Chapter 31: The encounter

Third POV

Ysabella lay back on the comfortable chaise in Hecate's studio, her arm draped over her eyes. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the scent of drying herbs filled the air. She had been complaining for the better part of an hour.

"Oh, how I miss my mate. This business trip for the king could not have come at a worse time. It is so difficult to sleep alone without him."

Hecate mixed a small vial of amber liquid, her movements precise but unhurried. "I can give you a sleeping potion if you wish. Something gentle, to help you rest."

Ysabella lifted her arm and glanced at the healer. "You would do that?"

"It is a simple thing." Hecate corked the vial and set it aside. "I will prepare it before you leave."

But there was a heaviness in Hecate today. A weight that seemed to press down on her shoulders. She moved more slowly, spoke more quietly, and her dark eyes held a faraway look, as if she were watching something only she could see.

Ysabella sat up, studying her. "What is troubling you?"

Hecate was silent for a moment. Then she turned from her worktable and faced Ysabella directly.

"What you said before. About me being attracted to the king." She paused, choosing her words. "Things are not exactly as you think."

Ysabella shrugged. "It is not as if you owe me an explanation. The king is a handsome man. Many women want him."

"I trust you, Ysabella." Hecate's voice was soft but earnest. "I only want you to understand."

Ysabella felt a flush of discomfort. She had never given Hecate any reason to trust her. They had been reluctant allies at best, sharp tongued and wary. Yet something in the healer's gaze made her pause.

"Understand what?" Ysabella asked. "That you are sleeping with a married man? I already saw the way he looked at you. I am not blind."

Hecate did not deny it. She only held Ysabella's gaze with that unnerving steadiness of hers.

"If you do not mind," Hecate said, changing the subject, "I would like you to do something for me."

Ysabella sighed. "Of course. Nothing comes without a price."

"It is not a price. It is a favor." Hecate walked to her desk and picked up a sealed envelope. The paper was thick and cream colored, the wax seal unmarked by any sigil. "I need you to deliver this to someone. The address is written on the front."

Ysabella took the envelope and read the address. It was a residence in the village, on the outskirts of the pack territory. She did not recognize the name.

"Who lives here?"

"A friend." Hecate's dark eyes bore into hers with sudden intensity. "I need you to go alone. This is confidential."

Ysabella looked from the envelope to Hecate's face. Something flickered there, something she could not name. Hope, perhaps. Or fear.

"Fine," Ysabella said, tucking the envelope into her bag. "I will go after I collect my things."

She rose from the chaise and walked toward the door. Her hand was on the handle when Hecate spoke again.

"Thank you, Ysabella. For trusting me."

Ysabella did not answer. She slipped out into the corridor and made her way toward the stairs.

She had walked only a few paces when she realized she had left her bag behind. The small leather satchel she carried everywhere, with her coin and her handkerchief and the little wooden toy Aileen had given her. She sighed and turned back.

The door to Hecate's studio was still closed. Ysabella opened it without thinking, without knocking, without any warning.

And she saw them.

Maddox had Hecate pressed against the worktable, her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands gripping her hips. Their bodies moved together in a rhythm that left no doubt about what was happening. Hecate's head was thrown back, her lips parted, a soft moan escaping her throat. Maddox's face was buried in her neck, his shoulders trembling, his breathing ragged.

Ysabella gasped.

The sound was small, but in the quiet of the studio it echoed like a shout. Maddox's head snapped up. His eyes met hers, wide and guilty and wild. Hecate turned her face, her cheeks flushed, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders.

For a frozen moment, no one moved.

Then Ysabella stumbled backward, slamming the door shut. Her heart pounded in her chest, her face burning. She pressed her hand to her mouth and fled down the corridor, her footsteps echoing off the stone.

So Hecate was playing that role after all. Sleeping with the king while his wife lay recovering in the next wing. Ysabella had suspected, but seeing it with her own eyes made her stomach turn.

She took a moment to compose herself at the bottom of the stairs, then straightened her gown and walked out into the snowy village.

The address Hecate had given her was not far. A small cottage at the edge of the pack territory, with a garden buried under snow and smoke curling from the chimney. Ysabella knocked on the wooden door and waited.

A woman opened it.

She was young, perhaps in her mid twenties, with ashen blonde hair pulled back in a simple braid. Her eyes were grey, sharp, and they swept over Ysabella with quick assessment. She wore a plain wool dress and a leather apron, and her hands were stained with ink.

"Yes?" the woman said.

Ysabella cleared her throat. "My name is Ysabella. I have been sent by Hecate. She asked me to deliver this."

She held out the envelope.

The woman's eyes widened. Her hand trembled slightly as she took it. She did not open it. She only stared at Ysabella with an expression that was part wonder, part fear.

"Hecate sent you?" the woman whispered.

"Yes. Do you know her?"

The woman let out a shaky breath. She stepped back and opened the door wider.

"You should come inside," she said. "There is someone you need to see."

Ysabella hesitated. Every instinct told her this was strange, this was wrong, this was something she did not understand. But curiosity burned hotter than caution. She stepped over the threshold.

The cottage was small but warm. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the smell of bread baking filled the air. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and jars and bundles of dried flowers.

And standing by the window, her back to the room, was another woman.

She turned when she heard the door close.

Ysabella's breath caught in her throat.

The woman had brown hair, the same shade as the one who had opened the door. But her eyes were different. They were deep, dark, almost black. And her face, though thinner, older, wearier than Ysabella remembered, was unmistakable.

"Tori?" Ysabella whispered.

The woman by the window smiled, and tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Hello, Ysa," Tori said. "It has been a long time."

Ysabella's legs gave way. She sank onto a nearby stool, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes flooding with tears.

"By the Goddess," she breathed.