Of course, Varrel didn't want Lethia dead. He hadn't pulled all those strings just to watch her throw her life away with a jagged piece of wood.
His jaw tightened, eyes sharp, and with a subtle tilt of his head, he gave the silent command to the oracle beside him to administer the antidote to Caelum.
In all the years he'd known her, never once had Lethia looked this broken. This defeated. Her trembling fists clenched so hard they shook, screaming how much she loathed him for what had happened to the man bleeding out on the floor.
It hadn't even been two fucking months since she walked away from him, and yet—why? Why was the woman he knew, who was colder than ice, now trembling over some man she barely knew? Was that bastard her fated mate?
The ponytailed woman crouched beside Caelum and swirled her fingers, making the silver dagger lodged in his back dissolve into a puff of black smoke.
