CHAPTER TEN

INARA’S POV

The final morning was dressed in the gray, suffocating color of ash. Rain had frozen as it fell overnight, coating every flagstone, every iron bar, and every bare tree branch in a thin, brittle sheath of ice.

My trunks were loaded onto a heavy, iron reinforced wooden carriage by three Lykan soldiers. Their dark leather coats smelled of old smoke and wet pine, their breath blooming in thick white clouds against the freezing air. They moved with a terrifying, rhythmic efficiency no shouting, no wasted motion, just silent, lethal precision.

I stood on the broad stone steps of the front portico, wrapped in my heavy wolf-skin lined mantle. Beside me stood my father, his hands clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead at the iron gates. Behind us, near the high mahogany doors, stood Sofia and Elizaveta.

Neither of them came down the steps.

Commander Kaelen swung himself onto a massive black stallion whose coat glistened in the pale dawn light. He reined the beast in, turning his golden eyes toward the portico.

"The wind is rising from the northern passes, Lord Volkov," Kaelen rumbled, his voice cutting through the quiet morning like a dull blade. "We depart now, or we get trapped in the snow at the Ridge."

My father cleared his throat, a stiff, formal sound. He turned to face me. For a second, his dark eyes searched my face, looking for the girl who used to sit on his knee while he reviewed trade ledgers. But that girl was buried deep beneath six days of silence and cold iron.

"Inara," he began, his voice surprisingly thin. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small velvet pouch, extending it toward me. "Take this. It is a portion of gold from the estate's reserve. To ensure your comfort."

I looked down at his hand, then looked back into his eyes. I didn't reach for the pouch.

"Keep it, Father," I said, my voice smooth and devoid of heat. "You will need every piece of gold to pay for Elizaveta’s grand cathedral wedding."

My father’s hand trembled slightly. His mouth pressed into a hard line, his chest rising as he pulled the pouch back and shoved it into his pocket. "You are bitter. I understand that. But you carry the name of House Volkov into the north. Do not dishonor us."

"House Volkov traded me away to buy peace for its borders," I replied softly, stepping down the first stone stair. "You have no house left in me to dishonor."

I didn't wait for his response. I walked down the icy steps, my heavy leather boots digging firm grip into the frost. As I reached the carriage door, a sudden motion near the estate’s side archway caught my eye.

Maksim was standing beneath the stone shadow of the arched gateway, wrapped in a dark blue riding coat. He wasn't supposed to be here; he had left the estate after the feast last night. But he had come back, standing alone in the freezing mud, watching the carriage.

His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and frantic as they locked onto mine. He took a single, half-step forward, his mouth opening as if to speak my name.

I stopped at the carriage door, holding the cold iron handle. I looked directly at him across the court.

I let him see the absolute emptiness in my eyes. I let him see that he no longer had the power to make me angry, or hurt, or grieved. To me, Maksim Petrov was already dead.

A sharp gasp echoed from the top of the portico. Elizaveta had stepped forward, her eyes following my gaze to where Maksim stood in the shadow of the arch. She looked from Maksim to me, her hand pressing over her mouth as a quiet, choked sob escaped her. She saw his desperation. She saw that even as she wore his ring, his eyes were still searching for the woman he had betrayed.

It was her final, miserable prize.

Commander Kaelen rode his stallion beside my carriage door, leaning down from his saddle. He looked at Maksim, then at my father, and finally down at me. A slow, dangerous smirk stretched across his scarred face.

"A pleasant family farewell," Kaelen dryly remarked. He held out a gloved hand to steady me. "Up you get, Lady Inara. The wild expects us."

I took his heavy leather glove, stepped onto the iron runner, and climbed inside the carriage.

The interior smelled of cedar, old leather, and rich wool. I sat down on the bench, pulling my heavy cloak tightly around my chest. Through the small, glass-paned window, I watched as Kaelen slammed the heavy door shut and turned the latch from the outside.

A sharp whip-crack echoed through the courtyard.

The carriage lurched violently forward, the iron wheels grinding loudly over the frozen cobblestones. Through the glass, the Volkov estate began to slide backward.

I watched my father standing alone on the steps, his coat whipping in the rising wind. I watched Sofia pulling a weeping Elizaveta back into the warmth of the house. I watched Maksim standing motionless beneath the stone archway, shrinking into a tiny, blue dot against the gray stone.

Then, the heavy iron gates of the estate swung open, and the carriage rolled out onto the Northern High Road.

The Volkov estate vanished behind a dense curtain of pine trees and heavy, swirling fog.

I leaned my head against the wooden wall of the carriage, feeling the deep, rhythmic vibration of the wheels beneath me. The quiet inside the cabin was absolute, broken only by the sound of horse hooves pounding against the frozen dirt and the howl of the wind rushing down from the mountains.

I didn't shed a single tear. I didn't look back through the rear window.

For five years, I had lived in a prison made of politeness, expectations, and delicate silences. I had played the good daughter, the perfect betrothed, and the quiet shadow. And it had earned me nothing but a blade in the spine.

Now, as the carriage carried me further north into the realm of snow and beasts, a strange, terrifying calm washed over my soul.

The road to Vargovia was long, cold, and perilous. I was heading into the lair of the Sovereign Alpha a warlord built of blade and blood.