The fortress quieted after midnight.
Not silent — Varkholme never slept — but subdued. The patrol shifts changed. The torches burned lower. The wind howled softer, like it was conserving strength.
Lyra and Maelin had finished preparing me for the night.
Dinner had been formal, restrained. Darian had barely spoken to me beyond necessary courtesies. Cold. Efficient. As if proximity to me required discipline.
Good.
Let him work for it.
After my bath — hot water scented faintly with pine and something sharper — the maids lingered.
"Call if you need anything," Maelin said softly.
"I won't," I replied lightly.
Lyra studied me a moment longer than necessary.
"You're not afraid of him," she observed quietly.
I smiled faintly. "Should I be?"
She didn't answer.
When they left, the chamber doors shut with a heavy click.
And the air shifted.
I waited.
Counted heartbeats.
Listened.
Footsteps faded down the corridor.
Only then did I move.
The dampening potion had thinned in my blood.
Not gone.
But fragile.
I stood barefoot in the center of the room and closed my eyes.
Slow breath in.
Slow breath out.
The seal on my wrist responded immediately.
Heat bloomed beneath my skin.
The air around me tightened like a drawn bowstring.
"Easy," I murmured to myself.
I didn't let it surge violently.
Just enough.
Just enough to feel.
The stone beneath my feet hummed faintly.
There it was again.
That thread woven in the fortress walls.
Old magic.
Not lycan.
Not mine.
Something ritualistic.
I let my power extend carefully, brushing against it like testing a wound.
The connection sparked.
Silver symbols flashed faintly beneath the stone floor.
Ancient binding runes.
Not decorative.
Functional.
They weren't protecting the fortress.
They were containing something.
My pulse quickened.
What the hell is buried under you, Varkholme?
I pushed a little deeper.
Just a little—
The air cracked.
A candle near the hearth flared violently.
Heat shot up my arm, racing toward my shoulder.
Too far.
Pull back—
A heavy knock slammed against my chamber door.
My heart dropped.
Shit.
I snapped my power inward, sealing it down hard.
The runes vanished.
The air calmed.
But the scent of ozone lingered.
The knock came again.
Controlled.
Measured.
Not panicked.
Darian.
Of course it was him.
He could feel it.
I crossed the room quickly, wrapping a robe around myself, letting my shoulders slump slightly before opening the door.
He stood there in black sleep leathers, hair loose around his shoulders, silver eyes sharp in torchlight.
He looked… unsettled.
"Your Majesty," I said softly.
His gaze scanned the room behind me before settling back on my face.
"I felt something," he said.
Straight to the point.
Of course.
"Felt what?" I asked gently.
His jaw tightened.
"A surge."
My pulse stayed steady.
"I don't know what you mean."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
He stepped forward.
Not aggressively.
But deliberately.
I stepped back instinctively, letting my breath hitch just enough.
The door shut behind him.
The air between us tightened.
He moved slowly around the chamber, gaze dragging across walls, floor, hearth.
Searching.
I forced my hands to tremble slightly.
"You frightened me," I said quietly.
His gaze snapped to mine.
Good.
Shift the dynamic.
"I did not intend to," he replied.
Cold voice.
Controlled.
But something in his eyes flickered.
Doubt.
He stepped closer.
Close enough that I could feel his warmth again.
"You are not as weak as you pretend," he said softly.
Ah.
There it is.
I let my eyes widen slightly.
"I've been in a foreign fortress for less than a day," I whispered. "Forgive me if I'm not radiating confidence."
His gaze searched my face.
Studied it.
Measured every breath.
For a second — just a second — I let my composure crack.
I looked down.
My voice softened.
"My father trained me to survive courts, not warlords."
It wasn't entirely a lie.
His expression shifted.
Barely.
But enough.
He reached toward my wrist suddenly.
Instinct screamed to pull away.
I didn't.
His fingers brushed the skin near the seal.
Heat flared faintly.
His brow furrowed.
"There is something…" he murmured.
I pulled back sharply.
Not defensively.
Emotionally.
"Please," I said, voice breaking just slightly.
Feign ignorance.
Feign vulnerability.
The trick was not overacting.
Just enough.
"I don't know what you expect from me," I continued, letting my breathing quicken. "You don't want me here. My father traded me. I don't belong in your kingdom. And now you're accusing me of—of what exactly?"
My voice trembled.
His wolf reacted.
I saw it in his eyes.
The protective instinct clashed violently with suspicion.
He took a slow step back.
"I am not accusing you," he said, colder now.
Distance.
Defense mechanism.
Good.
I swallowed, letting moisture gather in my eyes.
Not dramatic sobbing.
Just quiet, restrained tears.
"I don't want to be a threat to you," I whispered.
Silence filled the room.
He stared at me.
And for the first time since I'd arrived—
He looked uncertain.
He exhaled slowly.
"You are not a threat," he said flatly.
Lie.
He didn't believe that.
But he wanted to.
He turned away abruptly.
Ran a hand through his hair.
For a brief moment, I saw the fracture.
The internal war.
His wolf wanted to step closer.
His mind demanded distance.
He looked back at me.
And something in his expression softened.
Only slightly.
"You are under my protection here," he said quietly. "No one will harm you."
That wasn't cold.
That wasn't dismissive.
That was a promise.
I met his gaze slowly.
"Thank you," I whispered.
The air between us shifted again.
Not hostile.
Not charged.
Something quieter.
He stepped closer once more.
Not touching.
Just close enough to feel each other's breath.
Snowlight filtered through the window behind me.
For a second—
He looked at me like he had in the courtyard.
Like he hated how he couldn't hate me.
His hand lifted slightly.
Then stopped midair.
His jaw tightened.
He dropped it.
"This is a contract," he said firmly. "Nothing more."
He needed to say that.
To remind himself.
I nodded softly.
"Of course."
Silence stretched.
Thick.
Unspoken.
Then abruptly—
He stepped back.
Cold mask sliding back into place.
"Rest," he murmured.
The word sounded strained.
He turned and walked toward the door.
Paused briefly without looking at me.
And then, almost under his breath—
"Do not test me."
The door shut behind him.
The room exhaled.
I wiped the tears from my face immediately.
The trembling stopped.
My expression hardened.
That had been close.
Too close.
He sensed it.
He sensed me.
And worse—
He felt something he didn't want to feel.
I walked back to the center of the room slowly.
Placed my palm against the stone floor again.
The thread beneath it pulsed faintly.
Waiting.
So was he.
This game was going to be delicate.
Two predators pretending not to circle each other.
Two years.
A Blood Moon.
And something ancient buried beneath our feet.
I smiled faintly to myself.
Let him think I'm fragile.
Let him think I'm confused.
Let him think he almost scared me.
Because when the truth rises—
I won't be the one caught off guard.