ANMELDENThe Warlord’s arrow had not killed me, but it had taken whatever was left of my soul.The castle above was shaking with the wild, frightening energy of a kingdom preparing for a royal marriage. But down in the scullery kitchens, the air was heavy and quiet.I was sitting on a low wooden stool near the fire. My left arm was tied tightly to my chest in a white cloth sling, the thick bandage on my shoulder slowly soaking with fresh dark red blood. My right hand was still crushed. My legs were covered in painful burns. I was like a walking corpse."Drink this, little wolf," a soft voice said.Martha pressed a warm wooden cup of bone broth to my lips. Her wrinkled face showed deep, painful exhaustion. She had stayed awake all night, sitting on the dirt floor of my cell, holding my good hand while the fever from the arrow wound almost took me again."You shouldn't be down here, Martha," I said weakly, my voice rough like broken glass. "The head servant w
[Elian’s POV]The journey down to the scullery was a blur of painful, terrifying confusion.I was bleeding badly, fading in and out of a dark, heavy state. But even through the sharp pain in my shoulder, my senses were strongly overwhelmed by the Warlord. I was pressed tightly against Cillian’s broad chest. I could hear the fast, uneven beat of his heart. I could smell the leather, the snow, and the deep, strong scent of pine and rain.For a cruel, brief second, my dying mind wanted to bury my face in his neck and hold on.But then I remembered the heavy iron arrow tearing through my flesh. I remembered the Princess watching with a smile. I forced my eyes open, gasping as a new wave of pain spread from my chest, and I weakly tried to push against his armor. I didn't want to die in the arms of the man who shot me."Stop moving," Cillian said roughly. His voice vibrated against my cheek, low and tight, with none of the warm
[Cillian’s POV]"Please, Alpha... don't shoot me again. I'll stay out of your way. I swear... just let me die."The words did not simply break my heart; they ripped it from my chest, threw it onto the freezing earth, and crushed it into dust.I remained frozen on my knees in the blood-soaked snow. My hands, still raised and reaching for him, shook violently. I was the Warlord of the Blackwood. I had butchered hundreds of men on the battlefield. I had bathed in the blood of rogue Alphas without blinking. But looking at the sheer, unadulterated terror in my mate’s beautiful amber eyes—terror directed entirely at me—completely paralyzed my soul.He th
[Cillian’s POV]I did not care about the hunt. I did not care about the Silver Fang generals or the elaborate, bloody pageantry of my own wedding day.As I rode my massive black warhorse through the freezing Blackwood forest, my entire existence was whittled down to a single, agonizing focal point: the sound of Elian’s erratic, terrified heartbeat echoing through the trees ahead of me.My inner Lycan was clawing at the walls of my skull, screaming at me to break formation, tear through the brush, and wrap him in my cloak again. But I was surroun
[Elian’s POV]







