Chapter 16 – The Castle-The Lavender Heir

The car jolted to a stop. Sasha slammed into the door, the hood over her head suffocating her with its stale, claustrophobic dark. Her bound hands clawed uselessly at the rope cutting into her wrists as the men hauled her upright.

She stumbled forward, gravel crunching beneath her feet. She knew that sound—the castle’s drive. Her stomach turned to ice.

“Please,” she tried, her voice muffled by the fabric. “You don’t have to do this—”

A brutal shove cut her off. “Shut up,” one of them barked.

The massive door groaned open, the hinges screaming in protest. Cold, damp air wrapped around her like a shroud as they dragged her inside. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding, could smell the tang of wet stone and something worse—something metallic and sweet that made her stomach lurch.

They forced her down a long corridor, their boots echoing off the ancient walls, until one of them unlocked a heavy door and shoved her through.

Sasha hit the floor hard, her breath knocked from her lungs. The door slammed, the lock clicked, and their footsteps retreated, leaving her in silence.

They tore the hood from her head.

The room was pitch black save for a thin blade of moonlight filtering through a high, barred window. The air was bitterly cold and carried a faint, unmistakable stench. Sasha pushed herself upright, her knees shaking, and her eyes slowly adjusted.

There were shapes in the corner. Two of them.

Her brain didn’t want to understand at first.

“No,” she whispered, inching forward on trembling hands. “Please, no…”

Megan’s head lolled at an unnatural angle, her dark hair matted and stiff. Beside her lay Eamon—Heather’s kind husband—his eyes open and glassy, his face frozen in terror.

Sasha’s breath fractured. She backed away on hands and knees, her shoulder slamming into the wall as the reality sank in.

“They’re dead,” she choked out, the words clawing at her throat. “Oh God… oh God, no…”

She wanted to shut her eyes, to pretend she hadn’t seen, but she couldn’t. The sight was burned into her retinas, etched into her bones.

Bile rose in her throat. She scrambled to the far wall, curling into herself, the ropes at her wrists biting deeper as she tried to get as far away from the bodies as possible.

A soft sound echoed from beyond the door. A footstep.

Sasha’s head snapped up.

The key scraped in the lock.

Her pulse spiked so violently it hurt. She pressed herself into the corner, as small as she could make herself, her eyes fixed on the door as the ancient hinges creaked.

It opened slowly, deliberately.

A figure stepped into the room, his shadow stretching long and sharp in the moonlight.

“Welcome home, Sasha,” Cian said softly, his voice a low purr that slid under her skin like a knife.

Sasha couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Cian stepped forward, his immaculate suit and calm expression at odds with the carnage in the corner.

“Why?” she finally managed to whisper, her voice raw and shaking. “Why would you do this?”

Cian’s gaze flicked lazily to the bodies, then back to her. “Because they wouldn’t stop meddling,” he said simply, as though it were the most natural explanation in the world.

“Megan… Eamon… the boy—”

“Ah,” Cian interrupted, his voice softening, almost fond. “The boy. My legacy.”

Sasha stared at him, unable to breathe.

Cian crouched a few feet away, his pale eyes glinting like a predator’s. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this, Sasha? My family… my bloodline… it was all I ever cared about. But my daughters, they were always weak. They left. They rebelled. They died. They never understood their place.”

Sasha’s stomach twisted as his voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper.

“Aislinn was the worst of them. She thought she could love without my approval. She thought she could hide from me. But I found her. And when I discovered she was carrying a child—”

Sasha gasped. “Aislinn was your daughter.”

Cian smiled thinly, his eyes cold. “Of course she was. My daughter. My disobedient, foolish daughter. But the boy she carried… my grandson… he was hope. He was the heir I had waited for. I told Aislinn I would protect her, care for her, keep her safe. And she believed me. Even when I locked her away.”

Sasha’s breath hitched, horror settling into her bones.

“She was no longer necessary,” Cian continued coldly. “She had betrayed me by trying to run again, and I will not tolerate betrayal in my bloodline.”

Sasha’s gaze darted toward the corner, her heart breaking. “Then why—why kill him too? He’s just a child!”

Cian tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Who says I did?”

Sasha froze.

“The boy is alive,” Cian said softly. “Barely. Megan tried to hide him from me, to spirit him away, and she paid for that mistake—as did Eamon.”

Sasha’s breath stuttered. Megan—the mother who had already lost Aislinn. Eamon—Heather’s loving husband. Both gone because they tried to protect a child.

Cian leaned forward, studying Sasha with unnerving focus. “Your mother was a beautiful woman,” he said, his voice low, almost reflective. “But considering her fair hair and eyes… I’d say your genes favour me.”

Sasha’s stomach dropped at the implication.

“You have my eyes, my hair, my skin,” Cian continued, almost with pride. “A definite De Burgh. You were always meant to belong here.”

Her pulse roared in her ears. “What do you mean?”

Cian’s eyes gleamed. “You, Sasha—you’re the missing piece. You were always meant to be. Strong, defiant, the perfect mother for the boy. Together, we’ll rebuild the Blackwater legacy. He will grow under my guidance, with you to raise him properly.”

He stepped closer, leaning in until she could feel his cold breath against her cheek. “And if you refuse…”

Cian’s voice was a silken thread of menace. “You’ll join Megan and Eamon. And the boy will grow up knowing that weakness cost you your life.”

Sasha jerked back, trembling. “You’re insane,” she hissed.

“Perhaps.” He straightened, smoothing the lapels of his jacket. “But I am also patient. You’ll come to see you have no choice.”

He moved to the door, pausing only once to glance back at her. “Sleep well, Sasha. Tomorrow, we begin.”

The lock clicked shut behind him, leaving her in the dark with the dead—and the knowledge that somewhere in this castle, a wounded child was waiting.

Sasha lowered her head, her bound hands trembling violently in her lap. She couldn’t think about her own terror, not now.

She had to find the boy.

And she had to get them both out alive.