CHAPTER 3

The obsidian blade in Julian’s hand didn't reflect the moonlight; it seemed to absorb it.

Cassian’s fingers twitched against my upper arm, his grip tightening out of sheer panic before he forced himself to relax his hand slightly. "You're insane, Thorne," Cassian sneered, though his voice lacked its earlier drunkenness. "You're standing in the heart of Bloodmoon territory, threatening the royal heir over a rejected she-wolf."

"I see no prince here," Julian said smoothly, taking another step forward. The ice spreading across the flagstones reached the toes of Cassian’s leather boots. "I see a boy abusing a strategist whose mind is worth three of your finest battalions. Release her."

"She belongs to this pack—"

"I belong to no one."

My voice cut through the freezing air like a freshly sharpened blade.

I didn't wait for Cassian to push me again, nor did I wait for Julian to strike. I planted my feet, leaned back against the stone wall, and drove my elbow straight into Cassian’s ribs.

He grunted, his breath catching in his throat as his grip slipped. I wrenched my arm free, snatching my dropped leather satchel off the floor in one fluid motion and stepping directly into the space between the two Alphas.

Cassian bared his fangs, his chest heaving. "Clara, get back in your room before I have the guards throw you in the iron cells for treason!"

"It isn't treason," I said, holding his furious gaze without flinching. "Under Chapter Four of the Pan-Territorial Wolf Accord, a wolf publicly rejected by their royal heir in front of witnesses is immediately granted Free Agent status. My pack bond was severed the moment your wine hit my ledgers."

Cassian’s eyes widened in sudden, stark realization. He had spent his entire life skipping legal history lessons while I had spent my nights memorizing them.

"You have no authority to order me, Prince Cassian," I continued, my voice echoing down the stone hall. "My talents, my knowledge, and my service to the Bloodmoon Pack ended at midnight. I am taking my departure under the sanctuary protection of the Frost-Ridge Pack."

Julian didn't smile, but a dark, fierce satisfaction flared in his silver eyes. He stepped beside me, his massive frame shielding me from Cassian’s view.

"You heard the tactician," Julian said softly. "Now step aside, or I will consider your continued interference an act of war against Frost-Ridge."

Cassian stood frozen, his face burning a dark, humiliated red. He couldn't attack an Alpha King without his father's backing, and he couldn't deny the law I had just turned against him. With a bitter growl, he retreated three steps into the shadows, his teeth grinding so hard I could hear the enamel crack.

"Take her, Thorne," Cassian spat, his eyes dark with promise. "She's a useless, oversized weight around your neck. You'll drop her at the border before the week is out."

Julian didn't dignify the insult with an answer. He turned his back on the prince, placed a broad, warm hand against the small of my back, and guided me out into the crisp night air.

A heavy iron carriage adorned with the Frost-Ridge crest waited in the outer courtyard. The driver didn't say a word as Julian opened the door and helped me climb inside.

The interior was lined with thick black velvet and warm bear furs, heated by a small bronze brazier burning sweet cedar. After the cold dampness of my basement quarters, the warmth hit me like a physical blanket.

Julian climbed in after me, closing the door behind us. The carriage immediately lurched forward, its heavy iron wheels clattering against the cobblestones as we passed through the Bloodmoon gates for the last time.

I sat on the edge of the leather bench, my fingers tightly clutching the straps of my satchel. Now that the adrenaline was fading, the phantom ache in my chest returned—a dull, thumping emptiness where my mate bond used to be. My shoulder throbbed where I had slammed into the wall, and my skin felt cold.

Julian sat across from me. He watched me in silence for a long moment before reaching into a side compartment and pulling out a small crystal jar filled with golden salve and a clean linen wrap.

Without asking, he shifted from his bench to sit beside me. The bench creaked under his weight, his broad shoulder brushing against mine. The scent of him—crisp winter air, burnt cedar, and raw, powerful Alpha pheromones—filled the tight space, making my heart kick against my ribs.

"Give me your wrist," he said quietly.

"I can do it myself—"

"Clara." His voice was soft, but held a quiet command that made my objections melt away.

I hesitantly lifted my left hand. Dark purple bruises in the distinct shape of Cassian's fingers were already blooming across my pale skin.

Julian’s breath hitched slightly when he saw the mark. His expression hardened into pure ice, but his movements were infinitely gentle. He dipped two fingers into the golden salve and smoothed it over my bruised skin.

His touch was warm, so warm it sent a shiver straight down my spine. His rough, calloused thumb rubbed slow, soothing circles over my pulse point. I swallowed hard, my breath coming shorter as his silver eyes rose to meet mine.

The intimacy of the tiny carriage felt suffocating, yet I didn't want to step back.

"He didn't deserve you," Julian rumbled, his thumb continuing its hypnotic pattern against my skin. "Not your loyalty, and certainly not your mind."

"I thought I was doing what was best for the territory," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly under his intense gaze. "I thought if I worked hard enough, if I proved my worth, my appearance wouldn't matter to him."

"Your appearance is magnificent," Julian said simply, without a trace of hesitation or flattery. His eyes dragged deliberately over the curve of my jaw, down to my chest, and back up to my eyes. "You are built like a warrior queen, Clara. Cassian is a child who only knows how to appreciate glass toys that break in his hands."

My face flushed hot at his words, my heart hammering against my chest.

He wrapped the clean linen around my wrist with practiced ease, tying off the knot before pulling a small silver key from inside his tunic. He reached across the carriage and unlocked a small, iron-reinforced lockbox resting on the side table.

He lifted the heavy lid and pulled out a leather binder overflowing with yellowed parchment sheets.

"What is that?" I asked, frowning slightly as the intimate heat between us shifted into curiosity.

Julian laid the binder on my lap. I opened the cover, and my breath caught in my throat.

Every single page was covered in my handwriting. They were copied blueprints of border outposts, supply routes I had designed three years ago, and tactical evaluations of neighboring rogue territories—documents I thought were archived deep within the Bloodmoon vaults.

"I didn't come to the Harvest Gala to sign trade treaties with Prince Vance," Julian said, leaning back against the leather seat, his eyes locking onto mine with ruthless clarity. "I came because my scouts confirmed that the mind behind Bloodmoon’s impossible defenses was a disregarded she-wolf working in the basements."

I stared at him, my pulse spiking as the realization washed over me. "You... you were tracking me?"

"For two years," Julian admitted, a dangerous, dark smile pulling at the corner of his scarred mouth. "I knew Cassian was a fool who would eventually break. I just waited for the right time to come and collect my prize".