Chapter 21: Plague

Chapter

Twenty-One

PLAGUE

I can't stay in the guest wing.

Not with all their eyes on me.

Not with their burning questions hanging in the air like daggers waiting to fall. And who can blame them? I've been lying to them for years. Hell, I was even starting to believe my own bullshit.

I've practically forgotten who I really am.

My feet carry me through familiar corridors. Past whispering servants and bowing courtiers. Up winding stairs and through gilded archways until I reach the door I swore I'd never darken again.

My chambers.

The lock clicks open at my touch, recognizing me even after all these years. Inside, nothing has changed. The same white marble floors gleam beneath my boots. The same gauzy curtains drift in the breeze from the open balcony. The same forbidden medical texts line the shelves, their spines cracked and worn from countless nights of secret study.

They've maintained it perfectly.

Like a tomb.

Like they were waiting for a ghost to return.

The scent of jasmine drifts through the open balcony doors, and suddenly I'm back in the gardens. Adiir's lips on mine. His hands in my hair. The way he looked at me like I was something sacred right before I?—

Bile rises in my throat.

I murdered my best friend.

Even though he was trying to trap me. Even though he betrayed everything between us. Even though he was going to expose me to... to who? I still don't know who was watching through that lens. Still don't know who ordered him to record our moment of weakness.

Was it his father?

He always hated me.

My hands shake as I pick up a delicate glass vial from my old workbench. The amber liquid inside catches the light, reminding me of all the hours I spent here, studying healing arts I wasn't supposed to touch. Playing at being something I could never be.

Now look at me.

A healer after all.

Just another betrayal of everything I was meant to be.

"This is where you grew up?"

I whirl around, the vial slipping from my fingers. Ivy catches it with impossible grace, her ocean eyes studying the contents before setting it carefully back on the bench. She looks ethereal in her white Surhiiran robe, like she belongs here more than I ever did.

"You shouldn't be here," I say roughly, but I can't look away from her.

"Neither should you, from the way you're shaking."

My laugh is bitter. "I shouldn't be anywhere ."

She moves closer, and I fight the urge to back away. To maintain the careful distance I've spent years perfecting. But I'm so tired of running.

So tired of hiding.

"Tell me," she says softly.

"You can't understand," I say roughly, but my usual clinical detachment is crumbling. "What I did... who I was..."

"Try me."

Her voice is soft, but there's steel beneath it.

Something in me breaks. Maybe it's the gentle understanding in her gaze. Maybe it's the weight of secrets I've carried for so long.

Or maybe I'm just tired of running.

"His name was Adiir." The words scrape my throat like broken glass. "We grew up together. He was... everything to me."

Ivy settles onto the cushioned window seat, her white robe pooling around her like liquid moonlight. She doesn't speak, just watches me with those eyes that see too much. The silence stretches between us like a living thing.

"In Surhiira, alphas don't..." I run a hand through my hair, agitated. "It's not just frowned upon. It's forbidden. Especially among nobles. Especially for a prince." A bitter laugh escapes me. "But I loved him anyway. Had loved him since we were children, though I never dared say it."

The words tumble out now, like water breaking through a dam. "He was the Commander of the Royal Guard's son. We grew up together. He understood me in a way no one else did. When I would sneak into the archives to study medical texts, he'd keep watch. When I railed against the rigid traditions that were suffocating me, he'd listen."

I pace the length of my old chambers, unable to stay still. "I knew he didn't feel the same way. Couldn't. But that night in the gardens..." My hands clench into fists. "He kissed me. When he touched me like I'd dreamed of for so long, I forgot everything else. Every rule, every tradition, every consequence."

The memory of his lips on mine, his hands in my hair, sends a fresh wave of nausea through me. "But it was all a lie. He had a recording device hidden in his brooch. He was going to expose me. Destroy everything." My voice drops to a whisper. "So I destroyed him first."

Ivy's sharp intake of breath makes me flinch. Here it comes. The disgust. The rejection. But when I dare to look at her, there's only understanding in her gaze.

"I murdered him," I force myself to continue. "Crushed his throat with my bare hands. The hands I'd spent years training to heal, not harm. Then I ran. Couldn't face my mother's disappointment. My father's rage. So I became someone else. Became Plague."

The confession hangs in the air between us, heavy with the weight of a decade's worth of guilt. I can't look at Ivy anymore, can't bear to see the moment understanding turns to revulsion. Instead, I stare out at the gleaming white city spread below my old chambers.

"The worst part?" My laugh is hollow, bitter. "I became exactly what I always wanted to be. A healer. The thing that was forbidden to me because I was born into this ." I gesture at the opulent room, at the evidence of a life I tried to leave behind. "The path was carved for me before I drew my first breath, even though I'm the youngest of three. The spare of the spare."

My fingers find the spine of one of my old medical texts, tracing the worn leather. "I used to sneak these in, hide them under my bed. Study them by candlelight when everyone thought I was sleeping. And now..." Another broken laugh escapes me. "Now I'm exactly what I was never allowed to be. Just another betrayal to add to the list."

The silence stretches. I wait for her questions about my brothers, about why they haven't appeared to greet us. About where my father is. But they don't come. She just watches me.

"My mother hasn't said anything about my father. About the king," I continue, the words flowing freely now. "Or my brothers. And I'm afraid to ask. Afraid to know if..." I swallow hard. "If something happened while I was gone. If I abandoned them when they needed me."

My hands won't stop shaking. I clench them into fists, nails digging into my palms. "I keep thinking about what we'll discuss after dinner. About what she'll tell me. About who's still..." I can't finish the sentence.

"You don't have to face it alone," Ivy says softly.

The gentleness in her voice nearly breaks me. I whirl to face her, suddenly angry. Not at her—never at her—but at myself.

At the situation.

At everything.

"Don't you understand?" I demand. "I'm a murderer. A coward. I killed my best friend and ran away from everything instead of facing the consequences. I betrayed my family, my position, everything I was supposed to be. And then I became the one thing I was forbidden to be, as if to spite them all."

She rises from the window seat, moving toward me with that quiet grace that always catches me off guard. I back away until I hit my old workbench. Bottles rattle behind me.

"Stop," I warn her. "Don't... don't try to comfort me. I don't deserve it. Any of it. This second chance I never earned. I especially don't deserve you. "

But she doesn't stop. She reaches for my hand—a hand stained with the blood of countless ghosts—and I flinch away.

"These hands have saved lives," she says firmly. "I've watched you put our pack back together time and again. Watched you heal instead of harm. That's who you are now."

"You don't know what I've done. The lives I've taken as a Ghost?—"

"I know exactly what you've done." She catches my hand before I can pull away again. "I've seen you at your worst and your best. We all have. And we're still here."

I stare down at where her small fingers wrap around mine. The contrast is stark. "You should run," I whisper. "All of you. Before I destroy everything again. Before?—"

"We're not going anywhere." She squeezes my hand. "The past doesn't define who you are now. What happened was tragic, but you were young and scared and backed into a corner. He betrayed you first."

"That doesn't justify anything. I could have just overpowered?—"

"No," she agrees. "But it explains it. And you've spent every day since then trying to atone by fighting for a better world. By protecting instead of destroying."

The tears I've been holding back for a decade burn behind my eyes. "It was all in vain," I say hoarsely.

"You didn't know the Council was corrupt," she says, reaching up with her free hand and cupping my face. "You did your best. That has to be enough, Hamsa."

The sound of my true name on her lips shatters something inside me. A dam I've spent a decade building crumbles in an instant. My knees buckle and I sink to the floor, dragging her with me because I can't let go of her hand. Won't let go. She's the only thing anchoring me to reality as the carefully constructed walls I've hidden behind come crashing down.

"I don't deserve forgiveness," I choke out, the words tearing from my throat. "I let them think whatever horror their minds conjured up. Let my mother mourn not knowing if I was dead or alive. Let her wonder what she did wrong, when the failure was mine. Always mine."

Ivy's arms wrap around me, and I should push her away. Should maintain the distance that's kept me sane all these years. But I can't. I bury my face in her neck instead, breathing in her honeysuckle scent as tremors wrack my frame.

"And now you're here," she finishes. "With us. With me."

My hands find her waist, gripping too tight but I can't seem to let go. "I destroy everything," I warn her. "It's what I do. What I've always done. Everything I touch turns to ash."

She just looks at me, those aquamarine eyes seeing straight through every defense I have left. "I'm not afraid of your darkness," she says simply. "I have plenty of my own."

And somehow that breaks me more than anything else. My forehead falls against hers as the last of my walls crumble.

"I'm so tired," I whisper. "So tired of pretending. Of hiding. Of being something I'm not."

"Then stop," she says, like it's that simple.

Like a decade of careful control can just be set aside.

Like I won't shatter into a million pieces if I let go.

But maybe I already have.

A soft scuff of boots against marble makes me stiffen, but I don't pull away from Ivy. I'm too raw, too exposed. Let them see. I'm too tired to hide anymore.

"Well, shit." Whiskey's gruff voice echoes through my chambers. "That was heavy."

Of course he heard everything.

Of course he followed us.

I should be angry. Should snap at him to get out. But Ivy's fingers are still tangled with mine, and somehow that makes it... not okay, exactly, but bearable.

"What do you want?" I ask, my voice still hoarse.

"Just wanted to make sure you're alright." He shifts his weight, boots scuffing against the floor again. "The wildcat's right. We ain't going nowhere."

A bitter laugh escapes me. "It's anywhere ."

Whiskey snorts. "You're cryin' on the floor and you're still correcting me. Guess that's a good sign you haven't completely given up. We're your pack, asshole. Deal with it."

"I'm not crying. You don't understand?—"

"No, you don't understand." His honeyed eyes flash with irritation when I look up and meet his gaze. "We care about you, dumbass. All of us. Some of us… more than care, I guess."

I arch an eyebrow. "Do you now?"

"Maybe as much as Ivy does," he says carefully. "That answer your question?"

Heat floods my face.

"That's different," I mutter.

"Why? Because of what happened with that other guy?" Whiskey scoffs. "If you're confused, I'm not Adiir. I don't even look like my name could be Adiir. Way too fancy."

That startles a laugh out of me. "No," I admit. "That's true."

He grins a little, but it's not the usual shit-eating grin I've longed to smack off his face in the past. It seems genuine. Then it softens into a smile.

"It's Colt," he says.

All I can do in response is stare at him.

Did he just tell us his name?

Ivy's having the same realization, judging by the way she's now staring at him, too. "Your name is Colt?" she asks.

"Yup."

I blink. "Like Colton?"

"NO. JUST COLT."

Ivy barely suppresses a laugh.

His face flushes red. "Why does everyone always ask that?" he mutters.

"Because it's a logical assumption," I say dryly. Some of the heaviness in my chest eases as we slip into our usual comforting bickering. "Of course your name is Colt. It fits."

"It's a good name for a soldier," Ivy agrees.

"Or a stubborn horse," I add.

He snorts a laugh, walking over to join us, his boots heavy on the woven carpet. "Yeah, well, Hamsa fits you, too. Fancy and pretentious." He smirks. "Kinda disappointed it isn't really Eggbert, though. I was almost getting attached to that name."

" What ?" I stare at him. "Why would you think that?"

He shrugs those massive shoulders. "I don't know, bro, someone called you that once and it stuck. Figured it was why you're so bird themed. Gotta admit it was tough to get past it. Do you know how hard it is to come when you think someone's name is Eggbert?"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Must have been Valek.

"I cannot believe you've been thinking my name was—" I cut myself off, shaking my head. "No, actually, I can absolutely believe that."

Beside me, Ivy dissolves into giggles. The sound is infectious, and soon I'm laughing too. Really laughing, for the second time today. More than I have in years.

"What?" Whiskey demands. "I'm serious!"

"You're an idiot," I tell him affectionately.

The warmth spreading through me takes me by surprise.

When was the last time I felt this… light?

This unguarded?

Ivy's giggles fade into a contented hum as she leans against my shoulder. Her small frame fits perfectly against mine, like she was made to be there. The thought sends an unexpected pang through me.

I don't deserve this gentle comfort.

Don't deserve either of them.

But I'm too selfish to push them away.

"Maybe," Whiskey admits with that insufferable grin. "But I'm your idiot now. No take-backs, Your Highness ."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" I ask.

"Both." He drops down beside us, his bulk making the floor creak beneath the woven carpet. His honey-brown eyes dance with something that looks dangerously like love. He can't love me, no matter what he says. He just can't. But for a moment, I let myself believe he does. "Someone's gotta keep your royal ass humble."

"I assure you, that won't be necessary. I have enough humility to drown in right now."

"Bullshit," Whiskey says. "You're the smuggest bastard I've ever met. And I've met me ."

Ivy's shoulders shake with silent laughter. "He's not wrong."

"Betrayed by my own omega," I mutter, but there's no heat in it. My chest aches at how... normal this feels. Sitting on the floor of my old chambers, surrounded by the ghosts of my past, yet somehow feeling more present than I have in years.

"Get used to it, Doc." Whiskey's knee bumps mine. The casual contact sends electricity through me that I try desperately to ignore. "We're gonna give you so much shit about being a secret prince. Forever."

"Oh, joy." But I can't quite keep the smile from my voice.

Ivy's small hand finds mine again, her fingers tangling with mine. The simple touch grounds me, keeps me from spiraling back into the darkness that's been threatening to swallow me since we arrived.

"You know what this means though, right?" Whiskey asks, his tone taking on that dangerous edge that usually precedes something incredibly stupid.

I sigh. "I'm afraid to ask."

"You have chambers ." His grin turns wicked. "With a bed . A fancy-ass royal bed."

Heat floods my face. "Absolutely not."

"Aw, come on?—"

"We are not defiling my childhood bed, you absolute barbarian."

Ivy makes a choking sound that's half laugh, half mortification. But I don't miss the way her scent spikes with interest.

Traitor.

"Your loss," Whiskey says with an exaggerated sigh. "Could've been fun. Making new memories to chase out the old ones and all that philosophical shit."

The words hit harder than I expect. Chase out the old ones... isn't that what I've been trying to do for the past decade? Running from my ghosts, burying myself in violence and clinical detachment?

But maybe... maybe he has a point.

Not about the bed— absolutely not about the bed—but about making new memories.

Better ones.

"You're thinking too hard again," Ivy murmurs, squeezing my hand. "I can practically hear the gears grinding."

"Someone has to think in this pack," I reply automatically. "Lord knows it won't be him."

"Hey!" Whiskey protests. "I think plenty. Actually, I just had a really deep thought, didn't I?"

"Truly profound." But I can't help the fondness that creeps into my voice.

He grins, clearly pleased with himself for making me smile. The expression transforms his whole face, softening the hard edges of the warrior into something... sweeter. More vulnerable.

When did I start noticing these things?

When did I start caring?

"By the way," Whiskey says, leaning in like he's going to tell me a big secret. "I'm pretty sure you have a goddess , not a lord, or whatever else you say to pretend you're a normie like the rest of us."

"It really doesn't matter," I say dryly. "I'm not religious. Another thing that makes me the black sheep of the family."

Although my prayers seem to have been answered anyway. Ivy is safe, after all. And somehow, against all odds, we all survived.

Strange.

"We should probably get back," Ivy says reluctantly. "Before the others come looking for us too."

She's right. Of course she's right. But I'm not ready to face them yet. Not ready to leave this strange bubble of peace we've found in the last place I ever expected to find it.

Just a few more minutes.

"They can wait," Whiskey says, as if reading my mind. He stretches out his legs, making himself comfortable. "Pretty sure Thane's still having an existential crisis anyway. Bro's been dissociating since the cave."

Ivy's face burns. "I'd rather not think about that right now."

Whiskey looks over at her with a grin. "What? Got that post-nut clarity going after you sucked off Wraith in front of all of us?"

"Omegas don't nut ," she hisses like she's considering biting off a more valuable appendage than fingers.

I chuckle darkly. "Perhaps you could rewire his trauma with a better experience," I offer. "Just the three of you. You know, Wraith's sharp teeth could make for a… unique encounter, if you're careful."

The sweet scent of honeysuckle fills the air as Ivy's arousal spikes at my words. Her pupils dilate, those intense eyes darkening with interest even as she tries to maintain her glare at Whiskey.

Fuck .

Maybe I was wrong about Whiskey's horrible idea.

"Getting hot there, Doc?" Whiskey's voice carries that dangerous edge that always sets my blood on fire. His eyes dance with amusement as he shifts closer.

"Shut up," I mutter. "We don't have time anyway."

"Maybe later," Ivy says, kissing my neck, her voice whispering against my throat.

"I do know a spot," I muse.

"Well," says Whiskey, slamming his palms down on his thighs. "Before we get all heated up and start fucking in front of your childhood toys, we'd better get ready for the royal feast. We don't have time to do what I wanna do to both of you right now."

I laugh in spite of myself. "You have a point."

I do hate when he's right.