The days that followed settled into a quiet, fragile routine. Under Maeve's care, the burning pain in my wrist slowly subsided into a dull ache. The life-draining curse, though still a terrifying reality, felt less immediate with the knowledge that my child was fighting it from within. Lucian kept his word, spending hours in the pack's ancient library, poring over dusty scrolls with Maeve, searching for any mention of a counter-ritual.
He treated me with a gentle, unwavering respect that continued to unnerve me. He would bring me meals himself, discuss his findings from the library with me as an equal, and sometimes, we would simply walk through the vibrant gardens of the capital, the unspoken trauma a chasm between us, yet bridged by his quiet companionship.
Astrid, his sister, watched me with the sharp, hawkish eyes of a predator waiting for a sign of weakness. She no longer confronted me directly, but her disapproval was a constant, chilling presence. To her, I was a ticking time bomb, a problem her brother had foolishly brought into their home. I could not blame her.
One afternoon, as I was sitting with Kael—a name I had secretly chosen, a name that meant 'mighty warrior'—in a sun-drenched courtyard, the peace was shattered. A pack sentinel, his face grim, approached Lucian, who was reading nearby.
"Alpha," the sentinel said, bowing low. "An emissary has arrived at the gates. From the Silvermoon pack."
My entire body went rigid. The blood in my veins turned to ice. Silvermoon. Here? For me?
Lucian's face hardened. He rose to his feet, his calm demeanor replaced by the cold authority of an Alpha protecting his territory. "Let them in," he commanded. "Escort them to the Great Hall. I will receive them there." He turned to me, his sapphire eyes softening slightly. "Stay here. You do not have to face them."
But I was already on my feet, my heart hammering against my ribs. "No," I said, my voice stronger than I expected. "I want to see them." I needed to know what Damien wanted now. Had he come to drag me back to his prison? Or to finish the job his assassins had failed to do?
Lucian studied my face for a moment, then gave a curt nod. "As you wish. Stay behind me."
The Great Hall was a vast chamber built around the trunk of the Great Tree. Lucian sat upon his Alpha's throne, a simple but imposing chair carved from living wood. I stood in the shadows behind him, my hand protectively on my stomach, while Astrid and the pack's other senior warriors stood guard.
The emissary was a wolf I recognized—Gideon, one of Damien's senior advisors, an old, proud wolf with a stern face and an arrogant bearing. He strode into the hall as if he owned it, his gaze sweeping over the assembled Stormwind wolves with disdain before landing on Lucian.
"Alpha Lucian," Gideon began, his voice dripping with false formality. "I come on behalf of Alpha Damien of the Silvermoon pack. We have been informed that you are harboring a fugitive. A criminal Omega who fled our justice."
Lucian's eyebrow arched in amusement. "A criminal? Her crime being what, exactly? Surviving?"
Gideon's face tightened. "She is a disgrace who brought shame upon our Alpha. He has commanded her immediate return to face her punishment."
A low growl rumbled in Lucian's chest. "Let me be clear, Gideon," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerously soft level that was more intimidating than any shout. "The woman you speak of is no criminal. She is a guest of the Stormwind Pack, and she is under my personal protection. You will return to your master and tell him that if he wishes to set foot in my territory, he will be met not with diplomacy, but with the fangs of my warriors."
Gideon was taken aback, his arrogant composure faltering. "This is an act of aggression! You are inviting war!"
"No," Lucian countered, leaning forward. "I am preventing an execution. Now get out of my city."
Defeated and humiliated, Gideon had no choice but to turn and leave. As he passed, his eyes briefly met mine where I stood in the shadows. There was no pity in them, only cold fury. But just before he turned away, he gave the slightest, almost imperceptible shake of his head, a gesture I couldn't comprehend.
Later, as Lucian was debriefing with Astrid, Gideon managed to find me. He cornered me in a quiet corridor, his face no longer arrogant, but etched with a strange, weary desperation.
"He will not stop," Gideon whispered, his voice rushed. "You don't understand. You need to disappear, truly disappear."
"I am not afraid of Damien," I retorted, my voice cold.
Gideon let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "It's not his anger you should fear, girl. It's his grief." He leaned closer, his eyes scanning the corridor. "The Alpha… he has not been the same since you 'disappeared'. He is a storm of silent rage and black despair, ruling over a pack that is slowly dying from the inside out. He believes you are dead. If he finds out you are alive, and here, with him…" He glanced in the direction of Lucian's throne room. "…he will tear the world apart to get you back. War will be the least of it."
I stared at him, my mind reeling. Grief? Despair? It made no sense. This was the man who ordered my death, who branded me like cattle. Why would he grieve for a problem he had tried so hard to eliminate?
"He is a monster," I said, the words tasting like ash.
"He is a fool," Gideon corrected, his voice filled with a surprising bitterness. "A fool who broke the most precious thing he was ever given. But he is our Alpha, and his madness will be our ruin." He straightened up, his official mask falling back into place. "I have delivered my warning. What you do with it is your own affair."
He turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the corridor, a storm of confusion raging in my heart.
The man he described—a tormented king of a dying land, lost in grief—was a stranger to me. It didn't align with the cold-blooded monster who had ordered my murder. And yet… the emissary's words felt genuine, his warning real.
For the first time, a tiny, unwelcome crack appeared in the solid wall of my hatred. What if the truth I thought I knew was not the truth at all?