The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate-Chapter 128: Hot-Ass Mess To Cold-Ass Chess

Serena’s back hit the stone, lungs not letting her get a full breath. She slid down the wall and pulled her knees to her chest.

She was hiding in a literal broom closet.

Well, it was an antechamber. Technically. But with the dust on the furniture and the single window letting in a sliver of grey light, the distinction felt generous.

Was this rock bottom? Maybe.

Her eyes burned, so she pressed the heels of her hands into them and tried to push the tears back in, which was stupid, because that had never worked in her entire life, but she kept trying anyway.

She was furious at herself. For being this much of a mess. For crying in front of the entire court. For not being able to hold it together for one hour, one single hour, in a room full of people who were already talking about her behind her back.

Dexmon was worried about her. She knew everyone was watching her like she might shatter at any moment, and she hated it, because she didn’t know how to explain that she wasn’t shattering.

She wasn’t broken. She was grief-sick, fury-sick, exhaustion-sick, and her body was doing the only thing it knew how to do with all of it.

But no one in that room seemed to know that.

The door opened.

"Serena?"

Gav. Of course it was Gav.

She didn’t look at him. "I’ll be out in a minute."

He shut the door behind him. Crossed the room in three strides. And pulled her up off the floor and into a hug so tight her ribs protested.

She buried her face in his chest.

"Please don’t tell anyone," she whispered.

"Tell anyone what? That you’re leaking from your face in a dusty room that smells like moth balls? Serena, I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t even in my top five most concerning moments involving you this month."

She almost laughed. It came out as more of a hiccup. "I mean it, Gav. Don’t. Dexmon is already..." She trailed off. "I don’t understand what’s wrong with me..."

Gav pulled back enough to look at her. His mouth was still half-smiling, but his eyes were doing that thing where they catalogued every detail. Classic Gavriel. The joke always came first, but underneath there was a mind that missed nothing.

"Let me do a quick inventory." He began counting on his fingers. "Broken matebond. War. Poisoning, plural. Failed shift. Throat slit. Shadow-tethered to a crazy guy."

He paused. "If you weren’t crying right now, I’d call you Hyran Thornfell."

That actually made her laugh. A real one, small and wet, but real.

"I believe her," Serena said quietly. "Cass. I believe her."

Gav was quiet for a moment. "I’m on the fence. But I understand why you do."

"She flushed it, Gav. I know she did. That wasn’t a woman lying to save herself. That was a woman who is terrified that the truth isn’t enough."

"Even if she’s telling the truth, the suit was still poisoned. That’s the problem. If Cass didn’t lace it, someone else did, and right now there’s no proof of that."

Serena wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. The tears were slowing. Her brain was starting to work again, which always happened when Gav was around. He had a way of steadying her that was less like comfort and more like recalibration. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"Then we need to find proof," she said.

"In the next forty minutes?"

"In the next forty minutes."

Gav looked at her. Then he sighed, smiled, and offered his hand. "Lead the way."

The defendant’s holding chamber was a stone room beneath the great hall. Two guards stood outside. They looked uncertain when they saw the Crown Princess approaching with red eyes and Gamma Sterling at her back, but they stepped aside without argument.

Serena entered alone. Gav leaned against the wall beside the door, arms folded.

Cass was sitting on the bench, her chained hands in her lap, staring at the wall. When Serena walked in, she flinched. Then her eyes went wide.

"Princess, I..."

"Tell me everything," Serena said. She dragged a chair across the stone floor, sat opposite Cass, and waited. "From the moment Agnes gave you the vial. Every detail. Don’t leave anything out."

Cass blinked. Then she started talking.

"But you still made the suit," Serena said.

"Of course I made the suit. It was your combat suit, Princess. You needed it for the battle. I sewed it the same way I sew everything. Clean fabric from the keep stores, reinforced stitching, fitted to your measurements."

Serena leaned forward. "The fabric. Where exactly did you get it?"

"The same bolt I always use for combat garments. It’s a treated leather-canvas blend, stored in the lower wardrobe. I’ve been pulling from the same supply for years."

"Who else has access to the lower wardrobe?"

Cass opened her mouth. Closed it. Her brow furrowed.

"Anyone in the household, technically. But it’s always locked, and the keys are held by the head of wardrobe and..." She stopped.

Serena waited.

"And the Queen," Cass said quietly. "Queen Bellatrix has a master key to every room in the keep."

Serena kept her face neutral. She’d learned that from her mother, the art of hearing a detonation and not flinching. But her hands, folded in her lap, pressed hard enough against each other that her knuckles ached.

"After you finished the suit," she said carefully, "what happened to it before it reached me?"

"I hung it in the finishing room for pressing and final treatment. That’s standard. It sits there for a few hours before the wardrobe attendant collects it."

"So the suit was unattended in the finishing room for several hours."

"Yes."

"And anyone with access to that room could have handled it."

"I... yes. I suppose so."

Serena stood. "Thank you, Cass."

"Princess?" Cass’s voice was small. Afraid. "Do you believe me?"

Serena looked at her. At the raw wrists. At the hollowed cheeks. At the woman who had poured poison down a drain because kindness had mattered more to her than fear.

"Yes," Serena answered. "I do. And I’m going to find a solution."

She walked out. Gav straightened from the wall.

"Well?" he said.

"The suit was unattended in the finishing room for hours after Cass completed it. Anyone with a key could have accessed it."

"That narrows it to, what, half the keep’s staff?"

"No. It narrows it to someone who had access to poison, had a key, and had a reason to want me dead."

The grin fell off Gavriel’s face like it had been slapped away.

"Serena."

"Don’t say her name yet. Not here."

They moved through the corridor quickly. Serena’s mind was racing, assembling pieces like her fingers assembling arrows before a volley.

Motive. Access. A master key. And the cold-bloodedness to let a seamstress hang for it without flinching.

Gav lowered his voice. "If you’re right about this, Serena, and you say her name out loud, there is no version of this where she doesn’t come for you. You understand that."

It wasn’t a question.

"Let her."