The Professor's Mate Clause novel Chapter 142

Chapter 5

KADE’S POV

“You know her,” Rhys says. It isn’t a question.

“I know of her. Same as you do.” I don’t look up from the map spread across the table, tracing a border line that doesn’t need tracing. “Daughter of the two people who built the system we’ve spent twenty years refusing to join.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s what I’m answering.”

Rhys doesn’t move, doesn’t push, just stands there with his arms crossed, watching me with the particular kind of patience that’s always managed to unravel me faster than any direct accusation ever could. We grew up together. He knows exactly how long I can hold a lie before it cracks.

“Kade.”

“Drop it, Rhys.”

“I would, if your face hadn’t done something very specific the second she walked into that summit hall.” He tilts his head. “You went still. You never go still. Not for Council delegates, not for hostile nobles, not for anyone.”

“I was surprised.”

“By what?”

I don’t answer. The silence stretches long enough that Rhys’s expression shifts from curious to something more careful, more concerned, and I know before he says another word that he’s already put most of it together anyway.

“You met her somewhere before today,” he says slowly. “Didn’t you.”

“It’s not relevant.”

“It’s extremely relevant, given she’s about to spend a month inside our walls.” He drops into the chair across from me, not backing down. “How long ago?”

“Rhys.”

“How long

“The festival.” The words come out clipped, reluctant, like he’s dragging them out of me one at a time. Before I knew who she was.”

Something shifts in his expression…not quite surprise, more like a puzzle piece finally sliding into place. And?”

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“And nothing. It doesn’t matter now.”

“It clearly matters, given you can’t hold eye contact with me right now.” He leans back, studying me. “I’m not asking for details, Kade. I don’t need them and I don’t want them. I need to know if this is going to be a problem. If there’s history between you two that Draven could use, I need to know before he finds it

himself.”

I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my jaw. “There’s history.”

“Define history.”

“I’m not defining it.” I meet his eyes, daring him to push further. “It happened. It’s done. It has nothing to do with these negotiations.”

“You realize that’s the least convincing thing you’ve said to me in ten years.”

“I don’t have to convince you of anything. I’m your king.”

“You’re also my oldest friend, and right now you look like a man trying very hard not to think about something he can’t stop thinking about.” Rhys shakes his head, though there’s no real anger in it, just a kind of tired affection he reserves for exactly these situations. “Fine. Keep your details. I don’t need them. I just need you clear-headed enough to handle whatever Draven does with this once he figures it out. Because he will figure it out.”

I do know it. Draven’s spent years looking for anything he can use to paint me as compromised, too soft, too tangled up in the Council’s world to lead Ashveil the way my father would have wanted. A wolf-born ambassador with history I won’t even name to my own Beta hands him exactly that, and he doesn’t even

know it yet.

“Are you? Because Draven’s going to find out. If he hasn’t already.” Rhys stops pacing, meeting my eyes. You know what he’ll do with it.”

“She didn’t know who I was,” I say. “I watched her face when Miriam’s assistant introduced me. That wasn’t performance.”

“Maybe not hers.” Draven’s voice comes from the doorway, and both Rhys and I turn as he steps inside, unhurried, like he’s been standing there long enough to hear most of it. “But her parents built the Council system from nothing, cousin. You think Freya Reed-Metcalfe doesn’t have people watching every territory that hasn’t signed her treaty? You think it’s an accident her daughter happened to be at that festival, happened to end up in your bed, and happened to get assigned as lead negotiator three weeks

later?”

“That’s not how she works,” I say, sharper than I mean to.

Draven’s eyebrows lift, and I catch Rhys glancing at me, both of them clearly surprised by how fast the defense came out of me.

“I’ve read the histories same as you have,” I add, quieter now. “Freya Reed-Metcalfe fought a war to prove love shouldn’t be a political weapon. It’d be a strange kind of hypocrisy to turn around and weaponize her

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own daughter’s.”

“People change,” Draven says. “Power changes people. You’d know that better than anyone, given what it did to your father.”

The room goes very still.

I don’t answer him. I don’t need to- the mention of my father lands exactly where he intended, precise

as a blade slipped in quiet, and Draven has the good sense to look almost apologetic about it, though I’ve learned over the years his apologies rarely mean what they look like they mean.

“That’s enough,” Rhys says, low and warning.

Draven inclines his head, conceding the point, though something satisfied still lingers in his expression. I only meant to say we should be cautious. I want this territory strong. I want you strong. If that means questioning a beautiful woman’s convenient timing, I’ll question it.”

“Noted,” I say. “Leave us.”

He goes without further argument, which unsettles me more than if he’d pushed back, and once the door closes behind him Rhys lets out a slow breath.

“He’s not entirely wrong to be cautious,” Rhys says.

“I know.”

“But I don’t think he’s right about her either. For what it’s worth.” He drops into the chair across from me, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I watched her in that summit hall. She didn’t flinch once, even when half the room was hoping she would. That’s not the look of someone playing a long con. That’s the look of someone who got blindsided same as you did.”

“You said you didn’t trust her.”

“I don’t. Not yet. Trust isn’t the same as believing someone’s guilty before they’ve done anything.” He shrugs. “You want my actual advice?”

“When have you ever waited for permission to give it.”

That earns a small, tired smile. “She’s here for a month either way. Watch her. If she’s exactly what she seems to be, you’ll know within a week – nobody holds a performance that long under this much pressure. And if she’s not…”

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