CHAPTER FOUR

The candle burned low on Rhea’s desk, casting trembling shadows across the stone walls of her room. Her satchel lay open beside her, half-packed, but her hands hovered uselessly above it. Books, a change of clothes, her mother’s crest wrapped in linen—none of it seemed real. Not the plan. Not the escape. Not even the quiet certainty that this might be the last time she ever stood in these chambers.

She pressed a hand against her chest, right over her racing heart.

It had only been five days since her mother’s funeral.

Five days since she'd stood beside an open grave, the scent of lilies choking her while her father never once reached for her hand.

And now—now she was to be given away like cattle. As if her mother’s ashes had barely cooled. As if her pain didn’t matter.

A knock at the servant’s door jolted her upright. A soft tap, a familiar rhythm.

“Mira,” she whispered, darting over to unlock it.

The old nursemaid stepped inside, carrying a bundle of cloth in her arms. Her expression was grim, her eyes red-rimmed. “You’re not ready.”

“I can’t stop shaking,” Rhea admitted, voice tight with panic. “I thought I’d be braver. I thought—”

“Bravery isn't the absence of fear, child.” Mira touched her cheek. “It’s the decision to keep moving, even when it feels like your knees might give out.”

“I’m terrified.” Rhea’s voice cracked. “If he finds out… if they catch me…”

“They won’t,” Mira said firmly. She moved to the satchel and began folding things with practiced speed. “You’re leaving tonight. We’ve delayed long enough.”

Rhea swallowed, forcing down the lump in her throat. “And the letter?”

“Here.” Mira pulled a rolled parchment from her bundle, sealed with wax. “Forged from the Academy’s old emblem—one of the stables boys owed me a favor. It’s not perfect, but it will pass a bored clerk’s inspection. It says you’re a northern noble’s son, accepted for spring training.”

Rhea took it reverently, hands trembling. “Thank you.”

“You’ll need to come up with a name before you reach the gates,” Mira added quietly. “They’ll expect a boy.”

“I know,” Rhea whispered, folding the letter and tucking it deep into the satchel.

Mira turned to her, then hesitated. “You could still change your mind.”

“No,” Rhea said, sharper than intended. She softened. “No. If I stay, I marry Branor. I become someone else’s tool. That’s not living.”

The older woman looked at her for a long moment before nodding. “Then we do this properly.”

They moved quickly now. Mira handed her a dark cloak with a heavy hood. “This will cover your hair. You’ll leave through the old storeroom. I’ll leave my chamber door ajar to give the guards something to question if anyone notices. There’s a wagon traveling east to the mountain pass before dawn. You catch it. It will take you near the border.”

“And then?” Rhea asked.

“Then you follow the map I tucked into your satchel. Avoid the roads. Keep to the woods until you reach Elandra’s Crossing. From there, a courier line heads north. One of the drivers is sympathetic—he’ll get you within walking distance of the Academy.”

Rhea stared at her, heart pounding. “You’ve thought of everything.”

“I had to.” Mira’s voice wavered. “You’re all I have left.”

A sudden tightness bloomed in Rhea’s chest, the weight of it making her throat close. “Mira… I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You survive. You learn. You become everything the world told you you couldn’t be.” Mira’s eyes were fierce. “That’s thanks enough.”

A distant bell rang across the estate. Two chimes. The halfway mark of night.

“It’s time,” Mira said. “Go. And Rhea…”

Rhea turned at the threshold.

“Your mother would be proud.”

---

The old storeroom door creaked open just wide enough for her to slip through. Beyond it, a narrow servants’ path wound behind the kitchen and led to the outer grounds. Every step she took felt deafening, crunching over leaves, grinding gravel under her boots. Her breath came fast, misting in the cold night air, but she didn’t slow.

The estate loomed behind her like a tomb.

When she reached the break in the southern wall—the one Mira had shown her as a child during games of hide and seek—she hesitated only briefly before ducking through.

And then she ran.

Through the dark fields. Through rows of silent trees. Across shallow streams and cold mud that soaked her hem.

Her legs burned, her lungs ached, but she didn’t stop.

Somewhere beyond this night lay the Alpha Training Academy. A place where she could disappear. A place where, if she could learn and fight and blend in, no one would ever chain her to a marriage bed or throne again.

For now, that hope was enough.

So Rhea Blackbourne—daughter of the high lord, born of noble blood, and heir to a shattered promise—ran into the night, the weight of freedom pressed tight against her back.

The forest had never seemed so vast before.

Rhea moved between gnarled trunks and tangled undergrowth, her body sore and leaden from two days of travel. Her boots—never meant for this much walking—were blistering her heels. Her cloak was damp with morning dew, her stomach a pit of hollow growls. She’d rationed what Mira gave her, but it wasn’t much, and every time she took a bite of the stale bread, guilt gnawed deeper than hunger.

Every noise made her flinch. The snap of a twig. The hoot of an owl. The distant crunch of leaves behind her. She’d spin, breath caught in her throat, convinced someone was following her—her father’s guards, Garrick’s men, maybe worse. But each time, it was nothing. Just the woods, alive and uncaring.

She’d dreamed of running before—many times, ever since her father first mentioned the word betrothal. But dreams never accounted for the cold, the fear, the ache in her bones.

She slumped against a moss-covered tree, taking a moment to breathe.

“I’m not lost,” she told herself. “Just... unsure.”

From her satchel, she pulled the rough map Mira had marked in charcoal. The lines were vague at best, but the route had been etched in her mind. East to the ridge, south through the bramble valley, then northeast to Elandra’s Crossing. The Academy lay beyond, nestled deep in a guarded province only those with clearance or coin could enter.

And she had neither.

She traced the edge of the parchment with a dirty fingertip. I’ll need to fake my way through. Stay quiet. Speak with confidence. Look like I belong.

But how did one look like a future Alpha when her face was too soft, her posture too poised, and her every instinct screamed of being prey, not predator?

She needed a disguise.

A name.

A story.

Something that would let her slip past the gates without question.

But first—she had to survive the forest.

She pressed her hand to the small linen bundle at her chest. Inside, her mother’s crest rested heavy and cold, its silver edges dulled with age. The only thing of value she carried—besides her will.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

She groaned. “Of course.”

The storm struck an hour later, tearing through the trees like a vengeful spirit. Rhea barely managed to find a hollow under a fallen tree before the rain came. She wrapped the cloak tighter, pressing her knees to her chest, trying to stay warm.

Lightning flared through the canopy. Thunder cracked close enough to rattle her bones.

She let her head fall back against the bark, eyes closed.

“This was a mistake,” she whispered. “I should’ve waited. Found a better way.”

But there was no better way.

She knew what Garrick did to his last wife. Everyone knew—though no one said it aloud. Bruises covered by furs. A fall down the stairs that was never questioned. A body buried too quickly, a name spoken only in whispers.

Her hands clenched in her lap. She would never let that be her fate.

When the storm passed and morning came with gray skies and dripping leaves, Rhea emerged from the hollow, soaked and shivering. She moved slower now, picking her way through the brush, careful of exposed roots and slick mud.

By midday, she found a dirt path running east. A faded sign pointed toward Elandra’s Crossing.

Relief flooded her.

She wasn’t far now. Two more days, maybe less if she pushed through the night.

But a sound behind her snapped that fragile peace.

Voices.

Male.

Laughter—distant but drawing closer.

Rhea’s blood ran cold. She dove off the path, into the underbrush, and lay flat. Branches scratched her face. Her cloak caught on brambles, but she didn’t move.

Two riders passed moments later. She didn’t recognize them, but they wore the same gray and green colors as the Blackbourne guards.

She waited. Counted her breaths.

When the last hoofbeat faded into silence, she rose slowly, limbs shaking.

They’re looking for me.

Of course they were. Her father would never allow this to become a scandal. If word spread that his only daughter fled a betrothal, it would damage his standing.

And Garrick wouldn’t tolerate humiliation.

They wouldn’t stop.

She had to disappear completely.

And that meant letting Rhea Blackbourne die.

As she pushed deeper into the trees again, the thought began to shape itself in her mind like clay on a wheel. A new name. A new identity.

If she could reach the Academy unnoticed, she could disappear into its ranks. Train. Learn to fight. Stay hidden among the sons of alphas.

But first—she needed to make it to Elandra’s Crossing alive.

And figure out who she would become.