The King's Territory

SERAPHINA'S POV

'I had survived betrayal, a beating and being thrown into the woods half naked. Surely I could survive whatever this was. Surely.'

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The sound of wooden wheels against uneven ground creaked and groaned loudly in my ears, pulling me awake.

My body rocked with it, limp, my ankle throbbing….

Argh….

I forced my eyes open, my vision blurry.

The sky above me was grey, wet and moving and my head felt like someone had filled it with stones.

Horse-drawn carriage.

...what!

I tried to yell, tried to move but felt stuck…. looking down at my hands and legs….argh…my wound.

"Where…" My voice cracked. I swallowed, and regretted it immediately; my throat was dry, and the sharp pain intensified as I tried again. "Where are you taking me?"

No one answered….

Shaking off the chains bound to my hands and legs already digging deep into my skin, my wound.

“Answer me!”

"HEY." I yanked against the rope. "I am talking to you. Where. Are. You. Taking. Me.”

I pulled myself upright against the carriage wall, squinting through the blurry vision, trying to make sense of the trees, the territory, the sheer size of everything around me.

This wasn't ironmoor.

Looks nothing like it, entirely something else.

A gate appeared ahead. Massive. Black iron and ancient stone, rising out of the ground as it had grown there. Guards lined either side.

The gate opened without a sound.

"You people better tell me where I am right now." My voice came out weaker than I wanted. Breathless. Shaking at the edges. "My chosen mate is Alpha Caden Silverstone of Ironmoor and when he finds out…."

The memory hit me more than a slap…

Elowen on his thigh.

‘Seraphina Riven is no longer Luna of Ironmoor.’

The gate didn't open when I banged on it.

I stopped talking.

Warm tears tracked down my face and I hated them. Hated every single one.

The carriage lurched to a stop.

A guard appeared at the side and grabbed the rope attached to my neck…. I hadn't even noticed it until it pulled taut, yanking upward.

My legs had other ideas.

The moment my feet hit the ground they folded completely.

My knees hit hard on the wet cobblestone. I heard my bones rattling.

I grabbed the carriage wheel with bound hands and tried to drag myself upright while the guard pulled the neck rope like I was livestock being led to a pen.

"Don't…" I gasped. "Don't touch me. I can walk."

I could not walk…

"Stand," the guard muttered.

"I can't…"

He pulled. I scrambled, half-crawling, the rope choking with every misstep. Mud and blood and rain covered me, the torn dress clinging to my body, leaving nothing hidden. I tried to cover my breasts with bound hands, but failed, and tried again.

"Please….arghh…" The begging disgusted me, but it came anyway. "I am not what you think. I was thrown out. Abandoned. I have no pack…I'm ....”

They didn't listen. Dragged me through corridors of stone, into a chamber that smelled like cedarwood. Past guards who didn't look at me. Past staff who looked and then immediately looked away.

Furs, the musk of too many wolves in close space.

I tried to cover my chest with my bound hands, the torn dress giving up on that particular job entirely, mud drying on my skin, hair matted to my face.

Doors opened ahead of us.

Big ones.

And through my weak, blurry, sweat-stung vision, the first thing I saw wasn't a face.

It was a tattoo.

On a forearm resting against a meeting table. Dark ink. Ancient markings that moved up the arm in patterns that didn't look decorative.

I knew what that tattoo meant.

Every wolf in every pack across six territories knew what that tattoo meant.

The Lycan King.

My stomach churn immediately.

An elder was already on his feet, voice raised at the guards for daring to interrupt. “What's so important that you dare to interrupt the lord's important meeting. Did you have any concept of…”

“We found her at the border of our territory.” The guard interrupted. "Lying in wait. Dressed in rags, but the fabric…" he held up a scrap of my torn dress, "....fine quality. A spy's disguise, perhaps. Sent from the eastern pack to…”

"I am NOT a spy." The words scraped out of my raw throat.

My body felt weak, and my legs were already giving way. I had to lean on the hands of the two guards. I felt my chest pounding hard.

Saliva dripped down from my mouth. I couldn't control my own body now.

Couldn't even raise my gaze to the almighty lycan king. I could hear them speak but I couldn't defend myself more.

These fools. Have they ever seen a spy left half-dead in the rain? A spy with no weapons, no papers, no..argh…could this get any worse.

I felt his eyes traced my body, deliberate and sharp gaze.

I didn't see it, I felt it.

A slow, deliberate one, moving across my body, starting at my feet. Moving upward. Taking its time.

Feeling a load of electric jolt through my body…crawling my skin.

Goosebumps.

My wolf stirred, just slightly, just enough and I did not have the energy to think about what that meant.

"Permission to behead the spy, lord Dravon." The guard's voice was completely casual. "We can send the head to Ironmoor as a message."

I opened my mouth.

Words didn't come.

For the first time in my life, words did not come.

My eyes found his hand across the room.

I watched it rise.

I watched it wave.

Three seconds. That was all my life was worth in this room.

Three seconds and a hand that moved like it was swatting something away.

They bowed then pulled me back outside.

Water struck my face. Icy, shocking, clearing my vision for one cruel moment. I gasped, sputtered, and saw him properly.

Though he was far, I could make him out through the swaying curtains

Throne of bone and dark wood. People surrounded.

They pulled me to the block. Wood, stained, carved with runes I didn't recognize.

My hands were forced to it, my neck positioned, my hair swept aside. I felt the grain against my cheek, smelled old blood in the cracks.

The sword rose. the arc of steel catching firelight.

I tried to speak.

My mouth formed words that my throat couldn't push out.

This is how it ends, I thought. Not Caden's betrayal. Not Elowen's laughter. A stranger's blade in a strange pack, for a crime I didn't commit.

I closed my eyes.

"Stop.”