The Tripartite.

Keon's POV:

Rowan is at the end of the corridor, by my side with concern on his features.

"Keon, are you okay?"

I nod, trying to recomposed myself.

He uses the mindlink. "Are you sure? I've been trying to get to you for a while now. What's on your mind?"

I shake my head, trying to free my mind from the several what ifs chaining it down. "Nothing worth your time."

He looks me in the eye for several seconds, before concluding that for himself. He eyes the door down the hall, the same door I just came out from and Winter's mother walked into some minutes ago.

"Is she alright?"

I know exactly who he means.

I close my eyes briefly.

Using the bond.

Just enough.

Just enough to feel her.

Her breathing.

Her calm.

The steady rhythm of her magic.

"She's fine."

Rowan exhales.

"Actually fine?"

I nod.

"Better than before."

That surprises him.

That makes the two of us in all honesty.

Because after everything, I expected her to be worse.

But Winter has always been like that.

She survives things that should break her.

Rowan falls into step beside me.

"Your timing is terrible."

I look at him.

"You noticed?"

A dry smile crosses his face.

"Keon, her mother arriving today is possibly the worst possible timing."

"I am aware."

"The entire castle is already under lockdown."

"I know."

"The attacker is probably still somewhere."

"I know."

"And now the High Wizard's wife is here."

I stop walking.

"Do not call her that."

Rowan raises an eyebrow.

"Why?"

Because she is more than that.

Because she is Winter's mother.

She is Adriana Quilox.

Because reducing people to titles is how everyone around Winter failed to see her as a person.

But I do not say that.

I simply continue walking.

Rowan does not push.

He knows me too well.

"Anyway," he says, "I may have found something."

That gets my attention.

"What?"

"I found traces."

We continue toward my study.

"Of the attacker?"

"Not exactly." He pauses as if for dramatic effect.

"More like the plotter"

That answer bothers me.

"What does that mean?"

"It means someone has been planning."

My jaw tightens.

We reach the doors of my study.

The same room where I have made decisions that affected thousands of lives.

The same room where I have ended wars.

Negotiated alliances.

Solved problems that everyone else thought impossible.

And now I am standing here because I cannot, as of right now, solve the one thing that matters most.

Protecting one person.

Rowan enters first.

Papers are already spread across my desk.

A file.

Several notes.

Images.

I pick one up.

Winter.

A picture of Winter.

Not public.

Not from an official ceremony.

A personal image.

My expression darkens.

"Where did this come from?"

"That is what concerns me."

Rowan points toward the documents.

"They have information that should not be accessible."

I scan through the pages.

Her habits.

Her schedule.

Her training.

Details about the palace.

Details about her family.

Details about me.

About Derek.

About Rowan.

About everyone involved.

Someone has been studying us.

Not randomly.

Carefully.

"Where did you find this?" I ask, calmly, a little too calmly, if he picks up on it.

"The old chamber room of the elders."

The gears in my head turn, trying to process the information.

That's the place Winter swore she saw the eye that day.

Most wolves don't even know that place exists, aside from older guards and royals.

I look again at the information that had to have been carefully gathered over the course of many months, maybe even years. There's a picture of a what has to be Winter as a little girl in here, but her eyes are a full shade instead of the bright shade I've come to know. It looks like she's crying here, a streak of blue across a side of her head that's a deep shade of blue.

A short note is scribbled under: "Subject A seems to be performing at outputs much lower for an expected witch of her age, and lacks emotional regulation."

What the...

I turn to the picture of myself, the one I took with Derrick when we were still youngins, after conquering our first territory outside of our pack's own. My smile is non-existent but my eyes are shining, the true display of my pleasure. Derrick's smile is wide with blood stained teeth, while the sword I had used to decapitate them clasped tightly in my grip. Derrick uses his hands to make a kill sign, just as the camera went off.

I would smile, if the time was right.

Who the hell is this and how did they gain access to this type of picture. I don't even have this picture. It had to have been with Father. How this person had this, I don't know.

I look around, and other sensitive information about all the royals and best officials in the pack are here. There's even something on Ariana and Winter's mother, although Adriana's page is empty compared to the others.

This bothers me. Deeply.

I inhale.

"This is not an assassination attempt."

Rowan looks at me.

"No?"

I shake my head.

That much is clear. If it was, with this much information, we should all be long dead. I try not to think too much about that. This person has information on me before I even became Alpha.

"This is preparation."

Silence.

Because we both know what that means.

Someone was not acting on impulse.

Someone planned.

I move toward another page.

The relics.

There are three symbols. At least there are supposed to be. The terrible writing and depictions make it hard to be sure.

Right beneath them, distinct locations across the map of my territory.

My eyes narrow. I read out the words on the page.

"The necklace."

Rowan nods.

Winter's mention of a necklace in her dreams fizzles and dissolves in my memory.

"The staff."

"Unknown location."

I turn to him. "That's not true though. It's still at—"

"Yes but it seems our plotter seems to not know that."

I nod.

"And the third?"

He looks at me.

"That is the problem."

I study the page.

They know two exist.

But they are searching for the third.

We also knew there were, accord to rumors, three relics, which made up a tripartite, but only the staff lay in our possession. The crown, was accordingly to rumors, hidden from all of both of our kinds as punishment for the abuse of its powers. The necklace was rumored to be somewhere buried deep in witch territory, but the witches has done extensive searches several times and come up short. And the staff lay with us, well hidden.

A crown. A symbol of power, respect and honor,

A weapon. The instrument of warfare and symbol of government.

The necklace, the middle ground that allowed both to coincide without imbalance. Overlooked yet it's significance understudied.

The room feels colder.

Because this is no longer just about Winter.

This is about the relics.

The things her father spent years chasing.

The things everyone thought were dead, fake or hidden.

I turn away.

Then my eyes catch something on the shelf.

A file.

Old.

Untouched.

My name written on it.

No.

Not mine.

Hers.

Winter.

I forgot about it.

The report I requested after the first attack.

The one I never had time to properly read.

I pick it up.

Rowan watches.

"You never opened it?"

"No."

A mistake.

One I should not have made.

I open it.

And immediately regret waiting.

Because the first page is not about her abilities.

It is about her.

Her childhood.

Her family.

Her life.

Winter.

First child.

High expectations.

Slow magical development.

Quiet temperament.

Often described as weaker than other children her age.

My expression hardens.

Weak.

That word again.

The same word people used when they underestimated her.

The same word they used before she proved them wrong.

I continue reading.

Rumors that she was a child of bad luck and was supposed to die during her third year.

Writings on how she would disappear from public training, or her numerous attempts to run away from the coven.

I stop.

Then I read the next line.

Her father’s methods of discipline.

My hand tightens.

Punishment:

"Any act of disrespect, disobedience, disregard, or dishonor against the High Wizard, The Council of Elders and the Coven at large was dealt with however the High Wizard deemed fit."

It's the next paragraph that makes my blood rise.

"... However, the High Wizard has a preferred method of punishment. The Salt Purgation: In a scenerio falling under the conditions previously listed, the High Wizard chains the offender in heavy iron by their hands and feet to a ring bolt. The offender is then flogged. I get to the part about salting wounds until the offender loses consciousness and I don't think I can continue."

The scars are invisible to normal eyes, only visible through witch sight.

Many a time, Winter is the offender.

I close my eyes and see it, as clear as day.

Winter being repeatedly tortured, in the public eye, for offences that I am sure were disproportionate.

For a moment, I cannot move.

Because suddenly everything makes sense.

The way she flinches sometimes.

The way she expects anger.

The way she apologizes before anyone blames her.

Surprisingly, I am calm.

But it's the kind of calm that reigns before the storm crashes in.

The kind that makes me dangerous to be around.

Controlled.

Cold.

The kind that makes enemies afraid.

I close the file.

Slowly.

This information stays with me.

I am going to find that motherfucker and—

Later.

When Winter is ready.

Not now.

Not when she already carries enough.

Rowan looks at me.

"You found something."

I do not answer immediately.

Because I did.

I found pieces of a person I thought I knew.

And somehow, I hate that I was too late.

He gestures toward the remaining files.

"That is everything we have."

I reach toward the folder of my current concern.

The one with the new evidence.

The one that might tell us who is after her.

The door knocks.

Both Rowan and I freeze.

Because there is only one person who would knock like that.

Calm.

Certain.

Unafraid.

I look toward the door.

And somehow I already know.

"Come in."

The door opens.