<h4>Chapter 309: That’s What I Thought</h4>


    Damien hesitated.


    Kyllian let out a long breath. "That’s what I thought," Kyllian said quietly. "We are not doing this. You cannot be trusted." He looked Damien in the eyes and let the truth sit there.


    "Kyllian," Damien said. "I know we have our differences, but trust me when I say this: Luna is my life. Without her, I am nothing. I will do whatever it takes to put an end to this."


    "What do you need?" he asked, his eyes narrowing just enough to show that whatever was about to be said wouldn’t be taken lightly.


    Damien spent the next few minutes pacing slowly along the edge of the battlements as he talked. Heid the n out in precise terms — the false narrative about Talon, the bait for Isolde, the traps hidden inside traps.


    When Damien was finished, Kyllian nodded in understanding and moved to another pressing matter. "Any word from Morvakar about what to do with the Moon Goddess taking over Mabel’s unborn child?" he asked.


    "He wants to get his powers back," he said finally. "He’s currently in purgatory. I don’t know how long it will take. How is she, Mabel?"


    For just an instant, the Alpha King’s mask slipped. Damien caught it — the flicker of longing in Kyllian’s eyes, the way his shoulders went rigid before he answered. "She...she is doing great."


    <fn879e> For original chapters go to F?ndNovel</fn879e>


    "Well, I’ll be damned," Damien murmured.


    Kyllian’s brow furrowed. "What?"


    "She is pregnant, Kyllian," Damien said, stepping closer. "She is carrying the goddess herself." He let the words roll slow.


    "Yeah. Why are you giving me that look?" Kyllian asked, suspicion in his tone but not enough to disguise the subtle hitch of his breath.


    "You are either fucking her or you n to."


    Kyllian’s response was a small, unapologetic shrug. He didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. The memory of Mabel’s scent rose in him like an ache. Herugh. Her eyes when she looked at him like she didn’t care he was a king, like she saw the man beneath.


    "My goddess, you have no respect whatsoever," Damien said


    "Well, not now," he said. "Maybe after the goddess is born." He ran a hand down his jaw as though the gesture might wipe the heat from his thoughts. "There is just something about her. I don’t know." His eyes went distant, unfocused for a heartbeat, as if he were looking at Mabel instead of Damien.


    "I don’t know why I’m even talking about this with you. Since when are we buddies?"


    Damien chuckled. "Goddess," he muttered, rubbing at his jaw where Kyllian’s fist hadnded earlier. "I haven’t had augh in days. It feels good." His eyes softened, though the shadows beneath them betrayed how exhausted he was. Turning toward his car, he motioned for Kyllian to follow. "Come on," Damien said. "I’ll take you to see Talon."


    They walked together. The castle gates yawned open for them as they both drove in.


    *****


    By morning, Blood Castles stirred with anticipation.


    Natasha stood at the entrance of the Royal Concubine’s Castle. Finally, she thought. Finally, someone who can clip the queen’s wings, someone to remind her she isn’t untouchable.


    The car door opened, and Isolde emerged. Despite her injuries from the staged attack, she looked radiant. Regal. Pompous. A woman reborn.


    "Mydy," Natasha said, dipping into a bow. "Wee back."


    Isolde’s smile was small but victorious, the type of smile that promised more battles toe. "It’s good to be back," she said.


    Natasha gestured gracefully toward the doorway. "Your quarters are ready. Head on in, and I will see to your luggage."


    "Don’t bother unpacking too much," Isolde said lightly, her gaze sweeping over the concubine’s residence as though it was beneath her. "I won’t be here for long."


    Natasha’s brow arched delicately. "Are you going somewhere, mydy?"


    "Yes," Isolde purred, lowering her voice. "Soon, the king’s castle will be mine."


    Natasha’s smile widened, the poison of her delight hidden behind polite charm. "As it should be," she murmured. Inside, her mind raced with schemes. If Isolde rose, Natasha would rise with her.


    Together, they moved toward the doors, the guards heaving Isolde’s trunks inside. Natasha trailed at her side, already plotting how to tether herself tighter to this woman who promised upheaval.


    But Isolde stopped suddenly, her eyes narrowing on the horizon. The king’s castle loomed in the distance, a fortress of power. She turned her body slightly, her lips parting as though she could already taste her future there.


    And then, like an answer to her thoughts, Damien appeared.


    He strode across the courtyard with his usual grace. Even with fatigue lining his face, his aura burned sharp andmanding. His presence alone shifted the air, silencing whispers, stilling movements. All eyes turned toward him—and the world bent to make way.


    Quickly, Isolde curtsied, lowering her head. "Your highness," she breathed.


    Damien’s eyes flicked briefly over her, unreadable. To him, it was a simple acknowledgment. To her, it was everything—a recognition, a promise.


    "Isolde." Damien let his gaze linger on her face just long enough to remind himself of the danger she represented. "How are you doing now?"


    "I and the baby are fine, your highness. Thanks to you."


    "Don’t worry. Those responsible for your attack will be dealt with appropriately."


    "Don’t be too hard on the queen, your highness."


    Damien’sposure snapped. "What I do with the queen is none of your business." He didn’t miss the quick intake of her breath or the way her spine stiffened under the reprimand.


    He dragged in a breath, reining himself in before he revealed too much. "Settle in. I will check on you soon. You are protected inside Blood Castles."


    "Of course, your highness." Isolde dipped low in a bow. Her eyes flickered upward once before she cast them to the floor again, and Damien caught it—the hunger, the calction. She believed she was winning. That was the trap he needed her to walk into.


    As Damien turned and strode away, the weight of the charade pressed against his ribs. He needed to learn to control his temper, especially around her. The game demanded subtlety, demanded warmth and deception. Yet all he felt was bile rising in his throat at the mere thought of ying the doting protector.


    He could almost hear Luna’s voice, using him of betrayal, her eyes full of that shattering disappointment that had been haunting him in every shadow.