radicalducati Chapter 18
Chapter 18
POV: Wilhelm
Her words did not register at first. They hovered in the air between us, unreal and impossible, as if spoken in another language.
I stared at Francesca, at the rigid line of her shoulders, at the way her chin was lifted despite the tremor running through her body. The bond between us flared violently, not with clarity, but with chaos—shock, fear, and something else I could not yet name.
“I did give birth to an heir.”
The room erupted inside my skull. Before I could form a single coherent thought, Andrzej barked out a harsh laugh.
“You expect me to believe that?” he sneered. “If you had succeeded, Cassian would have paraded the child before the court. You were always a disappointment, Francesca. Even your lies are small.”
Something inside me snapped. I moved without thinking.
Steel rang as I drew my blade, the sound sharp enough to cut through the air. Guards shouted in alarm, scrambling backward as I crossed the space between Andrzej and Francesca in two strides, placing myself fully between them.
“You will not speak to her again,” I said, my voice low and shaking with barely restrained fury.
Andrzej’s eyes flicked to the sword in my hand, then back to my face. Instead of fear, I saw defiance harden his features. He straightened, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off age itself.
“So this is how it ends,” he said. “You defend her now. A fallen prince defending a failure.”
That was the moment I stopped listening. He lunged.
Andrzej was older, but he was not weak. He moved with the practiced aggression of someone who had survived by violence when words failed. He snatched a blade from the nearest guard before anyone could stop him, steel flashing as he swung toward my shoulder.
I parried instinctively. The impact shuddered up my arm, pain and rage fusing together as we circled each other. The chamber filled with the scrape of boots on stone, the hiss of blades cutting air.
Guards backed away at my sharp command, forming a wide ring. No one interfered. This was mine.
“You think you’re her savior?” Andrzej spat as we exchanged blows. “You think standing between her and the truth makes you noble?”
I drove him back with a sharp strike that knocked his blade aside. “The only truth here,” I growled, “is that you forfeited any claim to her life the moment you sold her.”
He snarled and came at me again, faster this time, aiming low. I twisted, feeling the edge of his blade graze my ribs, heat flaring as blood welled. Pain only sharpened my focus.
“You always were sentimental,” he said, breath ragged now. “That’s why men like Cassian win.”
My counterstrike sent him stumbling. He recovered quickly, but his age showed in the hesitation that followed. I pressed the advantage, forcing him back step by step until his shoulders hit the stone pillar behind him.
“And yet,” I said through clenched teeth, “you came begging at my gate.”
He shoved off the pillar and swung wildly, desperation creeping into his movements. “I came for what was owed,” he snapped. “Compensation for the mess she made.”
The word mess sent something dark roaring through me. I disarmed him with a brutal twist, sending his blade skittering across the floor.
Before he could recover, I struck him hard across the jaw with the hilt of my sword. He collapsed to one knee, gasping, blood spilling from his mouth.
I placed the tip of my blade at his throat. The room went utterly silent.
Andrzej looked up at me, chest heaving, defiance finally giving way to something like fear. “Go on,” he rasped. “Finish it.”
For a heartbeat, I wanted to. Every instinct screamed for it. Ending him would be easy, it would feel just. I could already imagine the relief, the finality, the sense that some balance had been restored.
Then I felt it. Francesca’s presence behind me. Not fear or pleading. Just raw, aching exhaustion.
I withdrew the blade.
Andrzej blinked, disbelief flashing across his battered face. “You won’t?” he asked hoarsely.
“No,” I said coldly. “Death would be a mercy you don’t deserve.”
I stepped back and signaled to one of the guards. “Bring the chest,” I ordered.
The guard hesitated only a moment before obeying. When the iron-bound chest was set at Andrzej’s feet, I kicked it open with my boot. Gold and silver gleamed inside, more wealth than most men would see in a lifetime.
“You will take this,” I said. “You will leave these lands today and will never seek Francesca again. Never speak her name, trade her story, or attempt to profit from her existence!”
Andrzej stared at the coins, then back at me. “And if I refuse?”
My gaze hardened. “I will hunt you,” I said quietly. “Not as a king or a rival. As a wolf who loves and protects his fated mate.”
Andrzej swallowed, then reached shakily for the chest.
“You think this absolves her?” he muttered. “You think money erases what she failed to do?”
I leaned down, close enough that he could see the truth in my eyes. “You will walk out of this castle alive,” I said. “That is the last kindness you will ever receive from me.”
Guards hauled him to his feet. He did not resist this time. As they dragged him toward the doors, he cast one last look over his shoulder, his gaze sliding past me to Francesca.
She did not look back.
The doors slammed shut behind him, with the sound echoing far too loudly.
The sword slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor. The strength drained from my limbs all at once, leaving me dizzy and hollow. I took a step forward, then another, before my knees gave way.
I hit the stone floor hard. For a moment, I could not breathe. The world tilted, spinning slowly, as the weight of everything crashed down on me—Cassian, the war, Francesca’s pain, the words that still rang in my ears.
An heir. A truth I was not yet ready to touch.
I pressed my palm against the cold stone, trying to steady myself, but my strength was gone. All I could do was lie there, breath coming in ragged pulls, the echo of Andrzej’s voice finally fading into silence.