MasukThe silence in Adrian’s private wing was heavier without him in it.
I paced the length of the room, the crackle of the fire the only sound. He’d said do not open that door — and while part of me wanted to defy him just to prove I could, another part of me… knew better. Because whatever Adrian Blackthorn considered dangerous was the kind of thing that didn’t leave survivors. Minutes bled into nearly an hour before I heard the low rumble of voices outside the door. One was Adrian’s, deep and steady; the other was unfamiliar, tense. The door swung open. Adrian stepped in first, still in the same suit but with his tie gone entirely now, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and a faint smear of something dark — blood — near his cuff. Behind him came a guard carrying a long, narrow box. “What happened?” I asked immediately. He didn’t answer right away. He simply dismissed the guard with a flick of his hand, then set the box on the bed. “Open it,” he said. I hesitated, glancing at him before lifting the lid. Inside was a single, black-dyed wolf pelt — the fur matted with fresh blood. I froze. “Is this—?” “A message,” Adrian said flatly. “From whoever attacked the Whitmore estate.” I stared at the pelt, bile rising in my throat. “Why would they send it here? To you?” “Not to me.” His gaze locked with mine, unreadable but sharp. “To you.” The words sent a cold shiver down my spine. Before I could process them, the door banged open again — this time without knocking. Lucas stormed in, his jaw tight, eyes blazing. Clara followed, her face pale and pinched. “You brought her here?” Lucas demanded, pointing at me like I was some kind of criminal. “Do you have any idea—” “I have every idea,” Adrian cut in smoothly. “Which is why she’s in my wing, under my watch.” Lucas stepped closer, ignoring his father’s warning tone. “If you think parading her around and keeping her here will make me jealous—” “Lucas,” Adrian interrupted, his voice deceptively calm, “you’re not the one I’m trying to provoke.” For a moment, the air in the room seemed to shift. Lucas’s anger faltered, confusion flickering across his face before he masked it again. Clara tugged at his sleeve, whispering something I couldn’t catch. Adrian turned back to me. “This isn’t just about revenge anymore. Whoever is behind these attacks… they’ve made you a target.” Lucas scoffed. “Then send her away. Out of the kingdom. She’s not worth—” The sharp crack of Adrian’s glass hitting the table made everyone freeze. “Finish that sentence,” he said softly, “and I will make sure you regret it.” Lucas’s mouth snapped shut. Clara, for the first time, looked at me with something other than disdain. Fear. Adrian stepped closer to me, so close I could feel the heat of him at my side. “From this moment forward,” he said, his voice low but carrying enough weight to feel like a vow, “you do not leave this wing unless I am with you. You do not open the door for anyone but me. And you do not speak to anyone I have not approved.” Lucas made a sound of disgust, but Adrian’s gaze was still locked on me. “Do you understand?” I nodded slowly. “Good,” he said, his hand brushing lightly over mine — a touch that was possessive without being forceful. “Because the next time they send a message… it won’t be a pelt.” The room went silent again, the only sound the crackle of the fire. But I could feel it — the storm building outside these walls. And in the middle of it all, I was no longer sure if I was Adrian Blackthorn’s pawn… or his prize.Three days of restless quiet passed before the storm finally moved. Scouts came running through the southern valley at dawn, breath steaming in the cold air, mud splattering up their legs.“They’re marching,” one gasped. “Two columns—east and north. Corrin’s banners in the front.”The news spread faster than wind through dry grass. Within the hour, the clans were packing supplies, sharpening blades, and posting lookouts on the ridges. Every hammer strike, every shouted order echoed like a drumbeat of approaching war.Adrian stood at the center of the camp, maps pinned beneath stones on a makeshift table. Lyra hovered nearby, her cloak still wet from travel. Emma stayed beside her, listening to the rhythm of their planning, forcing herself to breathe through the rising panic.“They’ll reach the river in three days,” Lyra said, tracing the map with one gloved finger. “If they bridge it, the valley falls within a week.”Adrian nodded
The southern valley woke under a pale sun. Smoke from cooking fires curled through the trees, mingling with the mist rising off the river. For the first time in weeks, Emma felt the faint rhythm of ordinary life again—children running between the huts, the hum of conversation, the smell of bread and damp earth.But beneath that fragile calm, the air still hummed with tension. Every sound seemed a little too sharp, every glance a little too cautious. The clans had agreed to stand with Adrian, but no one truly believed the Council would let them do so in peace.Adrian studied a rough map on the long table inside the hall. “If Corrin’s army marches through the northern pass, they’ll reach us in six days,” he said. “If they split and come from the east, four.”Lyra, the former guard, leaned over the map beside him. “He’ll use both routes. He wants to surround you before you can move the southern packs.”Emma stood near the doorway, listening,
By the time they reached the southern border, dawn had burned away the mist, leaving the sky clear and pale. The air was warmer here, touched by the scent of cedar and salt from the distant coast. The land felt different—open, waiting—but Emma could sense the unease beneath its calm surface.Villages that once greeted travelers with open gates now barred their doors at night. Smoke rose from hearths, not beacons. The southern clans had learned to survive between loyalty and fear.Adrian stopped on the ridge overlooking the valley. “They’re watching us,” he said quietly. “Every eye, every whisper. They remember who I am, but they don’t know whether it’s safe to remember out loud.”Emma pulled her cloak closer. “Then we give them a reason to speak.”They approached the first settlement by mid-morning. The villagers scattered when they saw them, though not in panic—more like animals testing the wind before deciding whether to flee. Only one
When morning finally broke, the forest smelled of smoke and wet leaves. Patches of mist still clung to the ground where the battle had raged hours before. The ruins stood scarred but unbroken, black streaks of soot marking every stone.Emma walked the perimeter in silence. Each step crunched over damp earth and broken branches. The signs of struggle were everywhere—prints in the mud, a shattered arrow lodged in a tree, the faint trace of blood already fading into the soil.Adrian waited near the old well, cloak draped over his shoulders, watching the forest with the stillness of someone listening to what the world wasn’t saying.“They retreated farther than I expected,” he murmured as she approached.“Because they were afraid?”“Because Lucas learned something last night.” His gaze shifted toward the horizon. “He knows I’m willing to fight smart, not desperate. And that means the next strike won’t be small.”Emma stopped b
The rain had not stopped for two days. It drummed against the ruined stone like an army’s march, steady and unrelenting. Every drop seemed to whisper the same warning—they’re coming.Adrian heard it too. He stood at the outer wall, cloak soaked through, eyes fixed on the forest. “He’s close,” he murmured. “Lucas won’t wait any longer.”Emma joined him, pulling her hood tighter. The world smelled of pine and iron. “How many do you think?”“Too many,” he said quietly. “But numbers won’t save him if he doesn’t know the ground.”They had spent the past week preparing for this. Paths were disguised, false trails marked, warning bells hidden in the branches. The ruins had become a labyrinth that only Adrian could read.Still, Emma’s heart thudded with dread. Every time the wind shifted, she imagined the rustle of armor, the low growl of approaching wolves.By nightfall the mist thickened, and the first echoes reached them—sof
The forest was thick with fog as Adrian and Emma moved through the ruins at dawn. The air was damp, carrying the scent of wet earth and pine, and every shadow seemed to stretch with intent. Adrian’s eyes were sharp, scanning the tree line, reading movement, listening for the smallest snap of a branch.Emma followed closely, hand brushing against his whenever the path grew uncertain. Every step brought them deeper into the web of danger Lucas and Corrin were weaving — and yet, with Adrian by her side, fear was tempered by an unspoken thrill.“They’re increasing their patrols,” Adrian murmured, voice low and tense. “Small groups, testing the perimeter. Corrin wants to see how well we’ve fortified, and Lucas… he wants to know if we’re disciplined enough to survive his traps.”Emma’s fingers tightened around the hilt of a small blade Adrian had insisted she carry. “And if they catch us off guard?”Adrian’s gaze was fierce, protective, a storm coiled i







