Chapter 260: Behind The Bookcase
Damien’s hand lifted, a simple gesture, but it carried command. He gestured to Luna, who stood steady at his side. She reached for Morvakar’s hand, her fingers threading through the sorcerer’s. His skin was cool, his strength not fully restored, but she held him firmly as though willing her fire into his veins. Side by side, the queen and the banished sorcerer followed their king into Gabriel’s house. Together, they were a procession of defiance, of reclamation, of truths about to be laid bare.
They entered the office. A massive desk sat squarely in the center, papers neatly stacked. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls, their spines gleaming.
Morvakar’s eyes narrowed. He took a slow step forward, his fingers twitching in the air as though plucking invisible strings. The energy here was wrong. His lips curved into the faintest smile. "Behind the bookcase," he said.
Luna’s heart kicked against her ribs. Damien’s hand brushed hers for the briefest second, grounding her. She tilted her chin up, the queen in her ready for whatever lay behind that wall. Damien stepped closer to the shelves, his gaze dark and unflinching. Tonight, secrets would burn.
Damien wasted no time, his movements sharp and impatient as he shoved the bookcase aside. The heavy wood groaned in protest, scraping against the floor before it landed with a dull thud against the wall. Everyone leaned forward expectantly—only for their faces to collectively fall. Behind it, there was nothing but bare stone, blank and mocking in its simplicity.
Morvakar stepped closer, exhaustion weighing heavily on his posture. The dark shadows beneath his eyes were proof of the toll the night had taken, but still, he raised a hand. Muttering under his breath, his fingers moved. A ripple stirred in the air. The sorcerer’s brow furrowed, lines deepening as he tried again. The second attempt fizzled into nothing.
From behind them came the low stirrings of voices. Councilmen shifted uncomfortably, the air filled with their whispers. Doubt clung to every word, casting judgment before anything had even been revealed. Damien heard it—every mutter, every sharp intake of breath—and his patience frayed. He took a step closer, his presence commanding silence, and muttered in a voice laced with restrained irritation.
"Morvakar, you’re embarrassing me."
The sorcerer’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing into sharp, venomous slits. "If someone would have allowed me to rest—" He was a man pushed past his limits, and his pride burned at the insinuation that he was failing.
Before Damien could respond, Luna glided forward, her presence instantly softening the tension. She stepped to Morvakar’s side, her hand brushing against his arm in quiet solidarity, before she leveled Damien with a look so piercing it made the king pause.
"Take your time," she said. "No rush. It’s okay."
The councilmen fell silent at her words, recognizing the authority in her tone. Morvakar turned his head slightly. A small smile tugged at his lips in genuine gratitude. He didn’t need to say it aloud; his heart screamed it anyway. Everything he had sacrificed, every ounce of pain he had endured, was worth it—for her.
Drawing in a deep breath, he returned his focus to the wall. His palm pressed flat against the cold stone, and he closed his eyes. The world narrowed around him until there was nothing but the thrum of magic, pulsing beneath the surface. His lips moved, the ancient words rolling off his tongue. The energy in the air shifted, growing dense and electric, making the hair on everyone’s arms stand on end.
The wall shimmered, its solid form rippling. The illusion peeled back. A hidden opening revealed itself—a dark passageway yawning before them, cloaked in shadows and secrets. Gasps filled the room. The councilmen leaned forward, wide-eyed, their doubt replaced with awe. Damien’s jaw eased, though his pride wouldn’t let him say a word of approval.
Morvakar staggered back once more, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him, but Luna was there instantly. She slid an arm around his waist, steadying him. He leaned into her more than he would ever admit, his pride screaming even as his body begged for support. "I’ll wait here with Morvakar," she announced firmly, her eyes never leaving his face. Stepping forward, Damien pressed a brief, tender kiss to Luna’s forehead. Then, without another word, he turned, drawing a breath as he led Lucivar and the councilmen into the dark, yawning tunnel.
"You didn’t have to stay with me," Morvakar muttered as she guided him toward the nearest chair against the wall. He hated needing anyone.
"You don’t like being cared for, do you?" Luna shot back, the edge in her voice sharper than intended. She set her hands on her hips, frustration flashing in her eyes. Her heart ached seeing him drained and pale.
He let out a dry laugh. "No, I don’t like feeling like an invalid. That’s what this is. And I know you—you’d rather be down that tunnel, seeing firsthand whatever they stumble into. You’d rather risk your own neck than sit here babysitting me."
"What do you think they will find in there?" she asked, her arms folding across her chest as her eyes flickered toward the dark opening Damien had vanished into.
Morvakar tilted his head back against the chair, studying her. A small, teasing smile curved his lips. "Do you want me to spoil the surprise?"
"Stop being a wise ass," Luna retorted, narrowing her eyes at him. "Come on, tell me. Don’t play games with me right now."
His smile widened, though it was tinged with weariness. "Rogue vampires."
The color drained from her face so swiftly it was as though the very word had stolen it away. Her hands dropped uselessly to her sides. "No... no, Gabriel wouldn’t."
"I could sense them," Morvakar said quietly.
"I have to—" she began, already turning toward the tunnel, her instincts screaming at her to act. But Morvakar’s hand shot out, firm around her wrist.
"They don’t need you," he said firmly, pulling her back. "You think anyone down there stands a chance against Damien, Lucivar, and the council? They’ll carve through rogues like farmers cutting wheat." His grip softened, his thumb brushing once against her skin before he let go. "They will be fine."