Chapter 4 — Gates of the Capital

Mom makes me drink it on the threshold.

Not at the table like always where the routine can pretend it’s harmless but right there at the front door, with my travel bag in my hand and the cold morning air creeping into the house like a warning.

The chipped mug is warm against my palms.

The liquid inside is darker than usual.

Or maybe I’m imagining that because I watched her pour something from a vial two nights ago, and my mind has been chewing on it like a bone it can’t splinter.

“Abigail,” Mom says, voice soft enough that anyone listening would think she’s soothing me. “Before you go.”

Dad stands behind her, already in uniform. He’s meant to escort us to the first checkpoint, then turn back with the shadow patrol. His eyes are fixed on the road beyond the door like he’s trying to memorize the direction in case he needs to chase us.

Or in case he needs to chase something else.

I swallow once, throat already tightening in anticipation.

“Mom,” I start because some stupid, hopeful piece of me still wants her to laugh and say this was all a misunderstanding. Just herbs. Just healing.

Her smile doesn’t move. “This will be the last one,” she says, and her tone is so sure it makes my skin prickle. “Your growing pains should be healed from here on out.”

The phrase lands wrong from here on out like she’s drawing a line in my life with a neat ruler and expecting my body to obey.

Tessa shifts behind me, adjusting her bag strap. She’s trying to look bright eyed, but her gaze keeps flicking to the mug like it’s a dare.

Briar doesn’t move at all. She’s a still point in the doorway, watching Mom’s face with a kind of quiet hostility she doesn’t bother to hide. If suspicion had a scent, Briar would reek of it.

Dad clears his throat. “Mary.”

Mom doesn’t look back at him. “It’s fine,” she says gently. “It’s medicine. Abby’s been taking it for years.”

Years.

The word shouldn’t feel like a chain tightening around my ribs, but it does.

My hands tremble. I try to stop them. I fail.

Mom tilts the mug slightly, offering it like a peace treaty. Like a test. “Drink.”

My stomach rolls at the smell bitter herbs and something sharp underneath, like crushed metal.

Melody’s journal flashes through my mind: burning throat… suppressed shifting response…

I stare at Mom’s face. At her calm eyes. At the serenity she wears like armour.

Why would she poison me?

Why would she poison Melody?

The thought is so monstrous it almost collapses under its own weight. And yet… the burning is real. The weakness is real. The silence in my chest where my wolf should be is painfully, humiliatingly real.

I lift the mug.

If I refuse now, in front of Dad, in front of Tessa and Briar, in front of the guard waiting outside, this becomes a scene. A fight. A fracture.

And I’m leaving in thirty seconds anyway.

So I drink.

The liquid hits my tongue like punishment acid bitter, searing as it slides down. My eyes water. I swallow hard, forcing it down while my body revolts.

Mom’s shoulders ease like she’s just watched a door lock.

“There,” she murmurs, brushing a tear off my cheek with her thumb like it’s affection and not chemistry. “You’ll feel better soon.”

Briar’s jaw tightens. Tessa’s eyes look damp, like she wants to hug me and also punch something.

Dad’s gaze lingers on the emptying mug, then on my face. For the first time in a long time, he looks like he wants to say something, something that might change the direction of my life.

He doesn’t.

Mom steps back. “Be respectful. Be grateful. And remember,” she adds, voice lowering, “the capital watches everything.”

I don’t know if she means it as advice or a threat.

Maybe both.

I hand her the mug. My throat burns. My stomach clenches. I force myself to lift my chin.

“I’ll remember,” I say.

Then, I step outside before the air in the house can close over my head again.

We leave at dawn with a guard shadow, three riders in dark cloaks flanking our carriage like living warning signs. The road is damp from night mist, and the trees lean inward as if they want to listen.

I sit between Tessa and Briar, my bag at my feet, Melody’s journal hidden under the lining where my fingers keep wanting to check it’s still there.

Tessa taps her boot nervously against the floorboards. “Okay,” she says, too bright. “New plan. We get there, we don’t die, and we come back with absurd palace gossip.”

Briar snorts. “Aim higher. We get there, we don’t die, and we don’t let anyone drug Abby again.”

Tessa’s smile falters. “Briar.”

“What?” Briar’s voice is flat. “You saw her. You saw Mary’s face.”

Tessa turns to me, searching. “Abby, how do you feel?”

“Like I swallowed a campfire,” I mutter. My voice is hoarse already. “But that’s normal. Apparently.”

Briar’s eyes flick over me, clinical. “Your pupils are slightly blown.”

“I love that for me,” I say dryly.

Tessa reaches for my hand, squeezing. “Maybe this really is the last one. Maybe your mom.”

“Is a loving healer?” Briar cuts in, unimpressed. “Sure.”

I close my eyes and breathe through the nausea.

I don’t want to believe it.

I don’t want to believe my mother would do anything that matches the word poison.

But I also don’t want to keep being a mystery inside my own body, walking around with an emptiness in my chest where my wolf should be.

So I hold two truths at once because I’m learning that life doesn’t always let you pick one:

1) Mary is my mother.

2) Something is deeply wrong.

The carriage wheels grind over stone as we cross the outer ridge. The trees thin. The world opens.

And then the capital appears.

Even from miles away, you can see it, walls of pale stone veined with darker rock, towers rising like spears, banners snapping in the wind with the royal crest embroidered in silver thread. Sunlight hits the palace spires and turns them into blades of light.

Tessa makes a small sound of awe. “Oh.”

Briar squints. “It’s… big. "”

“Insightful,” I mutter, but my own breath catches.

I’ve seen drawings and heard stories. None of them prepared me for the weight of it, the way the city seems to press outward, daring the world to test it.

As we approach, the road grows crowded. Carriages. Riders. Pack representatives with formal insignias pinned to cloaks. Females around my age, some laughing too loudly, some rigid with nerves, all of them smelling faintly of perfume and ambition.

And fear.

The gates are guarded by wolves in black armour with silver trim. Royal guard. Their posture isn’t just disciplined, it’s predatory, as if they’re ready to explode into motion at the smallest wrongness.

Dad’s escort stops at the checkpoint outside the outer gate. He dismounts with stiff movements and comes to our carriage door.

His face looks carved from exhaustion.

He doesn’t speak at first. He just looks at me, really looks.

It makes my throat tighten for a different reason.

“You listen to your companions,” he says finally, voice low. “You don’t wander. You don’t.” He swallows like the next words burn. “You don’t trust anyone too quickly.”

My eyebrows lift. “That’s… new.”

His mouth tightens. “Abby.”

I wait.

He glances toward the towering walls, then back at me. “If you need me,” he says, and the words sound like they cost him something, “send a message. Any message. I’ll come.”

My chest aches. I want to believe him. I want to ask why he couldn’t come for Melody fast enough. Why he couldn’t believe her if she had ever tried to tell him something terrible.

But the road behind us is full of years I can’t change.

So I nod. “Okay.”

He hesitates, then reaches up and taps my shoulder once, awkward, restrained. The closest thing to a hug he’s ever managed.

Then he steps back.

He doesn’t say Melody’s name.

But as he turns away, his gaze flicks briefly to the scarf tied around my bag handle, Melody’s scarf, dark green, faded from my hands.

And his eyes soften, just for a second.

Then he mounts his horse and rides back down the road without looking over his shoulder.

I watch him go until he’s swallowed by mist and distance.

Tessa squeezes my hand harder. “He loves you,” she whispers.

Briar’s voice is quiet, almost reluctant. “He’s afraid.”

Both of them are right.

The gate opens with a groan of metal and stone, and we pass into the capital.

Inside the walls, everything is louder and sharper.

The streets are wide, paved with smooth stone. Market stalls line the lower district with bright fabrics and silver jewellery that catches the sun. The air smells like baked bread, spices, horse sweat, and the faint metallic scent of too many wolves in too small a space.

It should feel alive.

Instead, it feels watched.

A royal attendant meets us almost immediately, a woman in a crisp grey uniform with her hair in a severe braid. Her eyes rake over us like we’re items on a list.

“Tessa Hale. Briar Wren. Abigail Barns,” she recites, not asking, stating. “You will follow me. Speak only when necessary. Keep your identification bands visible.”

Identification bands.

She hands each of us a thin metal band engraved with our names and pack seals. It’s cold against my skin, and when it clicks closed around my wrist, something in my stomach dips.

Like a cage snapping shut.

Tessa tries to smile at the attendant. “Hi! Um thank you.”

The woman doesn’t react.

Briar mutters, “Charming.”

We’re led through an inner gate into the royal compound, another world entirely. The noise of the city muffles behind thick stone, replaced by manicured gardens, fountains shaped like wolves mid leap, and pathways lined with pale flowers that smell too sweet.

Tessa inhales like she’s trying to drink the air. “This is… incredible.”

I want to be impressed. I am impressed.

But my pulse is too erratic, my stomach still sour from the morning drink. I feel like my body is half a step behind my surroundings, like I’m moving through a dream with bad lighting.

The attendant stops at a building with tall arched windows. “Dormitory,” she says. “You will stay here with the other summoned females. You will be assigned schedules. You will be evaluated.”

Evaluated.

I hate that word.

Inside, the dormitory buzzes with energy. Girls clustered in groups, comparing dresses, whispering about princes like they’re prizes. Laughter too loud. Perfume is too strong. Eyes too sharp.

Teenage drama in a palace wrapper.

A group near the staircase looks up as we enter. A girl with glossy black hair and a necklace that screams wealth gives me a once-over and wrinkles her nose as if I smell wrong.

Briar leans toward me. “If someone tries to ‘accidentally’ shove you downstairs, duck left,” she murmurs.

Tessa hisses, “Briar!”

“What?” Briar replies. “This place has ‘accident’ written all over it.”

We’re assigned a shared room, three beds, simple furniture, a narrow window overlooking a courtyard where guards train in perfect formation.

I drop my bag on my bed and exhale.

For the first time since leaving home, the air doesn’t feel heavy.

My throat still burns, but underneath it… there’s a strange lightness. Like my blood is moving differently. Like something is unclenching.

I blink, thrown by it.

Tessa notices. “Abby?” she asks softly. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I feel… less awful.”

Briar’s eyes narrow. “Already?”

Tessa brightens immediately, relief exploding across her face. “See? She said it was the last one. Maybe it really was just… something that needed finishing.”

Briar doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t argue yet.

A knock hits our door.

The same attendant from earlier stands in the hallway holding three folded sheets. “Schedules,” she says. “Read. Obey. Be punctual.”

Then she’s gone.

I unfold mine.

It’s a grid of times and tasks: introductions, etiquette sessions, compound chores, yes, chores like garden tending and linen rotation (apparently royals love humility theatre), and then, stamped in official ink:

Shifting Demonstration — Day Two, 10:00. Mandatory.

Health Verification — As Requested by Royal Clinic.

My stomach drops.

Briar reads over my shoulder. “Health verification. That’s vague on purpose.”

Tessa takes her own schedule and frowns. “Mine doesn’t say ‘as requested.’ It just says ‘general wellness check, optional.’”

Briar’s gaze snaps up. “What?”

I pull her paper closer. She’s right.

Tessa’s: General wellness check, optional.

Briar’s: the same.

Mine: Health verification, as requested by Royal Clinic.

My skin goes cold.

Tessa blinks rapidly. “That’s probably just… because you haven’t shifted yet,” she says, forcing logic into the shape of comfort. “They’re being extra careful. That’s good, right?”

Briar’s mouth tightens. “Or they’re being extra interested.”

I swallow. “Maybe it’s normal.”

The lie tastes thin.

Because Elder Soren said: report anything abnormal.

Because Mom watched me drink like she needed to make sure.

Because Melody’s notes exist.

And because my body feels a fraction better already, like something is loosening just by being away.

We’re herded into a grand hall later that afternoon with dozens of other females. The ceiling is vaulted, painted with moons and wolves and old battles. Guards line the walls, silent and still.

A man in formal council attire speaks at the front, welcome, duty, tradition, and honour. His words blur into a drone.

All I can focus on is the weight of eyes.

Everywhere.

Evaluating.

Measuring.

Picking winners before the game has even started.

Then, the doors behind the speaker open.

A ripple goes through the room like wind across tall grass.

Four males enter.

Princes.

I know them instantly, not because I’ve seen them before but because the air changes around them thick with power, with pack dominance so ingrained it feels like gravity.

Prince Logan walks first, smiling easily, dark blond hair neat, his expression warm enough to steady a shaking room. Beside him is Lia, his mate, beautiful and confident, watching us with a calm that says she’s already survived this circus.

Prince Liam follows, softer looking, gentle eyes scanning the crowd like he’s trying not to make anyone feel small.

Then Prince Nate.

He’s loud even without speaking, golden hair, a grin too sharp, eyes bright with amusement as if the whole world is a toy designed for his entertainment. He winks at a girl in the front row, and she nearly collapses.

He’s exactly as awful as I imagined.

And then there’s the last one.

Prince Adrian.

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t perform. He moves like a shadow given muscle, tall, broad, built like he was carved for war. Dark hair. Green eyes that don’t wander, they assess.

When his gaze passes over the crowd, it doesn’t linger on the giggling girls or the ones practically vibrating with ambition.

It pauses on me.

Not long. Barely a heartbeat.

But it’s enough to make my lungs forget their job.

Tessa leans in, whispering excitedly, “That’s him. That’s Adrian. That’s the guardian prince.”

Briar mutters, “He looks like he enjoys breaking bones.”

I can’t look away.

Adrian’s gaze is already elsewhere, like I was nothing. Like I imagined it.

But my skin is buzzing, and I hate myself for it.

Nate steps forward, spreading his arms like he’s blessing us with his presence. “Ladies,” he says, voice rich with charm, “welcome to the capital. Welcome to the heart of the realm. Try not to fall in love with me all at once.”

A wave of giggles.

I don’t giggle. I glare.

Nate’s eyes flick to me, catching my expression. His grin widens like I’ve just become a new game. “Oh,” he says, loud enough that others turn. “We have a feisty one.”

Heat rushes to my face. Not the good kind.

Logan clears his throat with an amused smile, stepping in before Nate can sharpen the moment into humiliation. “We’re glad you’re here,” Logan says, tone genuine. “This is an unusual time for our realm. Bonds matter. Strength matters. Community matters.”

Liam nods, offering a small, reassuring smile that almost makes me feel human again.

Adrian says nothing.

He stands behind them slightly, arms folded, expression unreadable.

But when Nate’s attention stays on me a second too long, Adrian shifts, just a subtle step, a slight change in posture.

A wall forming without anyone announcing it.

My heart stutters.

Briar notices, too; I see it in the way her eyes narrow. Tessa is too busy trying not to explode from excitement.

The council speaker resumes detailing rules and expectations. The princes stand as symbols at the front, and I swear the air hums with unspoken power.

When the gathering finally breaks, girls surge forward like a tide, trying to get closer, to be seen, to be remembered.

I hang back.

Tessa bounces on her toes. “Should we, should we go say hello?”

Briar’s expression is darkly amused. “You first. I want to watch Nate get stabbed with a hairpin.”

“I’m not stabbing anyone,” Tessa whispers, scandalized.

“Give it time,” Briar murmurs.

I keep my eyes on Adrian.

He turns slightly as if he feels my stare, and for a split second, his green gaze catches mine again.

There’s no smile.

No invitation.

Just… attention.

A quiet, heavy awareness that makes my skin tighten over my bones.

Then he looks away and follows his brothers out.

And I’m left standing there, heart racing like I’ve just run miles, wondering why a prince who looks carved from midnight would spare even a heartbeat for an unshifted girl with bitter poison on her breath.

As we’re swept back toward the dormitory by the flow of females and attendants, Tessa chatters excitedly about fountains and Lia’s dress and how Logan seems nice.

Briar stays close to my shoulder like a guard dog.

I walk with my schedule folded tight in my fist, the word health verification pressing into my palm through paper.

My throat still burns, but my head feels clearer than it has in weeks.

Away from home.

Away from the mug.

Away from Mom’s eyes.

For the first time in years, I wonder quietly, terrified, and thrilled all at once if my wolf is not gone.

Just buried.

And if the capital is about to dig her up.