LOGINLEON’S POV The laugh was the worst version of his voice. The same flat register. The same ancient quality. But something underneath it that had no business being in a laugh — something that made the runes on the walls pulse faster for a moment, a ripple moving outward from him like a stone dropped in still water. It lasted three seconds. Then it stopped. “Running out of time,” he repeated. Still looking at Isabella. “Yes. That’s accurate.” The pale eyes held hers with something that wasn’t quite respect and wasn’t quite threat. A third thing. “You’re more useful than Damon suggested.” “Damon suggested I was an enemy agent,” Isabella said. “Yes,” he said. “He did.” A pause. “He wasn’t wrong.” “No,” she said. “He wasn’t.” I watched this exchange with the specific quality of attention I’d developed over thirty years in this chamber — tracking everything, showing nothing, maintaining the performance of Leon-the-instrument while the person underneath ran separate calculations. T
LEON’S POVI’d been in this chamber more times than I could count.The first time I was seven years old and the Ancient Lycan had wanted to assess the princes personally — had wanted to look at us directly and determine which one of us would serve his purposes best. I remembered standing in this same spot, in this same cold, looking at this same face and feeling the binding tighten around something in my chest that I hadn’t had a name for at seven and had spent the next twenty three years learning to manage.Every time since had been a version of that first time.Standing in this chamber. Being assessed. Being given instructions wrapped in the language of a King receiving counsel, the fiction maintained because the Ancient Lycan understood that people performed better when they believed they had agency.I knew every word he was about to say.I was listening for the ones in between.“Six packs,” the Ancient Lycan said.He hadn’t moved. He was still at the center of the chamber in that
ISABELLA’S POVI’d built a picture of him in my mind.Seven months of fragments — whispered references in palace corridors, the careful way Leon’s face changed when the subject arose, the document Kennedy carried, Asha’s careful descriptions in the archive room during our three months of quiet conversation. I’d assembled those fragments into something I thought I was prepared for.I was not prepared.The chamber was vast.That was the first thing. The ceiling was high enough that the pulsing light didn’t reach it — just disappeared into dark above us, suggesting height without confirming it. The walls were carved with something I couldn’t immediately process, lines and symbols covering every surface from floor to the edge of the visible, packed so densely they became texture rather than writing.Runes.Thousands of them.Old Lycan script, I recognized some of it from texts I’d studied as a girl — my father’s library had contained fragments of old pack histories, pre-consolidation reco
ISABELLA’S POV I’d been underground before. My parents’ escape tunnel — the one my father had shoved me into while the front door cracked and splintered and my mother’s hands had pushed me down into the dark. That had been underground. Narrow and black and smelling of old earth and the particular cold that lived below the frost line. I’d told myself ever since that I wasn’t afraid of underground spaces. I’d been mostly right. This was testing mostly. The passage Kennedy had found was one thing. Old and narrow but comprehensible — stone and torch and three people moving with purpose. The geometry of it made sense. It went from somewhere to somewhere and the somewhere it was going to was a place I’d chosen to go. What opened beyond the door was different. Not a passage. A descent. Steps cut into living rock — not constructed, carved, the kind of work that predated the palace above by centuries and didn’t care about the palace above. They went down in a tight spiral with
LEON’S POV The third passage was narrow. Not uncomfortably so for one person. For three people moving in single file with a torch, it required the particular awareness of your own body in space that came from years of combat training — shoulders angled, movement economical, attention split between the path ahead and the sounds behind. Kennedy led. Isabella followed. I took the rear. The sounds behind us were nothing yet. Empty passage, old stone, the distant settling sounds that ancient structures made that were indistinguishable from footsteps until they weren’t. I’d been listening since we’d entered and so far: nothing. We had time. Not much. But some. The passage sloped downward after the first junction. Not steeply — gradually, the way the ground beneath the palace descended toward the chamber level by slow degrees. I’d walked the main passages enough times to know the geography of it. The third passage ran parallel to the second for a while and then curved left
DAMON’S POV The garden was empty. I stood at the gate and looked at the dry fountain and the bare trees and the two small stones sitting at the edge of the fountain that hadn’t been there before and understood immediately what they meant. Someone had spread something on that fountain edge. A document. Weighted at the corners. Kennedy. I’d known Kennedy was moving independently. I’d known it for months in the way you knew things about people you’d grown up alongside — not through evidence but through the specific quality of their silences, the things they didn’t say, the calculations running behind their eyes that didn’t match the calculations they were performing out loud. I’d underestimated how far along he was. I turned away from the garden. Rogers was waiting in my chambers where I’d left him — sitting in the large chair by the window with his thick arms crossed and his beard making him look, as always, like a man who’d been interrupted from something more physical
Isabella’s POV The moment Sierra started screaming, I already knew she was going to try something stupid. Her face was bright red, her eyes tearing up, and she clutched her stomach like her insides had suddenly turned into lava. The smell alone told everyone exactly what had happened — the
Isabella’s POV I should have known the moment Sierra walked into the hall—hips swaying like she owned the palace—that trouble was coming. She didn’t even hide it. She marched straight toward me where I was arranging the breakfast p
LEON'S POV I couldn't focus. The council meeting droned on around me—Kennedy discussing supply routes, Rogers reporting on patrol schedules, Damon pushing for another invasion. But my mind was elsewhere. In a cell beneath the palace. Wit
ISABELLA'S POV I couldn't shake the feeling of Damon's eyes on me. Even after I'd hurried away from Leon's study, even after I'd turned three corners and descended two flights of stairs, I still felt watched. Hunted. My wolf paced anxiously







