Chapter Thirteen

Elowyn kept the note folded tight in her pocket, fingertips brushing the soft edge again and again as class continued. She barely heard Master Yorrin’s words now — not about scent-mapping, not about scent recall or wolf-linked sensory flares.

Her thoughts were burning.

“Same scent as yesterday. Muted. But buried under something powdery. Like binding dust. Wolf can’t read it. Doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

No insults.

No slurs.

No ridicule.

Just a quiet observation.

Someone saw something. Or smelled something.

And worse…

They weren’t wrong.

Her heart pounded like a warning drum in her chest. She hadn’t drunk enough of the flask this morning. Maybe the bruises made her sloppy. Maybe Baron’s balm interacted with the binding. Or maybe—

Maybe Riven was too smooth with writing.

He'd hovered too long yesterday. Almost picked her and make her run mad.

Now this?

He remembered her scent. And had the nerve to say it back.

Not meanly. Not mockingly.

But.... clearly.

That scared her more than the slaps and shoves ever had.

Because the others dismissed her.

Laughed.

Mocked.

Riven studied.

Elowyn gripped the edge of her desk.

A part of her wanted to cry.

Not because it hurt.

But because this note — this one quiet, searching note — made her feel something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel since she arrived.

Seen.

Not fully.

Not safely.

But.... partly.

And that?

That was the most dangerous thing of all.

Because seen things don’t survive here.

They’re hunted.

"I prefer the ridicules. I will enjoy them to the fullest as long as I remain as the prince here."

★★★

★★★

The dining hall buzzed with clanking dishes and echoing chatter, a chaotic mess of elbows, boots, and Alpha testosterone.

Elowyn sat quietly at the edge of one of the long tables, hunched slightly. Her shirt was stiff from dried balm. Her ribs still pulsed softly beneath it.

She was tired of eating chicken. Her plate was overpiled like she was some elephant.

So.... she shared.

To the surprise of the guys around the table.

The tray of chicken wings had been dropped in the center of the table and she’d split it up clumsily. Her fingers trembled from exhaustion, but she offered pieces to the males around her, wordlessly placing them in front of each person.

A few took them with surprised snorts. One muttered something under his breath. Another hissed a “thank you” and nudged her plate with his thumb.

She didn’t care.

She didn’t eat.

But when she glanced up and saw one cadet looking at her with empty hands, her stomach dropped.

She blinked.

He kept eating but somehow, she could read his indignation and felt guilty.

“Oh.... I–I didn’t count properly....” She began.

The boy stood abruptly, knocking over his bench with a loud thud.

“Why are you looking at me like that? You think you’re entertaining?” he growled. “Feeding everyone? You staring at me like I’m some mangy stray!? I didn't ask you to feed me.”

“No, I just....”

“You want to be Alpha, right? Princes are Alphas, yeah? Then act like one, idiot.”

Heads turned. Laughter sparked nearby.

Then it went still.

Because the moment cracked open.

Senior Lucian Speare had entered the row, flanked by two betas. All clad in black.

Elowyn froze.

Lucian had a cruel smile. The kind that didn’t reach the eyes.

“Well, well…” He said, voice a purr, “.... causing trouble already at dinner? That didn’t take long.”

She said nothing.

Lucian stepped closer. “I heard you’ve been hiding scent. That’s cute. Makes me wonder what you’re hiding underneath.”

His nose flared.

Elowyn clenched her fists.

"I take purifying herbs." She defended.

Lucian leaned just a bit too close. “I don’t like fake wolves. Makes my skin crawl. But I’m a gentleman. I like to get to know my opponents before I tear them apart.”

He sniffed again — more deliberate this time.

Elowyn’s skin crawled.

“And you smell like contradiction.”

A ripple of tension passed through the table. A few cadets shifted in discomfort. Some just watched, wide-eyed.

Lucian's voice lowered, almost mockingly.

Azpen Vale giggled shortly and stuck food in his mouth.

“Should we all find out what’s really beneath that scentless skin?”

She wanted to disappear.

Across the room, Baron Ortega didn’t move. He kept eating, expression unreadable. Minding his business.

Elowyn’s eyes flicked toward him — just once.

Nothing.

He didn’t even look at her.

Elowyn began to feel naked.

Lucian turned back to his betas. “Drag the little imp out into the courtyard. Maybe a....”

CLANG!

Baron flung his fork and slammed his fist down, loudly.

"Speare!"

Every head turned.

Lucian froze.

Baron stood up, slow and deliberate. His eyes were dark — unreadable — but his voice cut clean across the silence.

“If you’re done sniffing like a starving mutt, Speare, teach the stupid, scrawny prince a lesson or shut the hell up.”

An extra hush dropped instantly.

Lucian straightened, fury blazing in his eyes. “What did you say?”

Baron walked around the table, arms loose at his side, eyes fixed.

“I said stop barking. You want to fight? Fight. You want to bark? I’ll twist your leash.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Lucian’s jaw clenched.

A growl tore deep from his chest and Elowyn was swelling with great fear.

And then—