Page 38 of Beneath the Thorned Crown

Another pause. Then a low sigh. “And why exactly do you need me?”

“Because it needs to be real,” I say, leaning forward, gripping the phone tighter. “Not some underground bullshit. I need the kind of auction that attracts attention—the right kind.”

Oliver exhales sharply, and I can picture him rubbing his temples. “This is insane. You’re talking about bringing the city’s elite into your war with the Delgados.”

“I’m talking about luring them out,” I correct. “And when they come for it, they’ll make a mistake. That’s when I strike.”

Oliver is silent. I can hear his contemplative breathing on the other side. Then, his voice drops lower, edged with reluctant admiration. “You always did like playing with fire.”

I smirk. “And I never get burned.”

“That’s debatable.” He huffs. “Fine. I’ll set it up. But you owe me for this.”

“You already owe me your life, Oliver. Consider us even.”

A low curse on the other end. Then—“I’ll be in touch.”

The line goes dead.

Samuel thinks he’s untouchable. That he can move in the shadows, pull the strings without consequence. But I know him. His weaknesses. His obsessions. And nothing will draw him out faster than this.

A slow, sharp grin tugs at my lips.

This time, I make the rules.

After hanging up, I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair, my fingers gripping at the strands before releasing the tension. The ghosts of my past presses down on me, heavier than it has in years. It’s not just the auction. It’s not just the war brewing between me and Samuel. It’s everything.

The past. The choices that led us here. The names we were born with, the blood we were destined to spill.

I reach for the glass on my desk, the whiskey barely touched. The ice clinks softly against the crystal as I lift it to my lips, but I don’t drink. I just stare at the amber liquid, lost in the reflection of a man I barely recognize anymore.

Samuel and I were never supposed to be enemies.

Once, we were just two boys, raised in opposite corners of the same empire, oblivious to the fact that our bloodlines would one day demand war. We didn’t know then what our fathers were building, what was being taken from one another, what debts would one day be settled in blood.

But the choices of the past shaped us into what we are today. And now, only one of us gets to survive it.

My grip tightens around the glass as rage simmers beneath the surface. Samuel took everything from me. He took my parents, my legacy, and now—now, he thinks he can take my people, my power, my future.

He thinks he can take Isabella.

I curse under my breath, shoving that thought down before it turns into something I can’t control.

I haven’t seen her since that night. Since our kiss. Since the moment she nearly climbed into my lap, and I almost let her.

If it weren’t for the wound, I would have had her right there, against me, beneath me, where I’ve imagined her far too many times. But I haven’t gone to her. Haven’t sought her out.

Because I can’t afford to.

Not now. Not when everything is spiraling toward the inevitable.

Instead, I’ve drowned myself in strategy, in plans, in blood. I’ve let the war consume me, because that’s what I know—that’s what I am. But even as I sit here, whiskey in hand, plans unfolding, there’s one truth that gnaws at the edges of my control.

If Samuel wants to come for me, let him.

But I won’t let him take anything else from me.

Especially not Isabella.

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