Chapter Three

No one moved for a moment after she vanished.

The audience hall remained exactly as it had been an instant before, full of people, full of breath, full of attention sharpened into something dangerous, and yet altered in a way that no one could immediately name. The guards who had stepped forward now stood frozen in uncertainty, their hands still on their weapons as if the motion had simply lost purpose midway through. The council did not speak. Even the room itself felt different, as though something had been left behind in the air, something that had settled into the stone and would not leave quickly.

Fenrir remained standing.

The burn had not faded. It no longer tore through him with the same blinding force as before, but it lived there now, deep and hot beneath his skin, pulsing just enough to remind him it had not gone anywhere. He could still feel where the mark had cut itself into him. He could feel it with every breath.

Valeria’s hand was still wrapped around his arm, not gentle, but possessive.

“What does she mean?” she demanded, the words coming quick now, no longer directed at the woman who was gone, but at the room itself. “What does she mean by that?”

No one answered her immediately.

The King descended the steps from the throne, not hurriedly, but with the kind of control that only made the tension around him sharper. His gaze remained fixed on Fenrir’s chest, where the fabric had been scorched through enough to reveal the darkened shape beneath.

“Rowan.”

Rowan stepped forward at once. He had not moved much during the confrontation, but that had never meant he was still. His eyes had missed nothing. They did not miss anything now either.

“Take him out of here,” the King said. “Now.”

Fenrir’s gaze snapped toward him. “I’m not being escorted anywhere.”

“You are if I say you are.”

“That mark isn’t going to disappear because you move me to another room.”

“No,” Rowan said quietly, “but we may be able to understand more once this hall is empty.”

Fenrir looked at him instead.

He trusted Rowan more than most men in the Citadel. Not because Rowan had ever asked for it, and certainly not because he made himself easy to trust, but because he had earned it in the years Fenrir had watched him stand beside the throne and say only what mattered.

That did not mean Fenrir wanted to be handled.

Valeria spoke before he could answer.

“No,” she said. “He’s not going anywhere without me.”

The King’s attention shifted toward her, slow and hard. “This is not your decision.”

“It became my decision the moment she decided to speak about me in front of this court.”

There it was.

Not fear, not yet, but offense. Anger. The first crack in the certainty Valeria wore like a second skin.

The King’s expression did not soften. “This court does not turn around your feelings.”

Valeria straightened. “No. It turns around his.”

Her grip on Fenrir tightened as she said it, as if the point needed to be physically reinforced.

For once, no one in the room challenged her.

That, more than anything else, made the atmosphere worse.

Fenrir exhaled slowly and glanced once across the corridor. Too many eyes. Too much silence. Too many people already thinking things they would later pretend not to have thought at all.

He was not staying here like that.

“Fine,” he said.

The King’s gaze cut back to him.

Fenrir continued before anyone else could speak. “But if anyone tries to touch me again, I’ll make this room considerably worse.”

That earned the faintest shift from Rowan, something close to acknowledgment.

The King didn’t answer.

He only turned and began walking toward the side exit that led out of the halls and into the private corridors beyond it. Rowan followed. After a brief, irritated breath, Fenrir did too.

Valeria kept pace beside him.

Of course she did.

The doors closed behind them, shutting away the weight of the audience hall, but not the problem itself. The private chamber they entered was smaller than the throne room, but not small enough to ease anything. Maps covered one wall. A fire burned low at the far end. The air was warmer here, though not enough to matter against the heat still alive in Fenrir’s chest.

The moment the doors shut, Valeria stepped in front of him.

“Let me see it.”

Fenrir looked down at her. “Move.”

“No.”

“Valeria.”

Her eyes flashed. “She said I’m carrying your child and that it won’t matter. You don’t get to tell me to move as if that means nothing.”

Rowan spoke before Fenrir could answer. “It means something. That is why you need to step aside.”

Valeria turned on him instantly. “Don’t speak to me as if I’m hysterical.”

“I didn’t.”

“You implied it.”

“I did not.”

Fenrir closed his eyes for one second, then reopened them. The burn shifted under his skin, sharper this time, as though even irritation was enough to wake it.

“Enough,” he said.

That stopped both of them.

Valeria’s attention snapped back to him at once. “Then let me see it.”

This time, he didn’t argue.

He pulled the ruined shirt open just enough for the mark to show.

The room went quiet again.

The sigil had burned black against his skin, spread in jagged, curling lines just above his heart, intricate enough to be deliberate, wrong enough to feel like something that should never have existed on a living body. It looked old. Older than anything newly carved had any right to look.

Valeria stared first.

Then the King.

Then Rowan stepped closer without asking permission and studied the mark in silence, his focus narrowing as if the rest of the room had fallen away entirely.

Up close, the sigil was worse.

It had not simply burned into Fenrir’s skin, it had settled there, as though it belonged, its shape too deliberate to be anything accidental. A crescent carved just above his heart, sharp and clean in its design, but the lines surrounding it were something else entirely. Along the outer edge ran a language none of them recognized, the markings thin and precise, etched in a way that suggested meaning rather than decoration. Along the inner curve, three small dots sat evenly spaced, subtle enough to be overlooked at a glance, but impossible to ignore once seen.

He straightened slowly, his expression giving nothing away, though there was something quieter beneath it now, something more measured.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said.

The King’s gaze remained fixed on the mark. “Then explain it.”

“If I could,” Rowan replied, “I already would have.”

That didn’t sit well.

It wasn’t meant to.

Valeria crossed her arms tightly; her attention fixed on the mark as if staring at it long enough would force it to make sense. “So that’s it? No one knows what it is, and we’re supposed to stand here and accept that?”

“No,” Rowan said. “We’re not meant to accept it.”

Fenrir’s gaze lifted to him. “Then explain what comes next.”

Rowan held his gaze for a moment before answering.

“There are places that keep records of things like this,” he said. “Not because they understand them fully, but because they’ve learned not to ignore them.”

The King’s expression sharpened slightly. “And we don’t?”

“We do,” Rowan said. “But not like they do.”

A brief pause settled over the room before he continued.

“Valmere does.”

The name landed differently this time.

Not as a political obligation.

As a direction.

Valeria let out a quiet breath. “You’re telling me the only place that might have answers is a human court.”

“I’m telling you,” Rowan replied evenly, “that they keep track of things most kingdoms choose to forget.”

Fenrir’s jaw tightened slightly, though his expression remained controlled. “And you think they’ve seen this before.”

“I think,” Rowan said, “if anyone has even come close, it will be them.”

The King finally looked away from the mark, his attention shifting to Rowan fully. “And this knowledge sits with who, exactly?”

Rowan didn’t hesitate this time.

“Their royal family.”

Silence followed.

Heavier now.

Because that meant the answer wasn’t something they could take.

It was something they would have to ask for.

Fenrir glanced down once more at the crescent burned into his skin, at the unfamiliar language circling it, at the three small dots placed with too much intention to be meaningless.

Then he looked back up.

“Then we’re going to Valmere.”

The King’s gaze lifted fully to Fenrir, sharper now, more focused. “Then we don’t waste time.”

He turned slightly, already moving on the decision. “Send word ahead. Valmere is to be informed that we are coming.”

A servant stepped forward immediately, head bowed. “Yes, my King.” The servant moved quickly, disappearing through the doors before anything else could be said.

Rowan inclined his head slightly, stepping forward once the messenger was gone. “Dawn will be soon enough. We ride light.”

The King gave a short nod. “The mounts will be prepared.”

That was when Rowan spoke again.

“You shouldn’t be coming with us.”

The shift was immediate.

The King’s gaze moved to him, measured rather than offended. “Explain.”

“This isn’t a formal visit,” Rowan said. “It can’t be. Not with what we don’t understand.”

Fenrir’s attention sharpened slightly.

“If you go, it becomes political before we even arrive,” Rowan continued. “They will receive you as a king, not as someone seeking answers. Every word will be weighed. Every request will come with expectation.”

The King didn’t interrupt.

That alone said enough.

“We lose the ability to ask,” Rowan added. “And we’ll be forced to negotiate instead.”

Silence followed, quieter now, but no less heavy.

“This needs to be contained,” Rowan said. “Fenrir, Elias, and I will be going. We move quickly, without drawing attention.”

Valeria stepped forward. “I’ll have my things prepared as well.”

The King didn’t look at her when he answered. “No.”

She stilled, the word landing harder than expected. “No?”

“You will not be going.”

Her expression shifted, disbelief sharpening into something far less controlled. “You don’t get to make that decision.”

“I do,” he replied evenly. “And I just did.”

Valeria let out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. “He’s marked with something none of you understand, and you expect me to stay behind as if this has nothing to do with me?”

“This is not your path to walk,” the King said.

“She said I’m carrying his child.”

“And she said it in a room meant to fracture,” he answered. “That does not make it the truth.”

Fenrir’s voice cut in, low and steady. “It doesn’t make it false either.”

The King’s gaze flicked to him, but he didn’t push that point further.

Rowan stepped in before the tension could climb again. “This needs to be fast. Controlled. Three riders move differently than four. Less attention. Less resistance.”

Valeria turned toward him sharply. “I’m not resistance.”

“You are if this turns into something more than it already is,” Rowan said calmly. “And it will, if you ride with us.”

That was the truth of it.

Everyone in the room knew it.

The King spoke again, final this time. “Fenrir, Rowan, Elias go. No one else.”

Valeria looked between them, her jaw tightening, her posture rigid with restrained anger. “So that’s it.”

“Yes.”

Silence stretched for a moment.

Then she turned to Fenrir.

“And you’re just accepting that?”

Fenrir met her gaze without hesitation. “You stay here.”

The words were steady.

Unmoved.

And that, more than anything, was what made something shift in her expression.

Not defeat.

Not acceptance.

Something quieter.

“Right,” she said softly.

It wasn’t agreement.

It wasn’t surrender.

It was something else entirely.

The King had already turned away, issuing orders to have the path cleared, to keep their departure quiet, to ensure no word reached beyond the Citadel walls before they were gone.

Fenrir didn’t wait to be dismissed. He turned toward the door, the weight of the mark in his chest pulsing once as if reminding him that time was no longer something he could afford to waste.

Rowan followed.

The decision had been made.

Behind them, Valeria didn’t move at first.

Not until the doors closed.

Only then did she exhale slowly, her gaze lingering on the space Fenrir had just left behind.

“You’re not going to stop me,” she said, though no one had spoken to her.

Her father stepped forward from where he had remained silent. “You were given a clear order.”

She didn’t look at him. “And I heard it.”

“That should be enough.”

“It isn’t.”

Now she turned.

There was no hesitation in her expression anymore. No uncertainty. No question of what came next.

“If they think I’m staying here,” she said, her voice calm in a way that made it more dangerous than before, “then they don’t know me nearly as well as they think they do.”

Her father’s gaze hardened. “Valeria…”

“I won’t interfere,” she cut in. “I won’t slow them down. I won’t make a scene.”

A brief pause.

Then, quieter, more deliberate, “But I will not be left behind.”

He studied her for a long moment, as if weighing whether anything he said would change the direction she had already chosen.

It wouldn’t.

They both knew it.

Valeria turned before he could respond, already moving toward the doors.

There were preparations to make.

Not the kind that would be announced.

Not the kind anyone would be allowed to stop.

By the time dawn came, Fenrir, Rowan, and Elias would already be on the road.

And she would find her own way to Valmere.

No matter what it took.

**

The chamber had long since emptied by the time Fenrir stepped back into the corridor.

The Citadel did not sleep, not truly, but it had quieted enough that the weight of the night pressed differently against the stone. Torches burned lower. Footsteps echoed farther. Conversations had shifted behind closed doors, quieter, more careful.

Word would already be spreading.

Not loudly.

Not yet.

But it would.

Fenrir walked without direction for a moment, letting the silence settle around him, though it did little to ease the tension coiled beneath his skin. The mark burned again, sharper this time, not enough to stagger him, but enough to demand attention.

He stopped.

Not because he had to.

Because ignoring it felt like a mistake.

His hand moved instinctively, pressing lightly against the place just above his heart. The heat flared beneath his palm, not wild, not uncontrolled, but deliberate. A pulse. Then another. As if something within the mark was responding, not to pain, but to him.

Fenrir’s jaw tightened.

“That’s new.”

The voice came from behind him.

He didn’t turn immediately. “You’ve been standing there long.”

“Long enough.”

Fenrir glanced back.

Elias leaned against the stone archway, arms crossed, posture relaxed in a way that didn’t match the sharpness in his gaze. He had always been like that. Still when others moved. Quiet when others spoke. Watching more than most realized.

“You heard everything,” Fenrir said.

“Enough.”

Fenrir turned fully this time. “And?”

Elias pushed off the wall, stepping forward just enough to close some of the distance between them. “I think whatever that is,” he said, nodding once toward Fenrir’s chest, “it’s not done yet.”

Fenrir let out a quiet breath. “I’ve gathered that.”

Elias’s gaze didn’t leave the mark. “Does it hurt?”

“Not the way it did.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Fenrir held his gaze for a moment, then answered honestly. “No.”

That seemed to settle something for Elias.

“Then it’s not trying to kill you,” he said. “At least not quickly.”

Fenrir huffed a quiet, humorless breath. “Comforting.”

Elias shrugged slightly. “It narrows things down.”

A brief silence followed.

Then Fenrir asked, “You ready to ride?”

Elias didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

That earned the faintest shift in Fenrir’s expression, not quite approval, but close enough.

Rowan’s voice cut in before anything more could be said. “You’ll want to get what rest you can.”

They both turned.

Rowan approached at an even pace, his presence steady, unchanged by everything that had happened. If anything, he seemed more focused now, more certain in the direction they were heading.

“We leave before the sun fully rises,” he continued. “The gates will be cleared. No announcements. No attention.”

Fenrir nodded once. “Good.”

Rowan’s gaze lingered briefly on the mark, though he didn’t comment on it again. Not here. Not now.

Instead, he looked between the two of them. “This doesn’t stay contained once we cross the border. Whatever this is,” he added, nodding slightly toward Fenrir, “it will matter there more than it does here.”

Fenrir’s expression didn’t change. “Then we get answers before it matters more.”

Rowan studied him for a moment, as if weighing something unspoken, then gave a slight nod.

“Get some rest,” he said again, before turning and disappearing back down the corridor.

Elias watched him go, then glanced back at Fenrir. “You think Valeria listens?”

Fenrir didn’t answer immediately.

They both knew the answer.

“No,” he said finally.

Elias nodded once. “Didn’t think so.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter, “You going to stop her?”

Fenrir looked ahead again, toward the dim stretch of corridor leading deeper into the Citadel.

“No.”

Elias raised a brow slightly. “That seems like a mistake.”

“Maybe,” Fenrir said.