Page 16

Chapter

Sixteen

A BBIE

The scent of fresh bread and the chorus of clattering utensils welcome us, a stark contrast to the tension I just witnessed between Azalea and Kyson. .

“So what’s up with you and the King?” I venture, my voice barely rising above the domestic symphony as I glance sideways at her. Her gaze has a faraway quality, one that hints at inner turmoil and whispers conspiracies.

“Nothing.” She flicks a dismissive hand, but her eyes, churning with unsaid emotions, tell a different story.

“I just think he is hiding stuff. No. I know he is hiding stuff.” Her shrug tries to convey indifference, but it is a poor mask for the frustration lacing her tone.

“I asked him about the council and what happened the other day, and he never answered,” she admits, her voice dipping into the well of secrets that seems to pool between them.

I watch her closely, noting how her fingers trail along the countertop, skimming over the cool marble as if searching for answers on its smooth surface. There is a determination set in the line of her jaw. Whatever walls the King puts up, I know she will scale them, stone by unforgiving stone.

Oliver and Logan were sitting at the bench, chopping pancakes. I watch as Azalea affectionately messes up Oliver’s hair before eating a berry he holds up for her.

“Clarice is hanging washing,” Logan tells us. I smile down at them, while Gannon goes over to help Oliver use a butter knife to cut his pancakes up that he had been sawing at. Azalea looks in the fridge before pulling out some orange juice. She grabs some glasses when Dustin clears his throat. She looks at him over the fridge door.

“Your smoothie,” Dustin says.

“I got juice,” she says, holding it up and Dustin points to the blender. Azalea rolls her eyes, walking over to it. She grabs the jug before pouring the contents down the sink.

“My Queen, you know he commanded me to let him know what you are eating.”

She pours her juice, uncaring.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Tell him I am happily eating the lies he feeds me,” she says holding up the juice to him before drinking it. She places some cups on the counter in front of the boys with juice and hands me one. She offers one to Gannon and Dustin but they both shake their heads just as Clarice walks in from out the back.

Gannon looks over at her from feeding Oliver some pancake on his little fork, before straightening up when she glares at him.

“He needs to learn to hold the fork properly himself, Gannon,” Clarice says, she clicks her tongue before leaning down and kissing Oliver’s little head.

“He was struggling ma, let me feed him,” Gannon says, sending him a wink. Clarice swats Gannon’s ass with her tea towel before flicking the kettle on.

“Have you girls had breakfast?” Clarice asks.

“Yep. I had some home truths for breakfast,” Azalea says bitterly, and Clarice gives her a look.

“And how did they taste?” she asks.

“Bitter, like the King,” Azalea mutters, sipping her juice. I snicker, she was indeed in a mood, making me wonder if it might be the pregnancy hormones. You could just make out the slightest bump if you looked hard enough. Her belly no longer looked sucked in from malnourishment, instead her belly was flat with the slightest hint of a bump. It is trippy to see how fast Lycan baby’s grew.

“I heard you and the King had an argument,” Clarice says.

“You did?” she asks skeptically.

“Pretty sure everyone heard you both fighting on the stairs before you went to get Abbie,” Clarice chuckles. Azalea cheeks turn slightly pink.

“Well, if everyone stopped keeping things that involve me from me, we wouldn’t be arguing,” she says while looking around at everyone who averts their gaze as she says it.

Azalea looks around before biting the corner of her lip. “You all know what he is hiding,” she states.

Clarice busies herself with cleaning the sink. Dustin, meanwhile, finds a spot on the roof to stare at, and Gannon starts shoveling food in Oliver’s mouth so fast the kid soon looks like a cartoon chipmunk, cheeks full, chewing as fast as he can before swallowing and opening his mouth again.

Azalea growls. “Of course everyone knows but us!” she says, motioning toward me, and Gannon looks at me, giving a soft shake of his head. That movement does not go unnoticed by her either when her eyes go to mine.

I could never lie to her, and the knowing look on her face that I knew had me blurt it out like word vomit.

“Mr. Crux is your illegitimate cousin on your father’s side. The council are suspected to be in with the hunters and your blood is special because you can change humans into Lycans” I blurt out loud before I can stop myself.

Gannon drops the fork he was holding and Dustin and Clarice gape at me while Azalea blinks at me clearly shocked. He then growls before pressing his lips in a line. I had never intentionally lied to her, and I wasn’t about to start now.

“How hard was that? Geez!” Azalea says, sipping her juice. The room seems to let out a collective exhale.

“Wait! Crux is my cousin?” she asks like that is the most shocking information.

“Is that why he freaked out when he learned who I was?” she asks. But this time, I can’t answer her, so I look at Gannon, who growls again.

“No. Because of your parents’ gifts, they were probably worried you inherited them,” Gannon answers and Clarice hangs her head.

“What sort of gifts?” Azalea asks.

“I am sorry, I can’t tell you that. And Abbie wasn’t even supposed to tell you what she did,” he says, shooting me a look. Azalea looks at Dustin for an answer but not even he is willing to speak up about it. She puts her cup down and shakes her head, tears burning her eyes. I wish I knew so I could tell her.

“I am over this crap! They’re supposed to be my family and no one tells me anything about them. Yet all of you had no issues telling me what a shit mother Marissa was to me!” she says storming off out the back door. Gannon and Dustin go after her but she spins around with a furious look on her face.

“Don’t follow me! And don’t come near me!” she snarls, and I nearly stagger back at the command. Gannon, too, rocks on his heels. She is gone before she even realizes what she had done. None of us thought we could move an inch to go after her.

“Bloody hell!” Dustin says.

“You bloody mindlink him! Because until she undoes it, neither of us can go bloody near her,” Gannon growls, then rubs a hand down his face.

“Wait! Even me?” I ask, trying to go toward the door she walked out of. However, my feet won’t let me go in that direction. At that same moment, Trey walks in completely oblivious to all us frozen. He is cupping his nose that seems to be bleeding and walks over to the sink.

“I thought you were with the King?” Dustin asks.

“I was. Until Liam called me a ferret face fucker, so I hit him,” Trey mumbles.

“Idiot. You don’t hit crazy,” Gannon says, and Trey glares at him before looking around the room after cleaning his bloody face.

“Anyway, I was left behind,” he says, shaking his head. “Where is the Queen?” he asks, his voice steady but bearing an edge of concern as his gaze darts from one corner of the room to the other, searching for Azalea. Gannon and Dustin exchange a silent communication that speaks volumes, their expressions a mix of resignation and unease.

“Did you get hold of the King?” Gannon’s voice cuts through the quiet, tension wrapping around each word like barbed wire. Dustin’s head gives a slow, deliberate shake, his hands clasped together as though in silent prayer or perhaps to stave off the urge to reach out and throttle something—or someone.

“He is blocking me out,” he finally admits, the weight of those words settling heavily on his shoulders. The atmosphere thickens with implication, and the unspoken truth lies between them as palpable as the scent of iron and antiseptic still lingering on Trey’s skin.

Trey’s hand cuts through the air with an impatient flutter, his eyes seeking answers in the midst of the kitchen’s sudden stillness. “Ah, hello? Where is the Queen?” There is a trace of frustration lacing his question this time, as if he expects Azalea to materialize from behind the cabinets or beneath the table.

Gannon, who had remained as rigid as the granite countertops, fixes his stormy eyes on a spot on the wall, avoiding Trey’s probing gaze.

Dustin leans back against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest, the muscles in his jaw working silently. He finally breaks the silence. “She commanded us, and none of us can follow her,” he says, his voice flat.

Trey’s hands drop to his sides, the gesture releasing some of his pent-up energy into the room. The surprise of Dustin’s words seem to anchor him to the spot, and for a moment, the only sound is the faucet dripping steadily in the background—marking the passing seconds of tension within the kitchen walls.

Trey’s next question hangs heavy in the charged air, his brow furrowed with sudden comprehension. “She figured it out?” His voice, a mix of awe and disbelief, echos my own thoughts—Azalea had indeed.

“Where did she go?” he demands, urgency sharpening his tone. The words are barely past his lips when he makes for the door, his movements quick and decisive, like a predator homing in on its escapee prey.

Gannon’s reaction is visceral, a low growl rumbling from deep within as he turns to follow Trey’s gaze, his own instincts flaring at the betrayal of secrets. He moved with a swift grace that belied his size, intercepting Trey just inches from the threshold. His hand clamps down on Trey’s arm, halting him mid-stride, an unspoken command in the tension of his grip.

The muscles in Trey’s arm tense beneath Gannon’s hold, the air crackling with a current of challenge and restraint. Their eyes lock, two forces colliding without a word, each man’s resolve clear in the stillness that follows.

Gannon’s grip tightens on Trey’s arm, his knuckles whitening with the force of his hold.

“You aren’t trusted to be around her,” Gannon states, his voice firm.

Trey’s face twists into a snarl, shaking off the hold with a jerk of his shoulder. “I am the last person that would hurt her,” he spits back at Gannon, defiance flaring bright in his eyes.

Trey’s shove sends Gannon stumbling back a step, the force behind it betraying the anger and frustration boiling under his skin. A vein throbs at Trey’s temple, his jaw set in a hard line.

“Bullshit! You’re not under the King’s oath,” Gannon snaps, regaining his balance with an ease. His eyes narrow on Trey, searching for any hint of deceit.

Trey stands his ground, his chest heaving slightly. “Yes, not under oath to the King. But to the Landeena’s I am,” he snarls, his voice a low growl that seems to resonate.

Dustin’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles going white with the effort to contain his fury. “Bullshit! You were a dick to her when Kyson chucked her to the stables! And always interfering with my shifts,” he exclaims.

Trey’s face hardens, his eyes flashing a shade darker with memories and regrets. “I thought she killed my charge is why. I didn’t know she wasn’t Marissa’s daughter. The King said she was. I believed him.” He pauses, his voice dropping to a pained whisper. “If someone killed your King, would you like them or their family?” His demand hangs in the air, as raw and sharp as an open wound.

Dustin turns towards Gannon, searching for some kind of guidance. Gannon only tilts his head to the side, his gaze locked onto Trey watching him carefully searching for any deceit. His silent scrutiny seems to probe at the truth of Trey’s words, weighing them against every action, every choice they have observed him make.

The atmosphere hangs thick with unanswered questions and distrust.

“Whose charge were you?” Gannon finally demands.

Trey straightens, his shoulders squaring. His jaw clenches before he replies, his words carrying the gravity of confession. “Baby Azalea’s. I was the one that reported Marissa. About her getting Azalea to call her mummy,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carries in the silent kitchen like a shout.

The revelation seems to hang in the air, a piece of a puzzle falling into place with an echoing click. Gannon’s expression doesn’t waver, but there is a flicker in his eyes, a spark of understanding—or perhaps it is the beginning of more doubt.

“Those reports didn’t have your name on them,” Gannon states.

Trey’s face, already etched with lines of barely contained anger and frustration, contort further into a mask of indignation. His fists clench at his sides, knuckles whitening as he fights to control his rising fury.

“I had to fill out the same paperwork as everyone else did.” Trey’s voice is ragged, strained with the effort of holding back his emotions. He takes a step forward, his stance wide, ready to defend not just his actions but his loyalty. “You all know I come from the Landeena Kingdom! Fuck! I helped search for her for years!”

Without another word, Trey turns sharply on his heel. The door swings open with a bang, protesting against the abruptness of his exit, and then slams shut.

The door trembles in the aftershock of Trey’s departure, the silence thickening around us as we try to figure out what just happened.

Gannon’s jaw tightens as he turns toward Clarice, the lines etched on his brow deepening with concern. “Did you know that?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Clarice, her hands pause mid-wipe on the already spotless counter, meets Gannon’s gaze. She shrugs.

“I knew he was from the Landeena Kingdom, and was in the castle. But I thought he was a guard,” she says.

Her fingers resume their work, brushing invisible crumbs into her palm, each sweep a methodical attempt to order the chaos that had erupted in her kitchen.

Gannon’s fists clench at his sides, the veins in his forearms standing out like cords as he turns sharply on his heel. With a purpose that silences any residual murmurs from the other staff present, he makes for the door, his steps heavy and deliberate.

“I’m finding his documents,” he growls over his shoulder, not bothering to glance back at us.

He pauses, just before crossing the threshold into the foyer, his profile etched against the dim light filtering through the windows. “Mindlink the King and get him back here,” he says to Dustin.

“What? Why?” I ask, my confusion knitting my brows together. I know Azalea will get in trouble with Kyson for commanding her guard.

“Because, if Trey is indeed pact oathed to the Landeenas,” Gannon’s voice echoes back to me, “that means someone else in the castle was poisoning her.”

The severity of his words settles in my stomach like lead. All this time, their suspicions were misguided, pointing fingers at the wrong person while the true culprit lurked unnoticed. Which means Azalea is once again in danger.

“And we have been looking at the wrong person all this time,” he finishes before walking out.