Novels by lady justicia

The courtyard had gone still by the time they reached it, the three unfamiliar horses standing patiently beside a scatter of Blackthorn guards who clearly hadn't expected visitors tonight either.Lucian's stride didn't change, but everything about him had shifted. The ease from the hillside folded away somewhere Nyra couldn't see, replaced by the same authority she'd watched command a hall full of strangers on her first night here.The Windmore delegation waited near the entrance, and Nyra's attention went immediately to the man at its center.He wasn't what she expected.Where most of the wolves she'd encountered carried themselves with some degree of guardedness, this man was something else entirely: slim, almost delicate, dressed in soft grays that made no aim to intimidate anyone. He was, if she was being honest, beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with power.Brassy curls, bright eyes. An easy smile already forming as Lucian approached. The kind of open, cheerful face that

Lucian found her in the library, seated beside one of the tall windows with an open book resting untouched in her lap. A practice blade hung loosely from his hand, and that familiar spark of challenge was already bright in his eyes.Nyra glanced at the blade, then back at the page she'd been staring at for the better part of ten minutes."Not today.” His brows lifted in surprise. "That's a first."She almost smiled, but the Order's message from the night before pressed against the back of her mind.‘The fortnight has terms.’She had a deadline.She still hadn't decided what she was going to do when it arrived. She hadn't decided whether Lucian would die by her hand or whether she would finally turn her back on the only life she'd ever known.But if she chose the first, then every moment she spent with him was borrowed. And she wasn't ready to stop borrowing."I thought you wanted a rematch," she said."I do.""Then you'll have to wait."He chuckled. "You're enjoying this.""Perhaps.

He found her this time.Nyra was crossing the courtyard toward the library when Lucian fell into step beside her, a training blade already in hand. He held it out with an unmistakable challenge in his eyes."Rematch."Nyra glanced at the blade, then at him. "I already beat you.""Which is exactly why I want another turn." Something bright and competitive lit his face, none of the patience he wore for the pack or the restraint he'd shown her in the study. "Unless you're afraid of ruining a perfect record.""I'm not afraid of anything you can do with a practice blade.""We'll see."The yard was quieter than during their first match. It was midafternoon, and only a handful of off-duty wolves lingered along the fence. Nyra told herself that was better. Fewer witnesses meant less pressure, fewer eyes to notice anything she didn't want them to see.She didn't examine why her pulse had already quickened.Lucian came at her hard from the first exchange.There was no exploratory testing this

It was Rowan's idea, technically, though Nyra suspected he'd planted it knowing exactly how it would land. "You watch this yard like you're starving for it," he'd said the day before, arms crossed, studying her with the directness he'd grown into since their conversation at the fence. "Spar him. See what happens." "That's a terrible idea." "Probably," he'd agreed, entirely too pleased with himself. "Do it anyway." So she found herself at midmorning standing across from Lucian in the training yard, practice blades in hand, a loose ring of off-duty wolves gathering along the fence with the particular anticipation of people who suspected they were about to see something worth talking about later. "You don't have to hold back," Lucian said, rolling his shoulder, the easy confidence of a man who'd never once lost a fight in this yard settling over him like a second skin. "I promise I can take it." "I wasn't planning to hold back." Something sparked behind his eyes at that, not quit

The message arrived the way they always did — a hawk at her window before dawn, a strip of coded parchment tied to its leg, gone again before she'd finished reading it twice. Nyra had grown so used to the ritual over six years that her hands worked through the motions of decoding it before the rest of her had fully woken. 'Report status. Confirm timeline. The Order does not fund patience.' Short. Blunt. Exactly the tone she'd have expected a week ago, back when a message like this would have meant nothing more complicated than an assignment running slightly behind schedule. She sat on the edge of her bed a long while before reaching for the response parchment, the pre-dawn light still gray and thin through the window, and found, for the first time in years, that she genuinely didn't know what to write back. The truth was not an option. The truth was that she'd spent the last week watching a boy laugh after losing a sparring match, and a woman offer him a hand up instead of scor

The invitation came without ceremony this time — no note, no maid relaying careful phrasing. Lucian simply found her near the library after the evening meal had already been cleared from the hall and asked if she'd eaten, and when she admitted she hadn't, said he hadn't either, and that seemed to settle the matter for both of them. They ended up in the same small study from her memory of a version of events that hadn't happened yet — she caught herself expecting the familiarity of it before she'd actually been there, a strange doubling sensation she pushed aside without examining too closely. The room was real regardless: shelves crowded with books that looked read rather than displayed, a fire already burning low, two chairs angled toward it that suggested this was a room built for exactly one occupant most nights. A servant brought bread, cheese, a pot of something that smelled like the tea her mother used to make, memory she hadn't let herself touch in years and didn't examine n