Chapter 19

19

KILLIAN

" W hat's this?" Bleary-eyed, I stare suspiciously at the stack of files Edmund deposits on the table.

"If you're going to insist on going without proper security, you need to know exactly what you're up against." Edmund doesn't tell me outright that I'm an idiot for dismissing half of my guard last night, but it's written all over his face. "These are more detailed dossiers on all of the council members, their packs, their financial position before and after your father disappeared, and who their strongest connections are."

I push down the urge to tell him to get out. It's not Edmund's fault that I'm tired and grumpy. This is exactly what I asked for. This is what I'm here to do.

"Thank you."

Edmund shakes his head when he sees the whiskey glass sitting on my bedside locker. "You might sleep better if you weren't indulging every night."

Raising an eyebrow, I don't pull him up for telling off a prince. I need people who'll tell me like it is, and honesty is something I respect, above all else. Yet, I lie by omission, not correcting his assumption that I was drinking whiskey again last night.

I don't think it's any healthier to be obsessing over the glass Charlotte drank from, like it's my most valuable possession.

"I don't think that's the problem," I mutter bitterly, finally mustering the energy to haul myself to my feet and move toward the documents. My wolf is depressed and lethargic. He wants his mate. Even now, he demands we seek her out.

If she were in our bed, we'd sleep.

"Hmm," is all Edmund says as he fusses around, not really doing anything, just making sure that I continue my progress toward getting up and dressed.

"Can you arrange for some breakfast and a large pot of coffee to be brought up in the morning? I have a feeling I'm going to need it to get through all this, any time soon." The pile of papers is daunting.

It's one thing to read all of this, but quite another to map out the tangled web of friendships and matings that create alliances between packs and families.

"To get through all of this before the ball in two days, you mean." He taps the top of the stack. "Nearly everyone in here is going to be in attendance."

Zane has been keeping me updated on his own investigation, and I'm sure he's been given the same information. But I need to read it myself as well. It's my life on the line. I trust him to do a good job, but I have to look out for myself first.

Dragging a hand down my chin, I decide tackling my stubble can wait another day. I doubt I'll make it too far out of this room today anyway.

"You know, there's a faster way to assimilate most of this information," Edmund begins, drifting by with a freshly pressed tuxedo and hanging it up in my wardrobe.

"Really?"

I'm all ears. Anything to avoid losing a few days of my life to this tedious task.

"Yes. Ask Elodie. She knows everything about these people, and I'm sure she'd be eager to assist." Edmund narrows his eyes disapprovingly when I scoff. "She might not know the financials exactly, but she'll have a good idea of who has what to lose, and even better than all of this intel, she'll have heard all the rumours."

My immediate instinct is to reject his suggestion. My mate will not be pleased if she finds out I'm spending time with her sister. And yet, I know it's a good idea. If I plan on fulfilling my duty and keeping my family safe, I need that information, and fast.

"There's rarely smoke without fire," I concede.

The rumours that swirl around the palace, and elite society, are going to tell me more than any paper file can. I'll need to pay attention to both, but speaking with Elodie makes sense.

"Fine, can you ask Elodie to come and see me tomorrow afternoon? I'll make a start on this, and hopefully, she can fill in some of the blanks."

Edmund nods and backs out of the room quickly.

With a weary sigh, I move to the table and slide the top file off the stack, cursing when I feel the heft of it in my hand. There's a lot to study here.

Flicking the front cover open, I sit up a bit straighter when the name jumps off the page at me. This is a dossier on Cressida Webster, Charlotte's mother.

Even if I wasn't in danger, this is a background check I'd want to read.

As I settle into a chair, keen to absorb every bit of information I can about my mate and her family, my wolf finally perks up. He might not be physically closer to her, but this insight into her life at least makes it feel like we're getting to know her.

But the more I read, the more uneasy I grow.

Cressida's father was a member of the first council. As his only child, she took the position when he succumbed to ill health. The second son of a powerful pack alpha, he missed out on inheriting a territory of his own. Determined to make a success of himself, he ran numerous businesses and was a wealthy man well before the attacks on the royal family started.

His mate, by all accounts, was a quiet, timid woman, but beloved by all. I make a note of the location of their family home, on the outskirts of his brother's territory, and continue on to the information supplied about Cressida. It's factual and detailed, but doesn't read like the same person I met.

The file lists off her extensive work within the community and positions on various charity committees. She mated well, even if her father's original intention had been to arrange a match with one of the offspring: me. Given Dad was mated and had taken the throne, I imagine everyone assumed an heir would come along quickly. But it was almost fifteen years later when my father met his fated mate, and I came along, making me closer in age to Charlotte than to Cressida.

Cressida mated a wealthy alpha with extensive lands, and they welcomed three children. Although Daniel, Charlotte's brother, is already slowly taking over the pack, the council role should rightfully go to Charlotte. But as Zane alluded to, she's gone out of her way to avoid learning the ropes. Enrolling in every advanced warrior training possible, volunteering for dangerous missions taken on by the council's elite team and shunning all opportunities to schmooze with her mother's colleagues.

Some trouble at school and a general unwillingness to toe the line round out the impression of her as the black sheep of the family.

Elodie, on the other hand, reads like the perfect daughter. She's done everything she can to make sure she could step into her mother's shoes seamlessly. Nothing in this file tells me anything about what Elodie might be like as a person.

I flick through the photos clipped to the folder and smile as a gap-toothed picture of a young Charlotte falls into my lap. There's no mistaking the cheeky glint in her eye as she stands beside her sister, hip cocked, one white sock pulled up, the other, down around her ankle. Her knees are cut and grazed, and she looks bright and full of energy. Elodie, on the other hand, looks uncomfortable as she stands with perfect posture, holding her mother's hand, dead behind the eyes.

Cressida smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

Something about it makes me feel sad, and my thoughts linger on those little girls' expressions as I flick through the rest of the photos.

It's only when I get to the last one that my mind refocuses on the task at hand.

It's the Webster family again, except this time, Cressida is the little girl. The man. I recognise him. He has the same look Cressida wears, a politician's smile, that's well practised, but thin.

I set the image down on the table and narrow my eyes at it. I've seen him before, but I just can't think where. Closing my eyes, I tip my head back and try to rack my tired brain for the answer. My concentration is shot, my mate, is a constant distraction.

Go and see her. Then maybe we can focus.

Cursing, I open my eyes and stare at the intricate paintings on the ceiling. I know it's a trick, that my wolf is just using my memory lapse and exhaustion as a ploy to get me to do what he wants.

But I decide to do what he wants anyway.

I slip out of my room through the secret entrance my father told me about. There are no drawings or plans that include the hidden passageway and narrow staircase, but if anyone added up the dimensions of all the rooms and the overall length of the building, they might spot that something was amiss.

With my room soundproof for privacy, Ryker will never hear the soft click as I close the bookcase behind me, plunging the way forward into complete darkness. I count my steps until I reach the point where my father said there would be a turn and then steps, barely wide enough for one grown man to fit down.

Sure enough, I find it where he said it would be. Using my hands to feel along the bare brick walls, I search for the place where the secret passageway veers off to the right.

This is reckless. He told me to only use it in the direst of emergencies lest I give away its existence.

But I need to see her. I won't be able to rest until I give my wolf what he wants.

At the bottom of the stairs, there's another immediate turn, and I breathe deep, blocking out the feeling of the walls closing in that's making my heart beat faster. I hate small spaces, and my wolf doesn't like being in the dark. Blame it on the attack drills my father used to run when I was a child, where he'd hide us in a dark cellar until he could clear the house and return.

I hated it.

When I get to the end of the long, narrow corridor, I have no idea how far I've travelled. It seemed endless, although maybe that's because I feel so claustrophobic. I'm definitely no longer underneath the palace. The walls are damp, and the smell of earth hangs in the air. The stairs here go up, and the tightness in my chest loosens as a waft of fresh air reaches me. Chinks of light break through above me, and filter in around the old wrought iron door.

Using my full body weight, I manage to pull it open, revealing a tangle of brambles and branches. I'm in the woods now, but not anywhere that's been visited for a long time. With difficulty, I battle my way through the thicket, yanking the door closed behind me. I carefully replace the scrub to hide the entrance and pray for a downpour later tonight to wash away any traces of my scent.

She's close.

I can't scent her, but my wolf has been finely attuned to Charlotte's presence. He can feel her, and I trust him to lead the way through the dense forest and ancient trees. Eventually, we emerge behind the staff quarters, facing the palace in the distance. It's lit up against the night sky and looks magnificent. I should be grateful that I get to call this place home, yet all I feel right now is the weight of responsibility and resentment that I can't just do as I please.

Refocusing on the bunkhouse in front of me, I creep closer. I can hear music coming from one of the bedrooms and a TV blaring in another. Stooping low, I jog around the outside until I pick up her heavenly scent. The gym. Music pumping and the clang of iron call to me.

Fuck, the strength of my reaction to her will never cease to surprise me.

I planned on just coming here to reassure my wolf that she's safe. But now… I have to see her. I just can't stay away.