Chapter 2

Late autumn. I was sweeping leaves in the courtyard.

Alaric stopped at the far end of the corridor, a book in hand. But his eyes were on me.

Sizing me up. Curious. Something else I couldn't name.

I lowered my head and swept faster.

"You can take a beating, can't you?" he said.

He paused.

"Graves says you're starving. But you've never asked me for anything. Are you afraid I'll kill you?"

Afraid?

The servants avoided him like the plague.

But he'd given me food. A roof. That was more than I'd ever had.

I shook my head. "I'm not scared."

He stared.

For a long moment, he just looked at me.

Then he turned and walked back inside.

That night, a small dish of braised venison appeared in my food basket.

Days passed quietly. Then the full moon approached.

He couldn't sleep. His temper frayed. He smashed everything in his room.

The servants hid, terrified of being torn apart.

Only I went in every day to clean up.

He cursed me with the filthiest words. Threw whatever he could grab.

I never dodged. Never said a word.

Just cleaned. And left.

The night before the full moon, a blizzard hit.

I huddled under my thin blanket, listening to the sounds from the castle.

At first, they were muffled—like a trapped beast's cries.

Then they rose into horrible howls, the clatter of silver chains.

The servants cowered in their rooms, trembling together.

"The prince is losing control again..."

"Anyone who goes near him now will be torn to pieces."

"Poor man. He was the greatest warrior in the kingdom. Now he can't even master his own wolf..."

I wrestled with myself under the covers.

Graves's bad leg had flared up with the cold. He couldn't even get out of bed.

That afternoon, he'd grabbed my hand, worried.

"The prince is chained in silver—his wolf is weakening..."

"And with this blizzard, no one's been feeding his fire. What if he freezes?"

I pulled on my old cloak, carried a brazier of coals, and pushed open the door to his chamber.

The hinges creaked.

He was curled on the floor. Silver chains cut deep into his wrists and ankles. His forehead was slick with sweat. His face white as the snow outside.

"Get out!" He saw me, and his eyes blazed gold-red.

I ignored him.

I set the brazier near his feet. Draped a thick blanket over his shivering body.

He shoved me away—so hard I hit the floor.

"I said get out!" he snarled. "Are you deaf?!"

I got up. My knees ached from the wooden floor.

And I pulled the blanket back over him.

He went still.

Those gold-red eyes—for the first time—held something else.

Confusion.

Like a beast trapped too long, finally meeting someone who didn't flinch from its claws.

I turned to leave.

He caught my wrist. His hand was cold as iron.

"Why? Aren't you afraid to die?"

His voice cracked—barely.

I looked at him. Didn't know how to answer.

Because Graves said he needed someone.

His grip tightened.

Then, outside the stained glass window—a shadow moved.

An arrow flew toward his unprotected back.

This shot was meant to kill.

Without thinking, I shoved him aside. "Watch out!"

And took the arrow in my back.

The pain hit like lightning.

My vision went black. I fell into his arms.

I caught a glimpse of his face—stunned. Like he couldn't understand why I'd done it.

More arrows Wrened down...

The last thing I saw before I blacked out: a massive wolf-shadow, shielding me with its body.