CADEON'S POV
"Clean this up," I ordered, staring at Seris's body. "And find out where that collar came from."
My guards moved quickly, removing the dead girl and the controlled woman who'd killed her. But the blood remained, staining the stone floor dark red.
Two bodies in two days. Both connected to Lyra.
This wasn't random. This was a message.
"Sir." Veron appeared at my elbow, his face pale. "We have a problem."
"Another one?" I growled.
"Prince Theron is at the gates. He says he's here for a friendly visit." Veron's tone made it clear there was nothing friendly about it.
My blood turned cold. "When?"
"Now. His carriage just arrived."
Perfect. Just perfect. A dead body in my fortress and the crown prince at my door.
I looked at Lyra, who stood frozen near the wall, her face white with shock. She'd just watched someone die. Someone who'd claimed to be part of the resistance. Someone who'd been controlled and killed like a puppet.
"Get her out of here," I told Kairan quietly. "Take her to my study. Lock the door. Let no one in except me."
"What about—"
"Now, Kairan."
He nodded and guided Lyra away. She didn't resist, still too stunned to argue. Good. I needed her safe and hidden before Theron saw her again.
I had maybe five minutes to compose myself and figure out how to handle this disaster.
I got three.
---
Prince Theron walked into my fortress like he owned it.
Six royal guards flanked him, all wolf beastmen, all armed. They spread through my entrance hall with military precision, checking corners and shadows.
Theron himself looked relaxed—too relaxed. He wore casual traveling clothes instead of his usual royal finery, and his wolf-sharp smile was friendly. Charming.
Dangerous.
"General Nightfang!" He clasped my shoulder like we were old friends. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
*Just two murders and a magical assassination attempt. Nothing major.*
"Your Highness." I kept my voice neutral. "This is an unexpected honor. If you'd sent word ahead, I would have prepared a proper welcome."
"Oh, I prefer surprise visits. You learn so much more about a person when they're not expecting company." His amber eyes glittered with amusement. "Besides, I was in the area and thought I'd check on my favorite general. See how you're settling in with your new... acquisition."
There it was. The real reason for his visit.
"Lyra is adjusting well," I said carefully.
"Is she?" Theron strolled deeper into the fortress, examining everything like he was shopping. "I must admit, I was surprised by your purchase at the auction. Fifty thousand gold marks for a human slave? That's quite the investment."
"She has unique value."
"Oh, I'm sure she does. Elira Thorne's daughter." He said my mother's name like it was a curse. "Tell me, does she know you're the one who killed her mother?"
My claws extended involuntarily. I forced them to retract. "She knows."
"And she serves you anyway? How delightfully broken." Theron laughed. "Or perhaps you've found other ways to ensure her cooperation. I hear you've given her a room in the east wing. That's where you keep your trusted advisors, isn't it? Unusual placement for a slave."
Every word was a trap. Every question a test.
"I keep her where I can monitor her," I said. "She's a potential security risk. The daughter of a rebel leader deserves close supervision."
"Supervision. Is that what we're calling it?" Theron stopped in front of a window, looking out at the training yards below. "And the combat training she's receiving from your second-in-command? Also supervision?"
He knew. He knew everything.
"Knowledge is the best weapon against rebellion," I said smoothly. "If I understand how she thinks, how she fights, I can better predict and prevent any... unpleasant surprises."
"Clever." Theron turned back to me. "Or incredibly stupid. You're training a rebel's daughter to fight. Giving her access to your inner fortress. Treating her like a person instead of property." His smile sharpened. "Some might say you're going soft, General."
"Some would be wrong."
"Would they?" He stepped closer, and I smelled the predator in him—wolf and alpha and threat. "Because from where I stand, it looks like you've developed an attachment. A weakness. And weaknesses in my generals concern me greatly."
I met his gaze steadily, letting my panther show in my eyes—gold and deadly. "I have no weaknesses, Your Highness. Only strategies you don't understand yet."
For a moment, tension crackled between us. Two predators sizing each other up.
Then Theron laughed and stepped back. "There's the Shadow Panther I know. For a second, I thought I'd lost you to sentiment." He adjusted his collar casually. "Still, I'd like to see this investment of yours. Where is she?"
"Indisposed at the moment."
"Oh?" His eyebrows rose. "Ill? Injured? Or simply hiding from royal company?"
"She's being debriefed about a security incident that occurred last night." The lie came smoothly. "Nothing that concerns the crown."
"Everything in my kingdom concerns the crown, General." Theron's voice turned cold. "Especially when it involves the daughter of the woman who nearly overthrew my father. So I'll ask again: where is she?"
A knock at the door saved me from answering.
Veron entered, bowing. "Your Highness, General—forgive the interruption, but there's been another incident."
My stomach dropped. "What kind of incident?"
"A fire in the west wing servants' quarters. Small, contained, but..." He glanced nervously at Theron. "Suspicious timing, sir."
"A fire?" Theron's smile widened. "My, my. Your fortress is quite exciting today, General. First a surprise visit from your prince, now a fire. What's next?"
*A murder you probably ordered,* I thought but didn't say.
"Veron, handle it," I ordered. "Use whatever resources necessary."
"Actually," Theron said, "I'd love to see how you handle a crisis. Why don't we inspect the damage together?" He started walking before I could protest. "And perhaps we'll run into your mysterious slave along the way. Wouldn't that be convenient?"
He was hunting her. Using the chaos as an excuse to search my fortress.
I had no choice but to follow.
---
The fire had been small but deliberate—started in a storage room where human servants kept their belongings. Most of their things were destroyed. The servants themselves huddled in the courtyard, crying and frightened.
Theron walked among them like a wolf among sheep, asking questions in that friendly, charming voice that made people trust him.
"And you saw nothing suspicious? No one near the storage room before the fire started?"
A young human boy shook his head, terrified.
"Interesting." Theron's gaze drifted across the courtyard and stopped.
My heart stopped with it.
Lyra stood near the far wall with Kairan, watching the chaos. She must have heard the commotion and come to help despite my orders to stay hidden.
Stubborn, foolish girl.
"Ah!" Theron's face lit up with false delight. "There she is. The infamous Lyra Thorne."
He crossed the courtyard in long strides. I moved to intercept, but his guards blocked my path—subtle but effective.
Lyra saw him coming. Her face went carefully blank, but I saw the fear in her silver-grey eyes.
"My dear girl," Theron said warmly, stopping in front of her. "We didn't get a chance to talk properly at the palace dinner. Such a shame. I've been so curious about you."
"Your Highness." Lyra bowed—stiffly, barely. Just enough to avoid outright insult.
Smart girl.
"No need for formality." Theron circled her slowly, examining her like merchandise. "Tell me, how are you finding life at Nightfang Keep? Is the General treating you well?"
"He treats me fairly," Lyra said carefully.
"Fairly? Such an interesting word choice." Theron stopped directly in front of her. "And what exactly does 'fairly' mean? Does he beat you? Starve you? Force you into his bed?"
Lyra's jaw tightened. "He does none of those things."
"Really? Then what *does* he do with you?" Theron's voice dropped, intimate and dangerous. "Why pay fifty thousand gold for a human slave and then treat her like a guest instead of property?"
"Perhaps you should ask him," Lyra shot back.
Wrong answer.
Theron's hand shot out, gripping her chin—not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to control. "I'm asking *you*, little rebel. And when a prince asks a question, slaves answer."
My panther roared inside my chest. Every instinct screamed to rip his hand off. To shift and tear his throat out for touching what was mine.
But I couldn't move. His guards still blocked me, hands on weapons.
If I attacked now, it would be treason. War.
"He keeps me alive," Lyra said quietly, her eyes never leaving Theron's face. "In a world that says I should be dead. That's more than fair. That's mercy."
For a moment, genuine surprise crossed Theron's face. Then his smile returned—sharper, crueler.
"Mercy. How quaint." He released her chin and stepped back. "Tell me, does the General know about your late-night meetings in the east gardens? About the resistance members who've been contacting you?"
Lyra's face went white.
My blood turned to ice.
How did he know about that?
"I—" Lyra started.
"Don't bother lying," Theron interrupted. "I have eyes everywhere, child. Even in the shadows." He glanced at me over his shoulder. "Especially in the shadows."
He had spies in my fortress. In my home.
"The resistance is desperate," Theron continued, his attention back on Lyra. "They're looking for a new leader now that your mother is gone. And here you are—convenient, symbolic, young enough to manipulate. They'll use you, little rebel. Use you and throw you away when you're no longer useful."
"Like you used my mother?" Lyra's voice shook with barely controlled rage. "Like you use everyone?"
Theron's smile vanished. "Your mother was a terrorist who killed innocents in her quest for 'freedom.' She deserved exactly what she got."
"She deserved a trial. She deserved—"
"She deserved nothing!" Theron's mask slipped, showing the monster underneath. "Humans deserve nothing. You exist at our mercy. You breathe because we allow it. And the second you forget that—" He leaned close, voice dropping to a whisper I could barely hear. "—you'll end up just like her. Executed. Forgotten. A cautionary tale."
"That's enough," I said, finally breaking free from his guards and crossing the courtyard. "You've inspected my fortress, questioned my staff, and threatened my property. I believe your 'friendly visit' is over, Your Highness."
Theron straightened, his charming mask sliding back into place. "Of course. How rude of me." He bowed mockingly to Lyra. "It was lovely meeting you properly, Miss Thorne. I'm sure we'll see each other again very soon."
The promise in those words made my skin crawl.
He swept out of the courtyard with his guards, leaving chaos and fear in his wake.
The second he was gone, I turned to Veron. "Double the guard on Lyra's room. No, triple it. And assign shadow guards—ones even she won't see. I want eyes on her every second."
"Sir—"
"Now!"
Veron rushed off.
I turned to Lyra, who stood trembling near the wall. Rage and fear warred in her expression.
"Are you—"
"Don't," she said quietly. "Don't ask if I'm okay. We both know I'm not."
Fair enough.
"He knows about the resistance contact," I said. "He knows about the meeting. It's a trap, Lyra. We can't go."
"We have to." She looked at me with those silver-grey eyes that haunted me. "Don't you see? If we don't go, they'll think I'm working with you. They'll abandon me. And right now, the resistance might be the only ally I have."
"You have me."
"Do I?" She laughed bitterly. "You're my owner, Cadeon. Not my ally."
The words cut deeper than any blade.
Before I could respond, Kairan appeared at my side, his face grim.
"We found something in the burned storage room," he said quietly. "Something you need to see."
We followed him back to the west wing. The other guards had cleared out, leaving just the three of us in the destroyed room.
Kairan pointed to the wall behind where the fire had started.
Carved into the stone—fresh, deep, deliberate—was a message:
*"Two sisters. One throne. Only the real daughter survives. Choose wisely, Shadow Panther."*
And beneath it, painted in what looked like blood, was a symbol I recognized immediately.
The mark of Seraphine Thorne.