Chapter 43: Beyond What One Can Wonder

Hecate POV

The morning air was cold against my skin, sharp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and frost and distant woodsmoke. I pulled the bowstring back to my cheek, held my breath, and released.

The arrow flew straight and true, burying itself in the center of the target with a satisfying thunk.

I lowered the bow and exhaled slowly. The training field was empty at this hour, the sun just beginning to crest the treetops, casting long golden shadows across the snow. It was the only place I had found where I could be alone with my thoughts. The only place where the walls did not feel like they were closing in.

I had woken before dawn.

Maddox was still asleep beside me, his dark hair spread across the pillow, his face relaxed in a way I had not seen since I returned to this castle. The lines of worry and guilt that usually carved themselves into his features had softened. He looked younger. Peaceful. Almost like the man I had fallen in love with three years ago.

And that was why I had left.

Waking up next to him felt too much like Samantha. Too much like the mornings we had shared in the beginning, when I still believed every word he said, when I still thought the bond meant something more than convenience. I could not lie there and pretend that everything was fine. Not when the memory of his betrayal still burned in my chest.

So I had slipped out of bed, dressed in silence, and come here to shoot arrows at a target until my arms ached and my mind went quiet.

It was not working.

I nocked another arrow and pulled the string back. The wood creaked under the tension. I aimed, exhaled, released.

Thunk.

Another perfect shot. But my thoughts were still tangled.

I heard footsteps in the snow behind me before I heard his voice. The crunch of boots on frozen ground. The soft rhythm of his breathing. I did not need to turn around to know who it was. My body recognized him before my mind did.

"You are up early," Maddox said. He stopped a few feet behind me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, far enough that we could pretend this was casual.

"Could not sleep."

"Neither could I, after I realized the bed was empty."

I nocked another arrow. "You should have stayed. You need rest."

"So do you."

I released. The arrow struck the target, but not in the center. A little to the left. My aim was slipping.

Maddox moved closer. He did not ask why I had left. He did not ask about the tension in my shoulders or the way I was avoiding his eyes. He simply stood beside me and spoke of ordinary things. The weather. The repairs to the eastern wall. The new foal born in the stables last night.

I nodded along, grateful for the triviality, grateful that he was not pressing me for answers I did not know how to give.

Then his tone shifted.

"I received word this morning," he said. "The rogues are demanding retribution for what happened in their den. They say we attacked them unprovoked. That we killed their pack members and stole what was theirs."

I lowered the bow and looked at him. "The child was not theirs to keep."

"Try telling them that." He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression grim. "They want blood. They want payment. They want something to save face after being humiliated by a witch and a wolf on their own territory."

"Are you afraid?" I asked.

Maddox laughed, but it was a hard sound, without humor. "The rogues can be brutal. I have seen what they do to the packs they overwhelm. But they are not an army. They are bandits. Looters. Scavengers. They have no organization, no discipline, no loyalty to anything but their own survival." He shook his head. "They cannot win a war against the seven packs. The numbers alone would crush them."

"Then why do you look worried?"

He was quiet for a moment, his golden eyes fixed on the treeline. "Because they do not need to win a war to hurt us. They only need to strike where we are weak. A supply caravan here. A village on the border there. Death by a thousand cuts." He turned to look at me. "I have ordered the guards to increase patrols along the borders. Every entrance to Emberclaw territory will be watched."

I nodded. "If it escalates, I will fight."

"I know you will." His voice was soft. "That is what frightens me."

I did not know what to say to that. So I turned back to the target and raised my bow.

Maddox moved behind me.

His chest pressed against my back, and his hand closed over mine on the bow. His other hand found my waist, steadying me, adjusting my stance. I could feel the heat of him through my clothes, the steady beat of his heart against my shoulder blade.

"Your elbow is too high," he said, his lips close to my ear. "Relax your shoulder. Let the bow do the work."

I adjusted my position, and he guided my arm down, shifting my grip on the string. His breath was warm against my neck. My own heart was pounding so loudly I was certain he could hear it.

"Now," he murmured. "Breathe in. Hold. And release."

I let the arrow fly.

It struck the target dead center, splitting the shaft of my previous shot clean in two.

I laughed, surprised. "How did you do that?"

"You did it. I only helped you find your aim." He stepped back, but his hand lingered on my waist for a moment longer than necessary. "You are a natural."

I turned to look at him. He was smiling, a genuine smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look almost boyish. My chest ached with how much I wanted to kiss him.

He was thinking the same thing. I could see it in the way his gaze dropped to my lips, in the way his tongue wet his own.

We moved toward each other without thinking. His hand came up to cup my cheek. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

And then voices echoed from the direction of the castle.

Warriors, arriving for morning training. Laughing, shouting, their boots crunching in the snow.

We sprang apart.

Maddox took two steps back, shoving his hands into his pockets. I turned to face the target, pretending to study my shots. The warriors greeted the king as they passed, nodding respectfully, not noticing the flush on my cheeks or the way his breathing was slightly uneven.

"Your Majesty," one of them called. "Fine morning for training."

"It is," Maddox called back, his voice steady. "Carry on."

The warriors moved to the far end of the field, drawing their swords and beginning their drills. They did not look at us again.

Maddox glanced at me, his golden eyes dark with unspoken words. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Shook his head.

"I should let you practice," he said. "You have work to do. Odette's treatments."

"Yes," I said, my voice hollow. "Odette's treatments."

He turned and walked away, his boots crunching in the snow. I watched him go, my chest tight, my skin still burning where he had touched me.

The sexual tension was crawling across my skin like fire. And there was nothing I could do to put it out.