3. One room

The carriage was silent, save for the heavy crunching sound of the wheels against the road.

Eryndra peered through the narrow window, her palms sweaty against her thighs as she tried her best to stay calm.

Her dress and hair had been refixed. She had told Luna Maren she'd undone them herself due to shortness of breath.

The scene in her father's chamber wouldn't stop replaying.

Who would have thought her mate from that night was not an Omega but the Grand Marshal of the Citadel?!

A Lycan of all species!

She was mated to the one whose sword would slash her neck the moment he found out what she really was!

Her mother would go insane.

When Lord Theron crowded her, she had felt the Veil spell a breath away from breaking. It would have, had she not channeled her energy into strengthening it.

Even at that, the spell had weakened.

Luckily, the male wasn't in the royal carriage, as he and his squire were riding ahead. It was going to take a day and a half before they reached the Citadel.

Eryndra couldn't wait for it to be over. Exhausted, she rested her head for a nap.

After a while, the sudden jolt of the carriage woke her. She almost flinched when the door swung open, revealing Lord Theron.

"My lady must eat," he said dryly.

Eryndra glanced at his outstretched hand and cleared her throat.

"Do not trouble yourself, my lord. I can get down on my own." She tried as much as possible to sound polite, but he looked unbothered.

He stepped aside and let her, watching her closely.

She sat beneath a tree and ate the dry bread, smoked fish, and cherries given to her.

Close by, Theron fed his horses, while the squire went off somewhere.

Once done, he approached the nearby river to wash his face. His black noble attire clung fittingly to his frame: broad-shouldered leather with dark embroideries. At his hip hung his sword—long, regal, deadly.

Eryndra watched every one of his movements. Her mind, unbridled, recalled how he'd looked bare under that waterfall and how he'd claimed her that night.

Suddenly his gaze flicked in her direction. She stiffened, immediately shifting her focus to the bread.

The sound of his boots crushing the dry leaves drew closer. Eryndra immediately channeled her energy into the Veil Spell humming silently in her chest.

As he sat by the tree, Eryndra tried not to look at him or shift away.

Lord Theron rested his head on the tree, eyes shut as if asleep.

Silence stretched, long and heavy.

"It was not my intention to scare you earlier, my lady," he finally spoke, breaking the silence. "My apologies."

This time he sounded sincere.

"You have nothing to apologize for. I understand Lycans have their way of... assessing situations," she said, keeping her voice neutral.

"Is that what you call that?"

She didn't answer.

"You don't look like a Dor," he mumbled after another silence.

Eryndra froze. "What?"

He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. "The Silverion pack is part of the Dor region of the realm. I've been with many females to know how they look, and you... don't look like one of them."

"First, you mistook me for someone else. Now you suspect I'm not from Dor?"

"I did not say you're not. I said you do not look like one."

"And how would you know that? Just how many Dor females have you met to make such an accusation?"

"Dor women aren't hard to recognize. It's rare to see one with a sharp nose like yours. Eyes of the ocean, full lips, and a heart-shaped jaw. Neither of your parents looks close to that." He tilted his head and concluded, "You look more of the Auranis or Sharazia region. Auranis, I hope not."

Eryndra's heart raced.

Shit! It was true, what they said about him.

He was a great reader, with eyes like a hawk. It was no wonder he was a Grand Marshal.

"The realm is revolving. Many things are different now. It doesn't matter how many women you've bedded."

Eryndra tried not to let his words get to her. Perhaps she was just another woman he had slept with that night and surely didn't care.

"You've got a sharp tongue for a Chosen," he muttered. "I do not bed many. Only those who can keep up."

"And what kind of women do you bed?" she found herself asking. Part of her didn't want to hear it, and a distant part of her was curious.

His lips twitched subtly at her question.

"All kinds of women... except..." he studied her closely "rogues."

Something in Eryndra cracked.

"I don't fuck them. I destroy them."

The air in Eryndra's lungs disappeared, and her energy on the spell nearly slipped completely, giving it a crack. The bond flickered. She sprang to her feet, stepping away from his scent.

Lord Theron's eyes constricted hard. "What was that?"

Eryndra cursed herself inwardly for the sudden reaction.

He rose as well. "Is there a problem, Lady Tarianne?"

Breathe. Eryn. Breathe.

"No... I, um," think! Think! "My elder sister," her voice came louder than intended, "was assumed to be killed by rogues. She was found beyond the borders."

His gaze softened. "Is that so?"

She nodded quickly.

"My condolences," he muttered, gaze still trying to read her.

"Thank you, my lord." Eryndra clutched her dress tight. "I shall return to the carriage."

Lord Theron's gaze followed her as she left quickly.

~~~~~~

The journey continued, and this time they rode a bit faster, reaching the east inn before darkness crept over.

Theron handed a pile of dresses to Eryndra. "Change. You don't want much attention drawn to you."

Eryndra nodded and did as he said. It was a commoner's dress that felt lighter and more comfortable.

Theron also changed his regal attire into something simpler. His tunic strap hung low, revealing a slight view of his strong chest.

His scent was low again.

"Use this." He tossed a vial to her. "Hide your presence."

Eryndra glanced at it. So this was the reason she had thought he was an Omega when they first met.

"Ale?" Lord Theron asked her.

"No, thank you." Eryndra shook her head. "Goodnight, my lord," she said, and left quickly for the room he'd reserved for her.

After preparing for bed, Eryndra lay on the small bed, her mind still ringing with Lord Theron's words.

*I don't fuck them. I destroy them.*

This was another reason she couldn't be close to him.

Rogues are marked to be killed, especially on the full moon. Though Eryndra barely recalled what happened to her real parents, who died as rogues beneath the brutality of a Lycan driven by the bloodlust of the full moon.

The bloody memories haunted her.

"I am Eryndra Tarianne of the Silverion pack," she whispered repeatedly, her nerves calmed by the chant.

The door creaked.

Eryndra sprang up on the bed, brows knitting as Lord Theron slipped his way in.

"Oh. I thought you'd be asleep by now."

"I... I was about to. What are you doing here?" she stuttered.

"The innkeeper said there are no rooms left," he muttered, pulling a thick sheet from a bag. "We are going to have to share the room."

"What?! I can't sleep with you!" she blurted.

Theron froze, a brow raised.

"I... I mean, why should we share the same room?" She corrected herself.

"I just told you the reason. We're in disguise."

She bit her lip. "I'll... go sleep in the carriage."

"No," he said firmly. "You'll sleep on the bed. I'll take the floor. Zarin stays in the carriage to shield our presence. Fear not. My main mission is to protect you, from any harm."

Eryndra swallowed. Words refused to leave her mouth.

Without her approval, he spread the thick sheet and lay on his back with both hands behind his head.

His sword rested beside him, dangerous and gleaming even sheathed.

She wondered how many rogues had died by this sword.

Eryndra stared at him, feeling the Veil Spell flicker low in her chest.

The spell was getting weaker, and it wouldn't be long before he knew what she was hiding.

No.

No, she can't do this.

"Go to sleep, princess," he mumbled, eyes shut, unaware of what his voice was doing to her restraint. "We'll have a long day tomorrow."

No.

It's more like a long fucking night.

She turned on the bed, curling under the blanket. His steady breathing filled the dark.

Tomorrow she'd reach the Citadel. She'd meet the Crown Prince.

The spell must not break before then.

By the moon... it mustn't.