Chapter 193

Lucian stood fully, his towering frame casting a shadow that finally enveloped her, yet the heat radiating from Isabella’s skin ensured she was never in the dark.

He looked down at her, his expression a complex map of admiration and genuine concern. "Okay," The words were barely a breath, yet it carried the weight of a blood-oath.

Isabella blinked, her defensive posture faltering for a fraction of a second. She had expected a wall. She had prepared herself for the Sovereign’s iron-clad refusal—for him to tell her that she was too unstable, too precious, or too dangerous to be unleashed.

She had expected him to treat her like the fragile miracle the rest of the world saw. But as she searched his dark eyes, she found no patronizing softness.

Instead, there was a grim, respectful recognition of the fire he saw burning behind her irises. Lucian turned away from her, his boots thudding softly against the rug as he moved back toward the office table.

The room felt smaller now, charged with an electric tension that made the fine hairs on Isabella’s arms stand on end.

He reached down and sifted through the stacks of research until his fingers settled on a weathered, slate-gray volume.

It wasn’t as thick as the others, but the leather was scarred and the edges were singed, as if the book itself had survived an inferno.

He picked it up and turned back to her. Isabella watched him, her heart pounding against her ribs. When he held the book out to her, his arm was steady, his gaze unwavering.

She took it in bewilderment, her fingers brushing against his cold skin. She looked down at the title, but the script was in a language so ancient it looked more like a collection of claw marks than an alphabet.

"This is the Chronicle of the First note written on Lycan’s," Lucian explained. "It doesn’t explain how to shift but I believe it might help." Isabella’s face, which had briefly softened in surprise, hardened back into a mask of pure resolve.

She clutched the singed book to her chest, the weight of it feeling like a weapon in its own right.

Lucian’s lips tilted into the faintest ghost of a smirk as he saw the shift in her, the way her shoulders squared and her eyes lost their human hesitation.

He turned toward the doors of the study, his cloak billowing behind him. He didn’t wait for her, but he didn’t have to. Isabella was already moving, the archaic book tucked firmly under her arm.

The doors groaned as they swung open, venting the oppressive heat of the study into the cooler, drafty air of the hallway.

Lucian stepped out first, his presence commanding the corridor, followed closely by Isabella, who still clutched the singed chronicle to her chest as if it were a shield.

Waiting just a few paces away, leaning against the cold stone wall with his arms crossed over his chest, was Marcus.

His posture was deceptively relaxed, but the moment the study doors cracked, he straightened, his eyes instantly scanning the pair for any sign of a fresh eruption or a shift in their volatile dynamic.

"Sire," Marcus said formally, bowing his head slightly toward Lucian. He moved to step into their path, a roll of parchment gripped in his hand, his expression pinched with the kind of urgent news that usually demanded the Sovereign’s immediate attention.

Lucian didn’t slow his pace. He held up a sharp, silencing hand before Marcus could even begin his report.

"Hold it, Marcus," Lucian commanded "Whatever it is, it will have to wait until I return." Marcus blinked, his gaze flickering momentarily to Isabella.

He could feel the heat radiating off her, he looked back to Lucian, his concern evident in the way his jaw tightened. "But, Sire, the council...."

Isabella froze internally at the mention of the name, though her face remained a rigid mask. The Council. The word felt like a cold stone dropping into the pit of her stomach.

It had been so long since she had heard about them. She felt a spike of nausea. If they were been mentioned now, what happened? Isabella was curious.

"I am leaving with Isabella," Lucian interrupted, his tone final and brooking no further argument. "Those children can wait for a few hours. I cannot."

Children. Isabella’s pulse hammered. He was dismissing his own people in his world as if they were squabbling toddlers, all because of her.

The guilt she felt for the scars on his chest flared anew, mixing with a terrifying sense of debt. She wanted to tell him to stop, to deal with the threat before it reached their doorstep, but the words died in her throat.

She needed this. She needed to know what she was before the Council or anyone arrived to tell her she shouldn’t exist.

They continued toward the grand staircase, but Lucian paused just long enough to lock eyes with his most trusted servant, issuing orders that were both a tactical necessity and a warning.

"Secure the mansion. No one, absolutely no one is to leave or enter until we are back. If there is even a breath of trouble, you handle it."

Marcus nodded slowly, recognizing the gravity in Lucian’s eyes. "Understood, Sire."

"And find Clara," Lucian added as he began to descend the stairs with Isabella at his side. "Inform her that we are heading out into the deep woods. She needs to know where we are in case the... situation... escalates."

Isabella followed him, each step taking her further away from the safety of the mansion and closer to the possible truth.

She kept her eyes forward, but her mind was on Marcus’s troubled face. Lucian was shielding her from the Council’s reach, but she knew that locks and orders wouldn’t hold them forever.

Marcus watched them descend, the silence of the hallway returning like a heavy shroud. "I’ll tell her," he whispered to the empty space as the front doors of the mansion finally opened and closed, leaving him alone in the sudden, eerie silence of a house under lockdown.