Chapter 49

Marcus’ POV

I winced as a searing pain shot through my back, and my eyes fluttered open. The world spun around me. Where… where am I?

I tried to move, but the weight of my own body felt alien, heavy, uncooperative. A groan tore from my throat as another sharp pulse of pain racked my spine.

Consciousness hit me in pieces. I remembered the car… the shot… the chaos… And then—nothing. Darkness.

I shook my head, trying to force the fog out of my mind, but each movement made my back scream in protest. My vision finally cleared enough to take in my surroundings.

Wait… this is my room. How did I…? When…?

The memory of the ride back flooded me—the blur of streets, the numbing panic, Adrian’s voice cracking, the smell of blood, and my fingers trembling.

“Do not under any circumstances tell my father about this! Or else…”

Right. I had passed out before we even reached the mansion. I had fainted like a fool, unable to endure the pain.

I pressed a hand against my cheek, feeling fresh bullet graze wound. A shiver ran down my spine—not from cold, but from the memory of how close I had come. How close I had come to not surviving.

The door creaked, and my thoughts were violently pulled back to the present. Someone had entered the room.

“Oh! You’re awake, my lord!”

I turned my head with effort, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the window. A servant, I realized, though their expression was more cautious than warm. Concerned. Afraid.

I clenched my jaw, fighting the throbbing pain and the bitterness that curled in my chest.

“How’s your wound? I’ll get the doctor right away—”

“Who are you? Where is Adrian?”

I cut him off before he could even turn to leave. My voice was sharp, slicing through the room like a blade.

The servant froze, eyes wide, body stiff as if I had struck him. His lips parted, closed, then parted again. “Uh… Sir…”

I balled my hand into a fist, knuckles white. My mind was a storm, spinning with fear and anticipation.

“Speak!” I yelled, my voice reverberating off the walls.

The servant flinched, “Adrian… is dead!” he blurted, panic cracking his voice. “Sir…”

I felt the blood drain from my face, a cold, sinking weight settling into my chest. My throat tightened.

“What…” I muttered, almost a whisper. My words felt foreign to my own ears.

Before I could say anything else, movement from behind the servant caught my eye.

Cole stepped into the room. He is one of my father’s most trusted men.

“Not just him,” he said, his voice utterly devoid of empathy. “Every man you sent to Tungsten that night… is dead.”

A chill ran up my spine, crawling along my nerves. My stomach twisted violently, bile rising at the back of my throat. My body was screaming, but my mind couldn’t form a coherent thought.

“They disobeyed the order. They engaged with the royal palace, against every instruction. And Adrian…” He paused, letting the weight of the word hit me. “Failed to protect you.”

I could feel my pulse hammering in my temples. My chest felt hollow, as if the air itself had been sucked from the room.

“Then…”

Cole’s gaze bore into me, unyielding. “Yes. He knows everything.”

It hit me like a physical blow. My mind reeled. I couldn’t process it. I didn’t even know if I wanted to. My chest tightened, and I felt a tremor run down my arms. The room tilted slightly, the walls seeming to press in.

Without hesitation, I burst out of my room.

The world tilted violently the moment my feet hit the marble floor. My back screamed in protest, like a white-hot blade was dragging down my spine, but I ignored it.

I caught the edge of a gilded console table to steady myself and staggered into the hallway. The corridor stretched endlessly before me—red carpets swallowing my unsteady steps.

Father’s study.

That was the only place he could be.

I grabbed onto anything within reach—pillars, wall moldings, a passing statue—just to keep myself upright. Every step jarred my wound, but the pain barely registered beneath the crushing weight in my chest.

By the time I reached the carved oak doors of Father’s study, my vision was swimming. I didn’t bother knocking. I shoved the doors open with what little strength I had left.

They slammed against the walls.

There he was.

Seated behind his massive mahogany desk, posture perfect, expression unreadable. A lamp cast a golden glow across the polished surface, illuminating stacks of papers he calmly sifted through.

“Father.” My voice cracked.

I stumbled forward, my knees giving out before I even reached the center of the room. I hit the floor hard. The impact jarred my spine, but I barely felt it.

Without hesitation, I bowed.

No—

I slammed my forehead against the marble.

“Forgive me, Father.”

The sound echoed sharply in the vast room. Pain burst across my skull, but it was nothing—nothing compared to the dread clawing inside me.

I lifted my head.

And struck the floor again.

“I was reckless.”

Again.

“I failed.”

Warmth trickled down my face. Blood blurred my vision, sliding past my brow, dripping onto the marble beneath me. It spread like a blooming stain—like proof of my incompetence.

Still, the only sound in the room was the soft flip of paper.

He didn’t even look at me.

I hit my head against the floor again.

And again.

And again.

Each impact dulled the world further, but I welcomed it. If pain was punishment, then let it come. Let it break me before he does.

The papers shifted.

A page turned.

Silence.

Then—

“Enough.”

His voice wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

My body froze instantly.

I lifted my head slowly. Blood ran freely down my face, along my jaw, dripping from my chin onto the floor. My breathing was ragged. My vision swam, but I forced myself to look at him.

He was finally looking at me.

And his gaze was empty.

Not angry.

Not disappointed.

Empty.

“Fool,” he said flatly. “Did I ever order you to do something like that?”

The words struck harder than any blow.

My hands curled into fists against my knees. My nails bit into my palms until I felt skin break.

“Please,” I choked. “Give me one more chance, Father.”

The desperation in my voice disgusted me, but I couldn’t stop it.

“I swear. I will fix this.”

The promise left my lips like a vow carved in stone.

His eyes did not change. Not even slightly.

The ticking of the clock on the wall grew unbearably loud. Finally, he leaned back in his chair.

“Do not disappoint me again.”

The dismissal was clear.

I remained kneeling, blood pooling beneath me, my fists trembling against my knees.

I bowed once more—slower this time.

“Yes, Father.”

—

Duke Edric’s POV

Lena.

I let her name sit in my mind for a moment, rolling it slowly across my thoughts like a blade testing its edge.

Lena… your audacity.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

Marcus is a fool. My son has always had a weakness for pride. I told him not to engage. I told him Tungsten was not to be provoked—not yet.

And yet, like a child reaching for a flame, he burned himself and expected no consequences.

But you…

You committed something far worse.

A fraud queen.

Your title alone is an insult to order.

What gives you the right to step into my territory as if it belongs to you? To move pieces on my board without my permission? To strike at my son—however incompetent he may have been—without anticipating my response?

The crown on your head does not make you untouchable.

Steepling my fingers beneath my chin as I allowed myself the indulgence of imagining her expression when she gave the order. Was she smiling? Was she proud? Did she believe this was strength?

You think you can run wild now, just because they kneel and call you “Your Majesty.”

A quiet chuckle left my lips.

Enjoy it.

Enjoy the banquets. The music. The silk gowns and the chorus of empty praise. Enjoy the illusion that you have outplayed me. That eliminating a handful of men and embarrassing my son shifts the balance in your favor.

I slowly rose, moving toward the wall where the map of the territories hung—each border carefully marked, each trade route meticulously inked in red and gold. My fingers traced the line that separated Tungsten from my lands.

You crossed this line so boldly. No hesitation. No permission.

That is not the behavior of a ruler who understands the weight of consequence.

It is the recklessness of someone who has never truly lost.

“I will make you repent,” I murmured softly into the empty room.

Slowly. Deliberately. Until that radiant smile of yours fractures under pressure.

My hand curled into a fist behind my back.

You will learn that territory is not merely land.

It is influence.

It is fear.

It is patience.

And I have far more of all three than you do.

“You won’t be smiling any longer,” I said quietly, the promise settling into my bones like iron.