Page 85 of Shattered Jewel

Maverick’s message, his warning about the Sovereigns’ grip on Titan Falls history and beyond, is as real to me as the manor’s bitter draft seeping through my nightgown.

As I follow the sound of low voices and low laughter, unease bunches the muscles in my stomach. They’re in the dining room, the crumbling gothic architecture a stark reminder of what once was. The grand arched windows are shrouded in tattered drapes, their opulence now faded and forgotten. The chandelier above casts eerie shadows across the cracked plaster walls, a silent witness to the room’s decay after my father’s death and Mom’s descent into madness.

Entering the dining hall, I find the guys clustered around the bar cart, coated with dust from disuse, but all decanters filled and untouched from more than two decades ago when Dad died.

Wilder casually shrugs off his leather jacket, draping the supple material over the head dining chair as he rolls those broad shoulders. Kaspian leans back on a side chair, long legs stretched out as he loosens his tie with one finger, the subtle shift exposing the taut column of his throat. Even stoic Axe seems to relax minutely, chiseled forearms resting on the table’s edge, the gash on his face clotted to the point it’s almost black. Only Cav remains tense, powerful muscles visibly rippling beneath his shirt as he copes with the worst wound out of all of them. So far.

I drink in their varied states of casual undress, feeling an insistent flush creeping up my neck. Unbidden, I squeeze my thighs together as indecent thoughts cast my mind spiraling. How easily they adapt to confusion and disorder, oblivion their only coping method. And yet ... I find my own craving for escape mounting.

My eyes meet Wilder’s, and I hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to broach the situation and what I’ve just read. Biting my lip, I steel myself and walk over to them.

Their veneer of carefree relaxation doesn’t fully conceal the strain that runs beneath the surface, a constant undercurrent that seems to bind them together. It strikes me that they’ve grown so accustomed to bad news and severe punishment, they snatch any pockets of time to retain their sanity and hold onto the scraps of humanity they still possess.

“Sweetwitch,” Wilder greets me, his voice smooth and at its lowest decibel.

I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. “I... I have something to share with you all.”

Wilder’s eyebrow arches, his curiosity piqued by my shaken state. Leaning forward, the corner of his mouth quirks into a small, mischievous smile. “What’d you do? You can always confess your sins to me.”

My gaze swings between the guys, each one a man I can’t quite decipher. Every time I think I can trust them, they deliberately knock me off-balance.

I still don’t—can’t—trust them.

It’s only my brother I have any remaining faith in, and he’s dead.

“Something Maverick wrote,” I start cautiously. “He mentioned our late father was a Sovereign.”

My heart clenches as I leave out the specifics about the missing half of the Heart’s location. “He said there are three titles they hold—the High Sovereign, the Scourge Sovereign, and the Silent Sovereign. I don’t know which one my dad was, but it’s clear now why Maverick was dragged into the Court. He’s a legacy, like all of you.”

I expected shock, or anger, maybe both, when I revealed what my father was involved in, what he did, before he came home to his wife and two young children and read storybooks to Maverick, embodying all the cartoon voices.

I gaze into their faces, searching for a reaction. Wilder meets my eyes, his expression impassive.

Kaspian’s fingers tighten almost imperceptibly on his glass. Axe’s jaw clenches, the muscles working beneath his skin. Only Cav remains motionless, his eyes fixed on some distant point.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint creaking of the aged wood. I shift my weight, the floorboards groaning in protest, as I wait for their reaction.

Wilder’s the first to speak, his voice light. “A Sovereign, huh? That explains a lot. And we always called the silent one … silent. So points to them for creativity.”

The boys exchange glances, their expressions shifting from cold apathy to various states of resignation. They’re used to unwelcome surprises and have learned to ride the wave.

Kaspian murmurs, “Our fathers’ sins follow us like annoying puppies, it seems.”

“Does this change anything?” Cav asks gruffly.

“I’m not sure yet,” I admit, glancing at each of them. “Do you know who took my father’s place? He was killed for defecting, trying to save us from?—”

No. Not yet. Don’t mention your crucial link to the Heart’s ritual.

“—trying to escape from the Court,” I finish.

“We never knew who the Sovereigns are and never will,” Cav answers. “Their anonymity is closely guarded because of how powerful and influential they are outside of their leadership of the Court.”

“That Maverick discovered your Dad’s high rank is a feat in itself,” Wilder adds.

Axe remains quiet, staring out of the window into the overgrown, wilted garden.

“Most of those documents uploaded into the drive,” I say, “were from my dad. Maverick found everything Dad was trying to collect as proof to use against them.”

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