Chapter Nine

The dark-fire boulder didn't hit us.

Before the flaming mass could crash into our ridge, Zion swung his obsidian broadsword in a sweeping arc. A violent wall of pitch-black shadow erupted from the blade, catching the boulder mid-air and shattering it into a million harmless, smoking fragments that rained like black snow over the cliff edge.

The shockwave whipped our cloaks back, but Zion's stallion didn't flinch an inch. He sat in the saddle like an ancient mountain god, his dark eyes locked on the enemy commander across the Black River gorge.

"Is that the best your ghost can throw, Garrett?" Zion roared, his voice carrying across the freezing canyon with the terrifying force of an absolute monarch.

Across the gorge, on the elevated enemy ridge, Commander Garrett didn't flinch. He slowly lowered his double-headed battleaxe, his scarred face twisting into a cold, grim smile that we could see even through the spyglass.

My heart pounded against my ribs. The realization of who was leading that army hit me with the force of a physical blow. Garrett wasn't just a rogue mercenary—he was a piece of the past coming back to tear Ironfang Keep apart from the inside.

"They're waiting for something," I said, leaning close to Zion, my voice tight. "They didn't deploy their siege engines to destroy this cliff. They're trying to draw your main army out of the fortress."

"Let them try," Zion rumbled, his grip tightening on his sword hilt. "If they want the Black River, they'll cross over my corpse."

"No," I said, shaking my head as my Supreme Alpha instincts flared to life, humming beneath my skin like a live wire. "Zion, look at the cliffs downstream. The ice is thinning. If we charge across the gorge now, we play right into their ambush."

Beta Julius reined his warhorse closer, his face grim. "She's right, Alpha. Our scouts report movement in the eastern pine ridge. If we commit the Vanguard to the riverbed, a secondary infantry unit could cut off our retreat to the gates."

Zion didn't look back at Julius. His obsidian gaze remained locked on Commander Garrett across the icy chasm. A heavy, suffocating silence settled over our ridge, broken only by the whistling wind and the distant, rhythmic beating of enemy war drums.

"They think they are fighting an ordinary Ironfang army," I whispered, a cold, dangerous resolve settling deep into my bones. "They think they are fighting a pack divided by a corrupted Council and a stolen crown."

I pulled my horse forward, stepping past Zion's flank before he could stop me.

"Emerald, what are you doing?" Zion warned, his hand shooting out to catch my bridle, but I slapped his gauntlet away with surprising speed.

"Claiming my name," I said.

I kicked my mare forward until I stood right at the absolute edge of the granite precipice. Below us, the freezing river rushed through the gorge like a black serpent. Three thousand enemy soldiers stared up at our ridge, their dark iron armor gleaming under the pale, winter sun.

I didn't draw a sword. I didn't raise a shield.

I took a deep, steady breath, pulling the dormant power from the deepest roots of my soul, letting the ancient, suppressed bloodline of the Supreme Royal Alpha surge upward through my veins.

When I opened my mouth, I didn't speak with my human voice.

"STAND DOWN!"

The sound exploded across the canyon like a bolt of divine lightning.

It wasn't an ordinary Alpha Command meant to cow a single room of guards. It was the ancestral, royal roar of the Supreme Apex bloodline—an ancient, commanding frequency that vibrated through the earth, the ice, and the marrow of every living creature within ten miles.

Across the river, the three thousand enemy soldiers froze instantly.

The war drums stopped dead. The dark-fire catapults powering up along the ridge powered down with a sickening whine of gears. Hundreds of horses reared back in sheer terror, throwing their riders into the snow as the majestic, crushing weight of my royal aura slammed into their collective consciousness.

Even the hardened war-veterans in Ironfang's vanguard gasped, their mounts dropping to their front knees under the overwhelming pressure of my voice.

Commander Garrett's warhorse stumbled backward, skidding dangerously close to the ridge edge. Garrett's leather eye patch slipped slightly, revealing a wide, panicked eye as he stared up across the gorge, scanning the cliff until his gaze locked directly onto me.

"By the blood..." Garrett choked out, his voice carrying faintly across the wind. "The... the royal mark..."

"I am Emerald Kirby!" I shouted, my voice echoing off the canyon walls with absolute, unyielding sovereignty. "Daughter of the Northern Marches! Last true blood of the Royal Line! You are flying my father's colors, but you are marching under a false banner! Drop your weapons and kneel, or be swept into the ash!"

For three agonizing seconds, absolute silence gripped the battlefield.

Across the river, hundreds of front-line soldiers began to drop their iron broadswords, their knees buckling under the divine weight of my command. The illusion was breaking. The false crusade was falling apart under the sheer truth of my blood.

Garrett's face twisted into a mask of furious desperation. He raised his heavy double-headed battleaxe, screaming at his men to hold their ground, fighting against the crushing tide of my aura.

"Don't listen to her!" Garrett bellowed, his voice cracking with rage. "She is a captive of the Ironfang tyrant! Kill them all!"

Before the paralyzed soldiers could recover their footing, a sharp, metallic whistle cut through the air.

It wasn't coming from the enemy ridge.

It came from the dense pine forest directly behind our own ridge—from inside the Ironfang defense lines!

"Emerald, look out!" Zion roared.

My head whipped around, but it was already too late.

THWACK!

A heavy, gleaming iron crossbolt tore through the freezing air and slammed violently into the frozen snow directly between my horse's front hooves.

The impact sent a shower of jagged ice crystals slicing across my cheeks, drawing thin lines of warm blood.

I pulled my mare back, my breath catching in my throat as I stared down at the trembling shaft vibrating in the snow.

Wrapped tightly around the iron neck of the crossbolt was a thick strip of black leather—stamped with the unmistakable, razor-sharp seal of the Ironfang High Council.