Chapter 23

Darian's POV.

The meeting room is filled with nobles and knights, their heads low, room in tense silence as Darian precedes over different Moonveil matters.

Petty thefts.

Quarrels between mates.

Some nobleman asking for leniency from their monthly tax for.... whatever reasons.

Reports of strange people by the boarder, who just turned out to be hoarders.

Hoarders are a nameless pack of werewolves who walk around aimlessly. They live like actual wolves, though not rogue. And they can spend months on end without revisiting civilization, often living in groups.

They are often antagonized and frowned upon even though they're mostly harmless....so the report was a complete waste of time in Darian's eyes.

Still, he had to do something about it...so he just set up a small watch by the boarder just because.

To say the least, the Prince is already irritated...

The room falls quiet once more as the quartermaster steps forward, bowing low.

"My prince, I report a discrepancy in the royal armory." He says in a serious voice, expression solemn.

Darian's expression doesn't change, but the room tightens anyway, because weapons just don't go...missing.

"Several small weapons have gone...accounted for." The man continues, "They were last recorded during routine inventory three night ago."

The room falls into a heavy silence, no one daring to speak after that.

Darian's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Three nights ago, right under his nose, someone had..

His hands fold into fists. "Explain...!" His voice still sounds even, but people that knows Darian enough could tell the underlying intent underneath.

The man bows again. "Yes, your Highness. Items that are missing are minor in size. Small and concealable; daggers, short blades, nothing large enough to draw attention." He pauses, letting it slowly settle in before he adds,

"And they're all special silver blades."

The minute those words leave his mouth, the hall is instantly thrown into a frenzy. Everyone knows silver blades are the best weapon to kill a werewolf....much more specially crafted once.

Someone is aiming to kill.

And their target is a powerful wolf.

Darian doesn't react visibly, but his pheromone sharpens in the room. It makes the nobles closer to him stiffen instinctively, his eyes sweeping deliberately over the space.

Darian can smell the fear amongst them, the restlessness..

It's one thing to steal weapons, it's another thing to let his court be thrown into chaos so close to his coronation.

Definitely deliberate.

He ignores the pulsing under his skin, leaning forward.

"Then let me make it clear for everyone..!" His voice is a loud rumble that instantly catches everyone's attention, "if weapons are missing, that means someone intends to use them."

His voice is firm when he says it, reassuring, even though the fear is palpable in the hall as the suffocating silence spreads.

He turns to the head of security, "Double the guards around the inner palace and around all the chambers. No one enters the main part of the palace without my clearance."

The man bows low as he continues, turning back to the quartermaster;

"I want names. Records. Every person who even as much as breathed near those doors in the last two weeks!!"

"Yes, your highness."

Suddenly those hoarders at the boarders don't sound so harmless anymore.

He turns to David, voice void of the familiarity they share, "Keep watch on the boarders," he commands, jaw tight. "Increase patrol rotation. I don't want anything slipping past unnoticed! We're about to have several guests come in for the coronation, we need to assure their safety!"

David bows low. "As you wish your Highness."

His gaze flickers across the room briefly again because something about this doesn't feel right.

Weapons missing.

Strangers at the border...all these just as his coronation is approaching.

His instincts tell him it's coming from within. And his instincts are rarely wrong.

He stands with a calm that doesn't mirror the pulse beneath his skin, hand raised as he addresses them once more.

"Dismissed."'

They don't move, holding their breath as he sweeps past them. And only until the prince is completely out of the door do the knights resume their hushed murmuring, filling out one by one..

Darian exhales slowly as the door to his chamber is shut behind him, downing a glass of water like he's trying to wash away the heat beneath his skin.

It doesn't help.

Infact, nothing has helped since two nights ago.

His body is still aware, sensitive, the slightest change in smell making him recoil.

It's like he's somewhere in between rut and normalcy, and he cannot for the life of him figure out why.

The constant agitation refuses to settle no matter how many reports he signs, no matter how many servants he dismisses, no matter how many times he's paced the length of his chamber.

That only leaves one reason...

Her.

It has to be.

He runs a hand through his hair, it must have to do with that damned 'Ravelle' blood flowing through her veins.

He should never have touched her. Should have stayed away the moment he realized...

But his body doesn't echo his thoughts. Because despite his brain screaming at him to stay put, his legs start to move again..

Down toward the north wing.

He doesn't even think about it.

He'd been the one who re assigned her there, far from him. He'd pushed her away.

Yet now he finds himself walking down that same hallway, searching for her like a man crazed.

The irony.

The palace blur past him. The servants bow when he walks past, Guards stepping aside with concerned eyes.

But no one dares stop him.

No one dares question him.

Good.

Because whatever is wrong with him... It's not something they should concern themselves with.

His steps don't slow until he reaches the heart of the north wing, eyes glancing between the doors of the huge library and the numerous artifact rooms, wondering where she could be.

Darian doesn't have to search for long, because her smell hits him almost instantly, coming from the end of the hallway...somewhere more closed off.

It's hers. Something sharp, unique and distinctive.

It's maddening.

His legs are already moving before his mind catches up, taking him down the dim, narrow hallway until he hears it.

Voices.

Soft laughter.

One is hers. He knows it that.

He would know that voice anywhere... the same voice that had begged and fallen apart beneath him just nights ago.

He continues forward, and stills.

His wolf surging violently.

Because...God help him.. because another man's voice rings out right after.