Page 50 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

"Elara," I rasp, my voice wrecked.

She blinks, as if coming back to herself, and suddenly she's stepping away, putting distance between us.

But it's too late.

I already know.

And so does she.

CHAPTER 15

ELARA

It took me some effort to avoid all Council's patrols to get to Zara's place. Her news for me does require the trouble to see the proof myself, or else, I cannot believe—my father was a traitor to the Council.

The papers tremble slightly in my hands. Whether from the weight of their meaning or the unsteady rhythm of my breathing, I'm not sure. The candlelight flickers across the ink, making the words seem alive, shifting and rearranging themselves under my gaze. But no matter how many times I read them, the meaning doesn't change.

I sit stiffly in Zara's study, the scent of aged parchment, dust, and burning wax thick in the air. The room is cramped, lined with bookshelves that groan under the weight of old tomes and fragile documents. A fire crackles in the corner, its warmth failing to chase away the cold that seeps into my bones.

Across from me, Zara leans against the desk, arms crossed.

I exhale sharply through my nose, setting the papers down carefully on the desk as if they might crumble to dust. "How long have you known?" My voice is steady, but I can hear the tightness behind it, like a dam waiting to break.

Zara doesn't answer right away. She glances toward the fire, basking in its heat. Then, finally, she sighs. "A while."

I push back from the desk and stand abruptly, pacing toward the far end of the room. I think back to my childhood—the dignified way my father carried himself, the way he spoke carefully, always weighing his words. The way he never spoke about his past, his allegiances.

Had I been blind?

The Council had always scrutinized me, their watchful eyes tracking every move I made, every decision, every theory I dared to voice. I thought it was because of my work. Because I questioned their authority, pushed against their boundaries.

But now I see the truth.

It was never just about me.

It was about my name.

The Council had been waiting for me to become him.

"This changes everything," I say.

Zara nods. "Yes. It does."

I swallow past the lump in my throat and straighten. "Then we have work to do."

Zara studies me, then gives a slow, approving nod.

We do.

And this time, I won't stop until the Council falls. If it's personal for them, then they expect the exact same approach from me.

The training hall is quiet at this hour, empty except for the soft creak of wooden beams settling above me. The scent of sweat, leather, and aged oak lingers in the air—an interplay of discipline and exhaustion and the years of battle ingrained into the very walls. I step inside as the door whispers shut behind me, sealing me away from the world outside.

My muscles are tight and restless energy is lodged beneath my skin. My father's secret. The Council's watchful eyes. Adrian. It all churns together, a storm with no outlet. That's why I've come here: to channel all this energy into something productive and let it out.

I cross the floor and my fingers graze the smooth wooden rack before selecting a practice blade. The weight is familiar and grounding. I shift into stance, feet sliding into place, letting my body dictate movement before my mind can interfere. A breath in. A strike. The wood slices the air in a controlled arc, the movement sharp, measured.

Again.

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