A Tool of Power

Elira ached everywhere as she woke up. Sunlight flooded the floor – it was nearly noon. Her body felt heavy and sore, like she’d been hollowed out. Even breathing took effort. She blinked, her vision clearing slowly. Warm sheets. The smell of chamomile.

She was in bed.

That surprised her.

Last night, she’d collapsed on the floor. She didn’t remember getting into bed.

Kael.

He must have carried her.

Something twisted in her chest – raw and confusing. Memories flooded back:

The searing pain.

The awakening.

The scent outside the window – hauntingly familiar, even through the agony.

Thane.

Was it him?

It felt real. Too real. Like something deep inside her had been violently yanked awake.

A connection she hadn’t known existed.

He’d vanished a year ago. Without a word.

Had he come back? Now?

Her heart stumbled. But instinct whispered something colder:

It wasn’t just him.

That scent might have stirred something…

But what truly woke her wolf… was far closer.

Kael.

Her thoughts turned back to him.

To the way his hand had touched her throat.

To the way his lips had claimed hers—not with tenderness, but hunger.

The taste of him still lingered. The heat of it. The shame of it.

What the hell had they done?

She wanted to blame the fever, the confusion between human and wolf. But Kael? Kael hadn't been lost to any shift. He wasn't hallucinating. He was deliberate. He was there.

And gods, he had looked at her like—

No. No.

That wasn't what mattered.

What mattered was this: the moment her fingers brushed the cold silver crest.

The warning flare inside her – sharp as lightning.

It felt like burning alive from within.

Kael.

A wolf hunter.

A predator – sleeping just walls away.

And her? A secret half-blood. Trapped in her enemy’s home.

Of course her wolf woke up.

This wasn’t about romance. It was survival.

And when the beast rose… she’d thrown him across the room.

A shiver ran through her.

She could feel it now. A presence. Stirring deep under her skin. Not a voice. A knowing.

The beast knew what she was.

And it wouldn’t sleep again.

A soft knock. 

The door opened. A servant entered with a tray.

The smell of bone broth filled the room – rich with herbs. Then lemon fish, eggy brioche, fresh figs, pears, and bright pomegranate seeds. Warm honeyed milk. And… the vial. The tonic. Now she knew its purpose – to cage the beast.

Under it, a scrap of paper in Kael’s handwriting: "Your choice. But the moon won’t wait."

"The Commander insisted, milady," the maid said, sounding amused. "Said you needed strength after such a… long, intense night." She giggled, clearly imagining something else.

Elira said nothing. Her fingers clenched the sheets. The servants thought passion left her weak. Thought Kael had claimed her. Maybe he had. He carried her. Told them nothing. Left her aching and full of questions.Why? Why would he do all this?

Elira took a steadying breath. The ache remained, but her mind sharpened. Kael, kisses, confusing warmth – she pushed them aside. Something more urgent pressed in. Her hand hovered near the vial. With quiet resolve, she pushed herself up.

"Prepare a carriage. I’m visiting the Malven estate." Her voice was cool, composed.

The servant’s smile vanished. Elira’s look cut through the giggles – calm, unreadable, sharp. The room went silent. Elira turned from the tray, the bed she hadn’t climbed into, and walked toward the cold truth waiting at her family home.

The Malven estate gates groaned open. Elira stepped out, royal despite the pain. Staff nodded politely, more from habit than warmth.

"I’ll see my father," she stated.

An older servant bowed. "The Duke is in his study, my lady."

She turned toward the hall –

"Well, well… What’s Lady Rennar doing here?" A bitter voice cut the air.

Alvero Malven leaned against a column, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with resentment.

"Shouldn’t a new bride be enjoying her brave husband’s glory instead of haunting her father’s house?"

Elira turned slowly. Her brother. Wearing his usual look: expecting disappointment, and cruel because of it.

"Or did your beast hunter finally tire of playing husband to a frigid little fox?"

Elira didn’t flinch. "Still charming, Alvero."

His smirk deepened. "You always had the words. And everything else. Father’s perfect little tool."

The insult fell flat. She’d heard it forever. She’d outshone him – in court, in studies, in the grace their father valued. While she attended councils, he stayed behind. The bitter spare son.

"I’m not here to spar," she said coldly. "Move."

"Of course." He gave a mocking bow. "Wouldn’t dream of delaying Malven’s finest weapon."

She felt his glare on her back as she walked away without looking back.

She knocked on the Duke’s study door. Announced herself. He let her in without pause.

"Elira." His voice was clipped. Detached. "Adjusting to your new household, I trust?"

She didn’t answer. She knew he didn’t care.

Without waiting, Duke Malven slid a scroll across the desk.

"The Crown’s reallocating land near the northwest frontier. Wild forest. Worthless to most. But cleared? A gold mine. Silver. Medicinal plants. Trade routes."

Elira’s fingers tightened slightly at her side. "You plan to claim it?"

He finally looked up. His eyes, like hers but cold, were calculating.

"With Kael Rennar’s name backing the claim? The Crown will sign it in a month. He’s the war hero. The beast hunter. What better reason to take a dangerous region than marrying its hunter to my bloodline?"

Elira’s jaw clenched. She didn’t speak, but resentment flashed on her face.

Duke Malven raised a brow, faintly amused.

"Don’t be naive. You were made for this. It’s logical. You won’t lift a finger – just make sure Kael speaks when needed."

"I doubt Kael plays puppet."

"Then make him think it’s his idea."

Her breath hitched. He spoke of Kael like a tool. Her marriage like a business deal.

She stayed silent. She’d known it, deep down.

"There’s a council vote next month," he continued. "Secure Kael’s support before then. If Rennar backs us, no one questions it. If he refuses…" He waved a dismissive hand. "You’ll make him see sense. You are your father’s daughter."

Elira looked out the window. The sky beyond the walls felt miles away. Caged. Strategic. A weapon. That’s all she’d ever been.

Her throat tightened.

"Father," she began, voice calm despite her clenched fists. "I want to ask you something."

Duke Malven didn’t look up. His pen scratched across parchment. Gains. Territories. Names.

She stood straighter, gathering strength she didn’t feel.

"The tonic. The one you made me drink for years. Was it really for my health?"

His hand paused mid-sentence.

"Or was it to suppress something inside me?" she asked softly. "Something… wild?"

Silence. Heavy.

Finally, Duke Malven set his pen down. Slowly.

His eyes, like shards of black ice, locked onto hers. Piercing. Unforgiving.

Nails digging into her palms, she pushed on, "Is it because you knew…"

"...that I was half wolf?"

The room froze. Even the fire seemed silent.

Then— PLAAK.

His palm struck her cheek. The sound echoed like a whip.

"You fool!" His voice roared.

She didn’t scream. Her cheek burned, throbbing. Her eyes stayed fixed on him, cold and unblinking. Deep inside, something growled.

Her wolf.

He snarled, "You speak of things you don’t understand! Things that should have stayed buried!"

"And yet you fed me poison every day to bury them," she whispered.

His eyes flashed. But for one instant—she saw it.

Fear.

Not for her.

Of  her.