had nowhere to go."

I looked at the bowl rather than his face.

"It was true."

"It need not remain true."

He was slipping away. I could feel it in the loosening of his hand.

Before he lost consciousness, his gaze returned to the locket resting against my dress.

"Nora, keep that hidden from Severin."

Then his eyes closed.

I sat beside him until dawn, holding the hand that had opened for me when I was afraid.