The scent of blood lingered in the air, mingling with the heady aroma of burning candles and herbs meant to ease the pain. The dim firelight flickered against the stone walls of Edric's chambers, casting shadows that seemed to move.
Genevieve sat beside the bed, her hands moving with steady precision as she cleaned the wound on Edric's chest.
The gash was deep, the silver poison had weakened him, but he was a warrior he would recover. Right?
She should have left. She should have walked away the moment she was given the chance, but instead, she was here, tending to him, caught in the cruel pull of the mate bond.
"You should have let me go," she muttered, dabbing a cloth against his wound.
"And let them take you from me? Never."
Edric inhaled sharply, his golden eyes locking onto hers.
"You didn't believe in me when it mattered. You stood back and let them condemn me." Genevieve's jaw clenched.
His fingers curled into the sheets, he felt like his control was slipping. "And I changed that, didn't I?" His voice was low.
"Not before I nearly died." Genevieve scoffed.
The room crackled, it was filled with tension, the space between them charged it was obvious that there were unsaid words, unresolved emotions but no one said a word.
Edric exhaled slowly, his muscles taut with restraint. "I will not lose you, Genevieve. Whether you want to admit it or not, you are mine." His voice was filled with something primal, something possessive.
Genevieve's fingers trembled against the cloth, her heart pounding as her mind betrayed her. "I belong to no one."
"Say that again." Edric's lips curled into a smirk.
She glared at him. He leaned forward, wincing as the movement strained his wound, but he didn't stop. His face was close to hers now, his breath fanning against her skin.
"You are mine, Genevieve," he whispered, his words felt like a dark promise. "You always have been."
A shiver ran down her spine, but before she could react, a knock echoed through the chambers.
"My King," a guard's voice rang through the door. "The Queen Dowager requests an urgent audience."
Edric's expression darkened. "Of course she does," he muttered before turning back to Genevieve. "We are not done."
"We never should have started." Genevieve pulled back, forcing her breathing to steady.
Edric let out a low chuckle, but there was no amusement in it. "We shall see, little black."
The Queen Dowager's chambers were always cold, always filled with an air of hatred. She stood by the window, her hands clasped in front of her, her expression unreadable.
"You should have killed the girl when you had the chance," she said without preamble, her gaze fixed on the castle grounds below.
"You underestimate the importance of the mate bond, Mother." Edric exhaled sharply, exhausted by the same argument.
She turned to face him, her eyes were as sharp as steel. "No, Edric, you underestimate the threat she poses. Evelyne has already begun sowing seeds of doubt. Rumors are spreading like wildfire."
Edric's jaw tensed. "What rumors?"
The Queen Dowager stepped closer. "That she bewitched you. That her very presence is a danger to the throne. And now, a noble lord has come forward with evidence, with testimonies that she plotted against you."
Edric's fists clenched at his sides. "And you expect me to believe this?"
His mother smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I expect you to be careful. Duke Reynard is mobilizing forces, Edric. War is coming. Can you afford to be blinded by a woman?"
His wolf snarled within him, restless, uneasy.
"She is not a threat," Edric said through gritted teeth.
The Queen Dowager arched a brow. "Then why does she make you weak?"
Edric turned on his heel and left without another word.
Genevieve had expected cold glares from the court, but now, there was open hostility. Murmurs followed her wherever she went. Noblewomen whispered behind their fans. Guards avoided meeting her eyes.
She wasn't naïve she knew this was Evelyne's doing.
She needed to act. She needed to fight back.
"You need to start learning how to avoid court politics," Isolde said as they sat in her chamber. That night she met with Isolde, one of the few allies she had in this wretched place.
Genevieve frowned. "Meaning?"
Isolde leaned in. "Meaning, you either become the prey or the predator."
Genevieve swallowed hard. She had spent her life surviving. Maybe it was time she started playing the game instead.
Edric found her later that night, pacing in her chambers, her thoughts a whirlwind of frustration.
She barely had time to react before he was in front of her, gripping her wrist. "You're hiding something," he murmured.
"And you're a brute." Genevieve's breath hitched.
"Perhaps." Edric smirked.
His other hand came up, brushing against her cheek, tilting her face toward him. The air between them crackled with intensity, it seemed raw and totally untamed.
"I could make you beg, little black," he whispered. "I could make you admit that you want this as much as I do."
Genevieve's heart pounded, "Curse the gods." She cursed beneath her breath as her resolve betrayed her.
But before she could respond, the door burst open.
"My King!" A breathless guard stood in the doorway, his face pale. "Duke Reynard has declared war."
Everything became still.
Edric's expression darkened into something lethal.
Genevieve's stomach twisted.
War was here. And she was caught in the middle of it.