C-8

As we sit at a small stone table outside the tavern, my eyes catch the massive, glowing light-rune display fixed to the side of the central Grand Tribunal building. It is broadcasting a high-end promotional recording for the Moonweaver Guild, featuring the stunning wolf-shifter actress, Lyanna Thornfield, draped in shimmering silver gowns and expensive diamond collars.

Lying on the wooden counter near the tavern clerk are several printed news scrolls from the capital. The front pages are plastered with pictures of Lyanna, and nearly every article links her name to the High Alpha of the Thorncroft Alpha Dominion.

One image shows a broad-shouldered male in a tailored black suit from behind, his back turned to the camera as he stands beside Lyanna at a high-society capital banquet.

"It is all political garbage," Caelan says abruptly, his low voice cutting through my thoughts.

I startle, pulling my eyes away from the printed scroll and looking across the table at him. "What did you order for Briar?"

"A full tray of sweet-cakes, fried berry pastries, sweet cream, and fruit nectar," he replies, completely ignoring my previous distraction.

I frown, looking at the massive spread the tavern servant is setting down. "She cannot possibly eat all of that, Caelan."

Briar's eyes light up with pure greed. "I can eat it all, Mommy! I promise!"

My expression turns firm as I look down at my daughter. "Briar, taking more than you can handle is foolish. When you order food you cannot finish, you waste the hard work of the farmers. And when you make promises you cannot keep, people stop trusting your word. Do you understand?"

Caelan’s brows furrow deeply. "Elowen, she is only four years old."

"It makes no difference if she is four or fourteen, Caelan," I say sharply, my voice carrying a hard, unyielding edge. "She is the daughter of a High Alpha and a human woman who survived on her own. She needs to understand discipline and responsibility now, not when she turns eighteen."

Caelan stares at me, a heavy, quiet surprise washing over his harsh features before he slowly nods, bowing to my authority as her mother.

Briar lowers her head, realizing she has overreached. "I am sorry, Mommy. I will only eat one sweet-cake and take the rest to the orphan sanctuary."

"Good girl," I whisper, smoothing her hair.

Caelan watches the exchange, a slow, warm smile spreading across his face. He leans across the table, his gray eyes locking onto mine with an intense, unreadable warmth.

"Whether it is Isolde Ashbourne or Lyanna Thornfield, Elowen, it is all noise for the capital elite," he says, his voice dropping into a raspy, private register. "If it bothers you, I will never take a female escort to another tribunal function again."

I let out a quiet, weary sigh, looking down at my tea. "You do not need to alter your political life for me, Caelan. I have built my own life in these mountains, and I am content. You do not need to worry about what I think."

His smile fades, his jaw clenching tightly. "So you are still angry with me?"

"I am not angry," I reply honestly, meeting his stare. "I simply accept reality. What the capital media writes about you is your business."

A dangerous, possessive heat flares in his eyes, but before he can push the matter, Briar wipes her sticky hands on a napkin and jumps up from her bench. "Can we go see the mountain horses now, Lord Caelan?"

The heavy tension vanishes instantly. Caelan scoops her up, setting her on his shoulder with an effortless grin. "Whatever the little princess wants."

We spend the rest of the afternoon wandering the outer mountain paths, watching the wild war-steeds run through the valley. By the time we return to the cottage, the sun has dipped below the crags, leaving the sky painted in deep shades of crimson and violet.

Briar is completely exhausted, sleeping soundly against Caelan’s chest as he carries her inside and lays her down on her bed.

As I stand in the kitchen pouring hot water into a wooden basin, a sharp, throbbing ache suddenly shoots through my right ankle. I stumble slightly, gripping the edge of the counter as a wave of heat washes over my foot.

It is the lingering damage from an old injury I sustained years ago during my escape from the Royal Alpha Quarter.

Caelan emerges from Briar's room just in time to see me wince. In three massive strides, he is across the kitchen, taking the heavy kettle out of my hands and setting it on the iron stove.

Before I can protest, he scoops me up into his arms, carrying my plush frame over to the wooden bench as if I weigh nothing at all. He drops to his knees in front of me, untying the laces of my leather boots with quick, efficient fingers.

"I can wash my own feet, Caelan," I say, my cheeks burning as I try to pull my leg back.

"Sit still, Elowen," he commands, his deep voice leaving no room for argument.

He tests the water temperature with his long fingers, adding a splash of cool well-water before lifting my bare foot and gently immersing it into the warm basin. His hands are massive, rough, and covered in battle scars, yet he handles my swollen ankle with an agonizing, breathtaking gentleness.

He dips his fingers into a pot of soothing herbal ointment, his large thumbs working deep, firm circles into the tight muscles around my heel.

A quiet, helpless gasp escapes my lips at the relief, my core throbbing with a sudden, dangerous ache at his intimate touch.

"You have been running around this province for two weeks without rest," Caelan mutters, keeping his head down as his thumbs work over my skin. "There are vital tribunal matters waiting for me in the Silvermoon Capital. But I cannot leave you like this."

I look down at his dark head, watching the way his broad shoulders shift as he massages my foot. "Then you should go back to the capital, Caelan. You have an empire to run."

He stops his hands, freezing in place. Slowly, he lifts his head, his stormy gray eyes locking onto mine from his position on the floor between my knees. "Are you driving me away, Elowen?"

"I am stating a fact," I say softly, keeping my voice steady. "The Thorncroft Alpha Dominion belongs in the capital, not in a small mountain refuge. You cannot manage seven territories from my guest room."

He remains completely silent, his rough hands resting heavily on my damp calf, his intense gaze burning straight through my defenses.

Deep down, I know he cannot stay here forever. And as much as I have found peace in the quiet isolation of the Frostfang Refuge, I look toward Briar's dark room and feel a heavy, aching truth settle in my chest.

My daughter carries the blood of the most powerful High Alpha in the territory. She does not belong hidden in the northern mountains forever. She needs elite training, proper education, and the vast world that awaits her in the Silvermoon Capital.

I look at the male kneeling before me, bound to him by blood, pain, and a dangerous, undeniable heat that four years of cold separation could never truly extinguish.

"Caelan," I whisper softly, my fingers reaching out to lightly touch the scarred skin of his cheek. "When you return to the capital... we will come with you."

Caelan’s breath hitches violently, his stormy gray eyes blazing with a sudden, wild, predatory flame that threatens to consume us both.