5. My mate

LORD THERON

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

That was a thing Theron 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 shall 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.

His jaw ticked.

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 was impossible.

His Lycan stirred to the surface as he clutched the clothing so hard his knuckles turned white.

Flashes of how her presence had nearly made his Lycan lose control tightened his chest.

A door cracked open somewhere. Luna Maren's voice pierced the fog in his head.

"Have you done what—" She froze at the sight of him. Her face paled like that of the dead. "My Lord?"

~~~~~~

Theron sat before Luna Maren, who knelt in tears before him. He did his best to keep his Lycan at bay, as all it wanted was to rip this woman to shreds.

"Moon Veil Spell." The words echoed like poison on his own tongue. He almost laughed at the absurdity as the pieces struck together.

So this was it. Why Eryndra fucking Tarianne had been avoidant throughout their journey. Why her wolf had been restless.

It had been her this whole time.

'My mate?'

"You. Ingrate." He bit out the words, his voice edged with rage. "Not only did you lie to the crown, but you also cast a spell to deceive me."

Maren jolted with each sob. "Please, my Lord. I was only doing what's best for her. I had no idea it would turn out like this. I had no idea it was you."

But Eryndra had known. She'd recognized him.

And yet...

Theron's eyes turned the deepest shade of gold.

"What else is she hiding?" he asked, and the female swallowed in terror. "What is her origin? Surely you adopted and raised her as your own—I'll let that part slide. But you need to tell me where she really came from. I want to know every bit of her. Who were her real parents?"

Maren grew paler, as if she'd pass out at any moment. "She's part of Dor, my lord."

Silence.

Hard, heavy silence. The kind where one's breathing felt like a crime.

He rose from his chair, making the female shrink to the floor. Theron was very much aware of what his angry expression was capable of.

The kind of danger it emitted, and the effect on its object.

He crouched, locking a death stare onto her.

"I shall tell you one thing about myself, woman," his voice low and spitting venom. "When my beast is at the edge like this, lying to my face is one of the most terrifying affronts, one worthy of a gruesome doom. I will go out there and drag your son—the pack's heir, to be precise—to become a slave in the Citadel, tortured with heavy labor until every bone in his body gives out. Then I will cut his skin, bit by bit, and force him to eat it. And when he dies, his head will be hung on a spike as a disgrace to the realm, leading to the heavy downfall of this pack."

Luna Maren looked as though her soul had just left her body as she absorbed his threat.

He. Meant. Every. Word.

"Now let's try this again, shall we?" He gripped her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his.

"Tell me every single fucking thing about Eryndra Tarianne."