CHAPTER 5

The heavy oak doors of the Frost-Ridge Fortress slammed shut, locking out the howling mountain wind.

Instead of the gilded, fragile luxury of the Bloodmoon court, the fortress was made of dark, hand-cut stone, burning torch fire, and iron shields. It smelled of pine, hot metal, and old leather—a place built for war, not hollow posturing.

Julian led me straight into the central keep, his heavy black cloak sweeping behind him. Before I could even adjust the satchel on my shoulder, six massive male wolves—the elite commanders of the Frost-Ridge War Council—filed into the stone hall. Their bodies were covered in battle scars, their glares cold as they took in my appearance.

They didn't see an Alpha’s guest. They saw a she-wolf from an enemy territory. They saw her broad curves, her ink-stained fingers, and her plain woolen tunic.

"Sire," a battle-hardened commander named Boros barked, ignoring me entirely as he slammed a heavy fist against the iron war table in the center of the room. "The border scouts confirm it. Prince Cassian has mobilized three frontline battalions. He claims we violated peace treaties by taking her. Why are we entertaining an escaped Bloodmoon female while an army marches on our southern pass?"

A few of the other officers murmured in harsh agreement, their cold eyes darting to me with obvious disdain.

I didn't cower. I didn't step behind Julian. I took three slow, deliberate paces forward until I was standing directly across the table from Boros.

"Prince Cassian didn't mobilize his army because I’m a female," I said, my voice echoing clearly against the high stone arches, carrying a quiet, sharp authority that cut through their muttering. "He mobilized because he is starving."

Boros sneered, crossing his massive, scarred arms over his chest. "And what would a discarded pack scribe know about military logistics?"

"I know that Bloodmoon’s grain reserves in the northern valley only hold eight hundred bushels," I replied coldly, leaning over the table and placing my palms flat against the wooden map. "I know that their secondary water supply freezes every year on the first frost, which is four days away. And I know that the master security code locking their emergency iron vault is in my head, not his."

The war room fell dead silent.

The commanders exchanged rapid, startled glances. Boros opened his mouth to retort, but no sound came out.

I reached out, grabbed a heavy brass marker from the edge of the board, and slammed it down onto the western ridge of the Frost-Ridge map.

"Your current defense plan is suicidal," I continued, sweeping my gaze across the six elite warriors. "You've stationed your heavy cavalry at the Blackwood Chasm expecting a frontal assault. But Cassian doesn't have the supply lines for a siege. He’s going to use the eastern underground mining tunnels to bypass your outer walls entirely, cut off your water, and force a negotiation within forty-eight hours."

Boros stared at the map where I had placed the marker, his face slowly losing its color. "Those tunnels were collapsed twenty years ago—"

"They were reopened six months ago by rogue labor," I cut in smoothly. "I mapped the subterranean structural load myself. If you send two platoons to collapse the eastern archway tonight, Cassian’s entire advance force will be trapped underground with zero air supply before they even reach your border."

Silence hung thick in the room.

Julian stepped out from the shadows near the hearth, his massive frame radiating absolute, unyielding power. He walked slowly to my side, placing a heavy, warm hand over mine on the table. His thumb brushed over my knuckles in a slow, possessive stroke that sent a quiet wave of heat straight to my heart.

"Any other questions for my High Chief Tactician?" Julian asked softly, his silver eyes sweeping over his stunned commanders with terrifying pride.

Boros swallowed hard, his posture shifting instantly from hostility to deep, begrudging respect. He bowed his head slightly toward me. "No, Sire. Orders are already being drafted for the eastern archway."

"Clear the room," Julian commanded.

The war council bowed rapidly and filed out of the doors, leaving the two of us alone in the massive stone hall lit only by the crackling hearth fire.

The tension in the air shifted instantly. The cold tactical logic dissolved, replaced by a dense, intoxicating heat that made the room feel suddenly too small.

Julian didn't move his hand from mine. Instead, he stepped closer, his heavy chest brushing against my shoulder as he looked down at me.

"You tore my entire council apart in five minutes," he rumbled, his voice low and raspy.

"They were using outdated maps," I murmured, my breath catching as his other hand reached up, his rough fingers gently tracing the line of my jawline, tilting my face upward to meet his gaze.

"You are extraordinary, Clara," he whispered, his thumb pressing lightly against my lower lip. "Cassian is a blind fool. Every second you stand in my hall, I realize how close I came to letting a treasure slip through my fingers."

The heat radiating off his body was overwhelming. My heart hammered against my ribs like a caged beast. I leaned into his touch, my hands resting against his broad, iron-hard chest, feeling the heavy, steady thud of his heart beneath the leather.

"Julian..." I breathed.

His eyes darkened to a deep, stormy silver, his gaze dropping to my lips. He leaned in slowly, his mouth brushing against the corner of mine, sending a jolt of pure, white-hot fire straight down my spine.

Before his lips could seal over mine, the heavy iron doors burst open with a loud clatter.

Kael sprinted into the room, out of breath, a bloody parchment roll clutched in his hand. "Alpha! An intercepted raven from the Bloodmoon border!"

Julian pulled back slowly, though his eyes lingered on my face for a heartbeat longer before he turned a deadly glare toward his second-in-command. "This had better be urgent, Kael."

"It is, Sire," Kael said, breathing heavily as he held out the bloody paper. "It's a personal letter signed by Prince Cassian's woman, Selene. She claims to be Lady Clara's sister. She says Cassian has lost his mind to the Phantom Bond Sickness. He’s burning Clara’s old home village to the ground... and he’s holding her elderly mentor hostage until she surrenders herself to his bed."