To heal a Rogue
Chapter 30: How fitting

Chapter 30: How fitting

BONNIE

His eyebrows shot up, just a tick, like he was both surprised and not at all. "Deflection."

I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to hide it. I was way too tired for pretense. "You obviously want something, so why not just go after it? Use whatever clue you think you have, chase your answer, and let me wallow in peace."

He actually paused, his stare going far-off, gears turning behind his eyes. For a second, it looked like he was honestly mulling it over—my words echoing around in that complicated head of his.

"What could that even mean?" he muttered, more to the wallpaper than to me. The air felt a little less heavy, but not by much. Not enough for me to relax.

I rolled my eyes again, maybe harder this time. If he was keeping score, I was winning in sarcasm at least.

"It’s just a dumb rhyme," I said, shrugging. "Everyone gets it drilled into their heads as kids. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten."

Something flickered in his expression then—recognition, lightning-quick and sharp.

"Oh."

I pressed on. "It’s a code, right? Or maybe just a warning. Do you know what it means?"

He hesitated. "Not really," he said, but there was something off in the way he said it, like he was holding something back. "It’s just an old story. The curse of the first people." He shook his head, slow, deliberate. "Maybe the rogues have started using it as a slogan."

"So you think rogues are behind this?"

He nodded, lips pressed thin. "It fits. But they didn’t do it alone. That’s what I need to find out."

We came to a stop in front of a door, and he nodded at it. "Here we are."

Right away, I could tell this wasn’t your average guest room. There was a keypad and a regular old lock—extra security, like maybe royalty stashed their secrets here. He punched in the code so quick I barely registered the numbers before the lock clicked open.

The room was lilac.

Not a whisper of purple, but an all-out, unapologetic wave of it. The curtains, the chairs, the damn carpet—soft, girly, and so at odds with the man who just marched inside like he owned every shadow.

"Seriously? This is your room?" I asked, and couldn’t help the grin tugging at my mouth.

He didn’t answer. He just strode over to the windows and yanked the curtains open, letting sunlight spill all over the place. For a heartbeat, I wasn’t sure he’d even heard me.

My attention snagged on a picture frame across the room, half-covered by a swath of dark fabric, the kind of thing someone does when they can’t quite face what’s underneath. I drifted over—couldn’t help it—and lifted the cloth just enough to peek.

A woman’s face looked back, beautiful in a way that made you want to look twice, her eyes alive with warmth and a smile that didn’t seem forced. But you could almost tell she was not happy. Next to her: a man, stiffer than a board, formal even frozen in a photo. And in front—there was a kid grinning so wide you could count every tooth. It was the only honest thing in the whole portrait.

The boy looked a lot like Lysander.

I sensed him at my back before I heard a thing. It was just a subtle shift in the air, enough to raise the hair on my arms. I turned, startled to find him suddenly close, like he’d floated across the carpet without a sound. He wasn’t looking at me at all. His gaze was fixed on the photo, the set of his jaw unreadable. For a breath, neither of us spoke.

His hand reached for the cloth in my fingers. He was gentle with it. Clearly not rushing me, as he stayed steady. He covered the picture again, slow and careful, like he was tucking away something fragile. The woman’s face disappeared. The silence lingered heavy in the room.

"Is that them?" I asked, softer than I meant to. "Your parents?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

"Your mother’s beautiful," I said. It was the sort of thing you say when you don’t know what else to say, but it was true. Her smile had haunted the room and my mind for a moment. I did not remember much of her during my time in Lily of the Valley. Not that I remembered much. I blotted it all out.

He didn’t look at me. "Was." One word, flat and final, and it thudded between us so hard I almost winced.

There was definitely some history there.

I wanted to say something—something comforting or brave or at least not idiotic. But all I managed was a thick silence. The urge to reach out warred with caution. I stood there, awkward and useless, until my stomach betrayed me, loud as a thunderclap in the hush.

The sound was so ridiculous that we both froze. His eyes whipped to mine. I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, mortified. But then, to my utter shock, he laughed. Like... he really laughed, deep and rough, as if the sound had been buried for a long time.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed too, the tension in my chest breaking apart like ice under sunlight. For a second, it was just two people in a room, nothing more complicated than that.

He gave me a small, real smile. "Come on. Let’s get you something to eat." He turned toward the door, and as he did, it felt like the heavy things between us—his mother, the past, the ache in his voice—lifted just a little. For a brief moment, it was just the two of us and the promise of something simple, like food and company, instead of all the pain we were carrying.

He reached for the handle before stopping.

His hand remained on the knob as he glanced back at me.

"Actually..." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Maybe you should stay here."

I frowned. "Why?"

"Because I’m not convinced someone won’t try to poison you."

I blinked.

"...Excuse me?"

"You’re the woman half this great pack house believes murdered the King." His tone was matter-of-fact, as though he were pointing out that it might rain. "Grief doesn’t always produce rational decisions."

"You really think they’d go that far?"

"I know some of them would." His gaze didn’t waver. "Most would never act on it. A few might convince themselves they’re delivering justice."

I folded my arms. "That’s... reassuring."

"It isn’t meant to be."

"So your solution is to lock me in your bedroom?"

"My solution is to keep you alive."

I stared at him for a long moment before sighing.

"Fine by me. Honestly, after today, hiding in a room sounds pretty appealing."

The tension around his shoulders eased just slightly.

"I’ll have someone I trust bring your food."

"Someone you trust?"

"That list is shorter than it should be."

"This pack has fucking issues."

"I’m painfully aware."

I shrugged. "Fine. I’ll stay."

He gave a single nod before pulling open the door.

He almost walked straight into an elderly man whose hand was already raised to knock.

The old man stepped back with surprising agility, smoothing the front of his waistcoat before offering a practiced smile.

"Alpha Lysander," he said with a courteous incline of his head. "You are a remarkably difficult man to find."

Lysander sighed. "I was hoping to stay that way."

"Unfortunately, that is no longer possible." The steward’s smile became apologetic. "We need you in the royal dressing room."