5. Investigation

ERYNDRA

Eryndra looked like a ghost the next morning. Face puffy, lips chapped, hair like a bird’s nest, and eyes heavy with dark circles.

She had spent all night strengthening the spell and making sure to stay farther from him, occasionally covering her nose so his scent wouldn’t loosen her guard.

Sometimes in the middle of the night, it felt like his shadow was looming over her.

Luckily, the potion they had used to mask their presence helped, otherwise it would have been impossible.

Still, it was the longest and most terrifying night she had ever had.

Before the sun came up, they were already on their way.

Theron barely glanced at her throughout the rest of the journey, and she was glad.

Eryndra dozed off for the rest of the ride, through the bumpy road and the forest. Her wolf was exhausted, its strength reduced to the point where she could hardly muster any to maintain the spell.

When Eryndra woke up, they had arrived.

The Citadel.

She sat up with wide eyes when she saw the formidable black walls that seemed to pierce the sky.

It was vast.

Banners of deep crimson and silver snapped in the wind, embroidered with a snarling wolf crowned in black thorns.

It was more magnificent than she’d imagined.

Servants bustled about, while guards in thick armor patrolled the grounds. But her stomach twisted at the thought of what was waiting for her inside the walls.

Theron dismounted his horse, his boots thudding softly against the ground.

He opened the carriage door, and Eryndra stiffened, instantly becoming alert.

“We’ve arrived.” Theron offered a hand.

Eryndra glanced down at it, her lips thinning.

Theron sighed in irritation. “Whatever. Get down.”

He withdrew his hand and stepped aside.

Eryndra straightened her borrowed commoner dress before stepping down. The cold air kissed her skin, but Theron’s gaze pierced even more. She had to take a step back, her gaze shifting to three soldiers who walked by and saluted him with fear and respect in their eyes, reminding her exactly what this male was in this territory.

The dark sword to the crown.

Ready to strike down people like her.

His voice was calm when he finally spoke.

“Zarin will take you to your chamber. The betrothal ceremony is in three days. Eat and rest well before then. You shall present yourself before the prince on that day.”

Her eyes snapped to him. “I’m not meeting the prince before the ceremony?”

“You look like the ghost version of yourself. And you smell like hell too. You clearly aren’t used to traveling much. If you wish to see the prince, look your best on the day of the ceremony,” he said with finality and turned to leave without another word.

Eryndra stared until he disappeared.

Did he have to say all those things?

Why was she to see the prince on the day of the betrothal and not before?

If she could get on the prince’s good side, at least her pack might have a chance to survive.

Zarin took her to her assigned temporary chamber. It was larger than her childhood bedroom back in Silverion.

“A bath has been drawn, and fresh clothes laid out. Food will arrive shortly. Try to rest until the day of the ceremony. If you need anything, pull the cord by the bed,” Zarin said and left before she could speak, shutting the door behind him.

Eryndra flopped onto the soft mattress. The weight of everything crashed down on her.

Becoming the prince’s betrothed while mated to his best friend?

How insane that was.

If they ever uncovered the truth...

She wouldn’t be the only one doomed...

But the pack she had sworn to protect.

~~~~~~~

LORD THERON

The next morning, Theron set off to the scouts' regiment. Luckily, they'd found something.

That was a thing he loved about his men. He'd trained them not to slack off.

"This female troubles you, my lord," Zarin commented.

"Yes, she does," Theron admitted. "My hunches are never the kind to disappoint. The betrothal ceremony is in two days, which is critical."

Zarin nodded, and as they stepped in, all members immediately saluted.

The head scout had a weathered face, which made him look more terrifying than the others. He respected Theron greatly. His eyes lit up when Theron stepped in.

Theron barely stepped out of court, so it had been a long while since they'd last seen each other.

They went straight to business.

"We found something you must know about the lady you mentioned," the head scout said. "She might be adopted."

That wasn't surprising. Theron already knew she wasn't from the Dor region.

"And why is that so?"

"There's no record of her being born in Dor." The leader handed over a ledger. "Birth records in the Silverion pack. The midwife who tended to Luna Maren's first daughter and the other children was suspicious, and when she finally confessed, she mentioned Luna Maren adopted her second daughter from the woods nineteen years ago."

Theron's brows pulled together.

The Silverion pack had given an adopted daughter to the prince as a Chosen?

It was a serious offense to withhold such crucial information.

Why would Luna Maren try to hide that?

Except there was something more to this. Something that gnawed at his chest harder than it should.

Lady Eryndra had acted strange the whole time they were together, the way she tried to avoid his presence and touch. There was something off. If she was truly adopted, then where exactly had she come from? Who were her real parents? Were they dead or alive?

"I'll head to Silverion alone, to avoid attention. Tell the prince I'll be at the palace before the ceremony starts."

As he climbed onto his horse, Zarin rushed to his side.

"My Lord, the prince would flare—"

"Relax. I won't be long."

Zarin opened his mouth to speak again, but Theron had already ridden away. "He forgot to hide his presence."

"I'm sure Lord Theron will be fine. We have a ceremony to prepare for," the head scout said.

Theron rode through the night without a moment of rest, sleep, or food. Only when his horse tired did he stop to feed it and give it a few minutes of rest.

He arrived at the Silverion pack just as the sun began peeking over the horizon, casting a golden hue over the land.

Theron skidded to a stop, squinting as he watched a maid in the distance scrambling out from behind the packhouse with a bag, her face twisted with fear, as if she'd just been scolded.

Hastily, she gathered firewood and lit it, unaware of the curious Grand Lord approaching from behind.

Theron watched as she pulled out what she meant to burn. His heart stopped, brow knitting hard.

A piece of clothing.

Familiar.

The maid finally sensed him and turned. Her eyes widened with recognition, and the dress slipped from her hold as she dropped to her knees, forehead pressed to the dirt.

"My Lord. Welcome to... Silverion Pack. How may I be of service?" Her trembling voice pierced the air, but Theron barely registered it.

His eyes remained on the dirty dress lying on the ground.

He picked it up and stared at it, long and hard.

Something cold pierced his chest.

This resembled the dress the ghost of a female had worn the night of their encounter.

He brought it to his nose and took a sniff. The dust made his nose flare, but he caught the faint, unmistakable scent of her.

Part of the hem was torn—the same piece his mate had used to shield her identity.

His pupils narrowed.

His beast growled.

If something bad had happened to her, then he won't let this pack receive a moment of peace.

"Who owns this clothing?" he sneered.

The maid hesitated, but his sharp gaze forced the words out. "L-Lady Eryndra... My Lord."

Theron froze.

The prince's Chosen he'd escorted?

"And why would you want to burn this?"

"I... I have no idea... Luna wanted this gone roughly a month ago, but I burnt the wrong one."

So that was why this maid had looked so scared and stressed earlier.

If Eryndra owned this dress, then could she be...

No. That is impossible.