Chapter 33:

"What did he do to you?" Caspian's voice is low, almost a growl, his eyes sharp and searching as they lock onto mine.

I try to hold back my tears, looking up to the high ceiling of his room to blink them away. 

He's leaning forward now, away from the pillows, his posture tense, his expression unreadable. 

But I can feel the weight of his gaze, the intensity of it pressing down on me.

I lose the fight with my tears when my mother's face floods my mind. Her smile, her laugh, the way she used to brush my hair when I was little—it all comes rushing back, and I can't stop the sob that escapes me. 

I cover my face with my hands, my shoulders shaking as the grief crashes over me like a wave. I feel pathetic now, but I can't help it. She should still be here. It's not fair.

"He killed her," I choke out, my voice breaking. "He killed my mother."

The room goes still. I hear him suck in a sharp breath, the sound cutting through the silence and it only makes me cry harder.

For a moment, neither of us moves. Then I hear the rustle of sheets as he shifts on the bed.

"What?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. It's soft, hesitant, like he doesn't know how to handle someone grieving. 

I manage to gain control of my tears, wiping at my face with trembling hands. 

When I look up, he's closer to me now, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, his expression a mix of shock and something else I can't quite place.

"Theo killed your mother?" he asks, his voice still low, careful.

I shake my head, my throat tight. "My uncle," I say, the words coming out in a rush. "He killed both my parents."

Now as I say it out loud, it feels concrete... stamped. It feels like if I say it again and again, I would be able to hold it in my hands solidly.

He doesn't respond right away, his brow furrowing as he processes what I've just said. "How do you know this?" he asks finally, his tone cautious.

I take a shaky breath, my hands clenching into fists in my lap as I try to control myself. "I heard Theo saying it over the phone last night. My uncle wants to get rid of me too. Theo was telling him there's no need to since he'd already gotten rid of my parents."

Caspian is silent, his jaw tightening as he absorbs the information. The room feels heavy, the air thick with tension. 

I can see the gears turning in his mind, his expression darkening as he pieces it all together.

"Theo knew," I continue, my voice trembling. "He knew his dad killed my parents. How long did he know this? Why didn't he tell me? Maybe he was here to take me home so my uncle could finish the work he started."

The tears come again, hot and uncontrollable, and I bury my face in my hands. My chest aches, the weight of it all crushing me. 

I sit there, sobbing, until I feel a warm hand touch my shoulder. It's hesitant at first, unsure, but then he pulls me into his side in an awkward half-hug. 

His body is warm, and he smells sweet—like roses with an underlying hint of spice. It's comforting, even if the gesture feels clumsy.

I stiffen. Caspian just pulled me in? The action makes me sob a little harder. You know, you don't know you need comfort until you get it.

...even if it's an awkward side hug from the most unexpected person.

"I don't know what to do with you," he mutters gruffly after a while. "But stop crying. You're an ugly crier, and the sound of your sobs is giving me a fucking headache."

I want to feel offended, but his hand starts to rake up and down my arm in an effort to comfort me, and I'm pressed into his side. 

Despite his harsh words, there's something oddly soothing about the way he's holding me.

"You denied me breakfast," he adds, his tone lighter now, almost teasing. "So you have no right to cry."

The comment catches me off guard, and I let out a watery chuckle. It's weak, but it stops the tears, and I'm mildly amused despite everything.

"I just told you my uncle killed my parents and that he want to kill me too," I say, my voice hoarse, "and you're concerned about your breakfast."

He pulls away slightly, but his hand remains on my shoulder, his touch steady. "We need to think this through and talk it out," he says, his tone serious now. "You can't think when you're grieving."

I nod, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. "Thank you," I murmur, my voice barely audible.

He raises an eyebrow. "What are you thanking me for?"

"For letting me cry," I say softly.

His hand drops from my shoulder, and he shifts away from me. There's a momentary panic on his face. "Well," he says, standing up and walking over to the table, taking the tray of snacks with him and setting them down, "you brought me cake, so it's the least I can do."

I smile faintly at that, the tension in the room easing just a little.

He starts pacing, his movements restless, his brow furrowed in thought. After a few moments, he stops and turns to me. "Do you have any proof to support your claim?"

I shake my head. "No. Just what I overheard."

He resumes pacing, his hands clasped behind his back. "Rowan has always been a dick," he mutters, more to himself than to me. "Right from when he took over Moonhaven, the first thing he did was untangle from Goldencrest's authority. I never thought him capable of murder, but now it all makes sense."

I nod, my chest tightening. "It does."

I mean, I had always heard tales of how he hated my grandfather for making my mother his heir.

That hatred eventually bled into my mom and he found a way to push her aside when my dad came along.

I always thought they were just stories, but now?

He stops pacing again, his gaze locking onto mine. "We're in the middle of a crisis with the rogues," he says, his voice firm, "but we can't turn a blind eye to this. It's murder, and it should stand before the council. If you can gather enough evidence to back up this claim, we'll take him down."

I swallow hard, my stomach churning. "How am I supposed to find evidence? He already wants to get rid of me."

Caspian walks over to me, crouching down so we're at eye level. His gaze is steady, his voice unwavering. "He's not going to lay a finger on you," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Not even a hair on your head."

I stare at him, my heart pounding in my chest. There's something in his eyes—something fierce, protective—that makes me believe him. 

"Okay," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He nods, standing up and stepping back. "We'll figure this out," he says, his tone resolute. "But for now, you need to stay strong. And stop crying. It's annoying."

I let out a weak laugh, wiping at my eyes again. "I'll try."

He's no longer as brooding as he used to be with me. It's like we're getting comfortable around each other. 

I allow my thoughts to wander a little, but it only takes me back to the day he made it clear he can't ever mate with me.

It didn't entirely hurt then because I just got rejected by my own fated mate and I wasn't putting in thoughts to another, but now it stings more.

That's not the matter on ground, Delilah. Focus.