Chapter 7

​"Drink this, child," a soft, raspy voice broke through the quiet hum of the stone hall.

​I jerked back slightly, clutching the collar of my tunic as an old woman with snow-white hair and kind, wrinkled eyes offered me a steaming wooden mug. She didn't flinch at my sudden movement. She didn't stare at the dark mark peeking over the edge of my collarbone, either.

​"What is it?" I asked, my voice still trembling from the revelation inside King Evander's war room hours ago.

​"Just chamomile, honey, and crushed winter-berry," she replied with a gentle smile, setting the mug on the wooden table in front of me. "Good for restoring cold bones and frayed nerve endings. I'm Mara. Chief healer around this dusty mountain."

​I stared at the warm liquid, then looked around the grand hall of Ironclad Keep.

​The place was alive with activity, but it didn't feel like a brutal military camp. In one corner, an old blacksmith with a missing right arm was laughing heartily as he taught a young boy how to temper iron. In another, a group of elderly scholars sitting around a low wooden table were engaged in a heated debate over ancient geography scrolls. Women wrapped in thick knitted shawls were mending armor, while children—children who should have been cast out or hidden away—played tag around the massive stone pillars.

​"They're... normal," I whispered, almost to myself. "None of them are beasts. None of them look like rogues."

​Mara let out a soft, melodic chuckle as she sat on the bench across from me. "We're ghosts, dear. The world outside these walls thinks every soul in this room died years ago in some bloody battle or fell to rogue claws. But King Evander gave us a second life."

​"A second life?" I repeated bitterly, my fingers wrapping around the warm wooden mug. "He's the Shadow King. Back in Mooncrest, mothers tell stories of King Evander to make their children behave. They say his heart is made of obsidian."

​"Do they now?" a deep, booming voice cut in.

​A tall warrior with a thick gray beard and a faded scar across his jaw stepped over, setting a heavy wooden tray of freshly roasted venison and baked potatoes on the table. It was the same knight who had greeted me earlier—Commander General Jonathan, formerly of the Royal Asterian Guard, a man who was supposed to have bled out in the Red River a decade ago.

​"The Alphas of Asteria like to paint King Evander as a devil because he doesn't bow to their petty games," Jonathan said, tearing off a piece of warm bread. "If he were the monster your pack claimed he was, do you think he'd build a sanctuary for three hundred broken souls who had nowhere left to go?"

​"He brought me here against my will," I countered sharply, my eyes narrowing. "He tracked me through the mud for days, lied about who he was, and hauled me up a mountain."

​"Because if he hadn't, Alpha Ashborne's scouts would have gutted you before sunrise," Jonathan said calmly, his dark eyes fixing on mine. "You're angry, Nyx. You have every right to be. But don't confuse the man who dragged you out of the fire with the ones who threw you into it."

​I looked down at the food, a lump forming in my throat. "They threw stones at me, Jonathan. In Oakhaven. People I had never met... they called me a plague. They didn't even see me as a person."

​Mara reached across the table, her warm, calloused hand gently covering mine. "People fear what they don't understand, child. And the Alphas have spent three hundred years making sure no one understands the mark on your neck."

​I looked up, meeting her soft gray eyes. For the first time since my mate stood before thousands and shattered my soul, no one was looking at me with hatred. No one was backing away in terror.

​Mara smiled at me—a genuine, warm, grandmotherly smile that made a sudden, painful tear slip down my cheek.

​"Eat your soup, Nyx," Mara murmured softly. "You're safe here. Nobody in Ironclad Keep is going to hurt you."

​​"You are not safe to roam freely yet, Nyx," King Evander’s deep baritone shattered the peaceful air of the main courtyard early the next morning.

​I stood in the center of the frosted stone training grounds, wearing a dark leather training tunic and heavy boots. The sun was barely peeking over the jagged mountain peaks, casting long, dramatic shadows across the fortress walls.

​Evander stood before me, uncloaked, his dark hair catching the crisp morning wind. He looked every bit the sovereign king—imposing, impossibly sharp, his molten gold eyes pinning me to the spot.

​"I didn't ask for a prison sentence, Your Majesty," I spat out, accentuating his title with bitter sarcasm. "If I'm not a prisoner, why can't I leave?"

​"Because the moment you step outside the ward stones of this mountain, every tracker in Asteria will pick up your trail," Evander replied calmly, folding his arms behind his back. "If you wish to survive what is coming, you will abide by the rules of this fortress."

​"Rules?" I let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Oh, wonderful. Please, enlighten me. What are the King's royal demands?"

​Evander took a slow step forward, his shadow engulfing mine. "Rule number one: No questions regarding the identity or past of anyone living in Ironclad Keep. Everyone here gave up their past to stay alive. Respect that."

​"Fine," I growled, clenching my fists. "Rule number two?"

​"Rule number two: You do not attempt to cross the outer perimeter of the mountain without my express permission," he stated coldly. "If you try to escape, my guards will catch you and bring you straight back here. You will not waste our resources playing hide and seek in the snow."

​"And what if I refuse to stay?" I stepped closer, staring right into his striking eyes. "What if I walk out those gates right now?"

​"Then you will die out there, and I will have wasted four days tracking a girl who lacks basic common sense," Evander retorted cleanly, not a single trace of emotion flickering on his sculpted face.

​I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. "Is that all?"

​"Rule number three and four," Evander continued, stepping past me toward the wooden weapon racks lined against the stone wall. "Every morning at dawn, you report to Commander Jonathan for daily physical and combat training."

​"Combat training?!" I choked out, spinning around to face him. "I'm not a soldier! I was a Beta's adopted daughter! I took basic defense classes, not—"

​"You took basic defense classes that left you helpless against a common rogue on a riverbank," Evander interrupted ruthlessly, tossing a blunt wooden training sword at my chest.

​I caught it clumsily against my ribs, gasping.

​"Every afternoon," Evander added, ignoring my glaring eyes, "you will report to the lower archives. High Scholar Theron will conduct daily history and language lessons with you."

​"History?!" I threw my hands up, holding the wooden sword like a club. "Why do I need history lessons?! I'm an exiled outcast, not a princess preparing for a throne!"

​"Because knowledge is the only weapon that will keep you alive when steel fails," Evander said, drawing his own wooden practice blade with effortless grace. "You know nothing about your mark, Nyx. You know only the lies Alpha Ashborne and High Priest Lucian fed to you to make you compliant. If you want to understand why your own mate threw you away, you will learn."

​"I hate history," I growled through clenched teeth. "And I hate your rules."

​"Good," Evander said, a dark, fleeting smirk touching his lips before vanishing into steel. "Anger makes for a sharp blade. Raise your sword."

​"What?" I blinked.

​Without another word of warning, Evander lunged forward, his wooden blade slicing through the air with terrifying speed.

​I barely reacted in time, raising my wooden sword frantically to block his strike. CRACK! The force of his hit traveled straight up my arms, rattling my bones and sending me staggering backward into the frost.

​"Balance is terrible," Evander criticized coldly, stepping forward again. "Your guard is wide open. Again."

​"You didn't even give me a second to prepare!" I yelled, steadying my feet and gripping the hilt with both hands.

​"Do you think an assassin will give you a second to prepare?" Evander countered, striking again with lightning speed. CRACK! "Defend yourself!"

​For two agonizing hours, the court echoed with the sound of clashing wooden swords, my gasping breaths, and my frustrated screams. Evander didn't hold back. He knocked me into the dirt a dozen times. He pointed out every flaw in my stance, every hesitation in my footwork, and every time I let my temper dictate my swing.

​"You're relying on blind rage again," Evander barked, blocking my wild overhead strike with a flick of his wrist, stepping inside my guard, and sweeping his leg beneath my boots.

​I hit the cold stone floor hard on my back, the wooden sword clattering out of my numb fingers. I lay there, panting heavily, staring up at the gray morning sky, tears of pure fury and physical exhaustion pricking my eyes.

​Evander stood over me, his face impassive, resting the tip of his wooden blade against my collarbone, right beside the throbbing mark on my neck.

​"You'll die before next winter if you keep relying on anger," he repeated quietly, echoing the very words he had spat at me during the blizzard.

​"I hate you," I whispered, my chest heaving as I glared up at him through my messy hair. "I hate every single thing about you."

​Evander slowly lowered his blade, extending a gloved hand down toward me. "Get up. History lessons begin in twenty minutes."

​I slapped his hand away, pushing myself up off the ground on my own. "I don't need your help."

​​By late afternoon, my entire body was a tapestry of dull aches and bruises.

​High Scholar Theron's history lesson had been two grueling hours of sitting in a cold, dim library, staring at boring trade maps of old kingdoms while he droned on about ancient border treaties. My head felt ready to explode. The moment Theron stepped out to fetch a fresh roll of parchment, I slipped out of the archives, desperate for a moment of quiet away from old men and bossy kings.

​I wandered aimlessly through the deep, labyrinthine stone corridors of Ironclad Keep.

​The deeper I went into the lower levels of the fortress, the quieter it became. The sounds of clashing steel from the courtyard and the smell of roasting meat faded away, replaced by the cool, damp scent of ancient subterranean stone and flickering torch light.

​"Where does this hallway even go?" I muttered to myself, dragging my hand along the rough stone wall.

​I turned a sharp corner, entering a wide, high-ceilinged corridor that looked completely untouched by time. Dust covered the floorboards, and the air felt heavy, almost magnetic as if an ancient, dormant power were sleeping within the very stone beneath my feet.

​At the far end of the corridor stood a colossal, arched stone alcove.

​"What is that?" I whispered, taking a slow, cautious step toward it.

​Illuminated by the faint, eerie glow of blue luminescent moss growing along the ceiling was a massive stone wall—a mural carved directly into the heart of the mountain. It was magnificent and terrifying all at once. The carving depicted a grand, apocalyptic battlefield where thousands of wolves lay dead beneath a giant, blood-red moon.

​Standing at the center of the battlefield, carved in exquisite, haunting detail, was a tall, regal woman holding a glowing spear.

​My breath caught in my throat. I stumbled forward, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs.

​"No..." I breathed out, my eyes wide in absolute shock.

​The woman in the mural was turned sideways, her long hair blowing in an unseen wind. Carved deeply onto her exposed collarbone was a distinct, terrifying shape.

​A black crescent moon... encircled by a ring of silver, jagged thorns.

​It was the exact same mark. The Mark of the Eclipse.

​"She's... she's like me," I stammered, my trembling fingers reaching out toward the cold stone surface. "She had the mark..."

​I leaned in closer, trying to read the faint, ancient runes carved beneath the woman's feet. The language was archaic, filled with sharp symbols I had never seen in any textbook back in Mooncrest.

​"'When the Eclipse Luna awakens...'" I whispered, trying to translate the single word I recognized from High Scholar Theron's morning lesson. "'The Crown of Blood shall...'"

​​Before I could touch the stone, a massive, heavy velvet curtain dropped from the stone ceiling above with a deafening thud, completely blocking the mural from my sight.

​I gasped, jumping backward, drawing my breath in sharply.

​"You are not supposed to be down here, Nyx," a cold, dark voice echoed from the shadows behind me.

​I spun around. King Evander stood in the center of the dim corridor, his black cloak draped around him like liquid shadow. His molten gold eyes were fixed on me with a lethal, terrifying intensity that made the surrounding air feel freezing cold.

​"That woman..." I pointed a shaking finger at the heavy red curtain. "That woman in the carving! She had my mark! Who was she, Evander?! Tell me!"

​"That area of the fortress is forbidden," Evander said calmly, stepping forward, his heavy boots echoing loudly against the stone floor. "I gave you strict rules. You are not to wander the lower levels."

​"Don't ignore me!" I screamed, my voice bouncing off the high stone walls. "You know who she is! You've known all along! That's why you followed me! That's why you brought me here! My mark isn't some random curse, is it?!"

​Evander stopped three feet away from me. He didn't answer. He simply stared down at me, his handsome face turned to impenetrable stone, his eyes burning with secrets he refused to yield.

​"Tell me the truth!" I choked out, tears of anger and fear welling up in my eyes as I grabbed the lapels of his tunic. "Stop treating me like a fool! What does the prophecy really say?!"

​Evander reached down, gently but firmly grasping my wrists, pulling my hands away from his chest.

​"Some truths are heavier than you are ready to carry, Nyx," he murmured softly, his thumb brushing over the back of my trembling wrist.

​"I don't care how heavy it is!" I yelled, pulling away from his touch. "It's my life! It's my neck that burns every single night! I deserve to know!"

​Evander looked past me toward the hidden mural behind the red curtain, his golden eyes darkening into something profound and dangerous.

​"If you learn the truth before you are strong enough to face it," Evander whispered, his voice carrying a chilling, ominous warning, "it will destroy you faster than any Alpha's blade."

​He turned on his heel, his dark cloak swirling around him as he began to walk away into the shadows of the corridor.

​"Report back to your quarters, Nyx," his voice called back from the dark. "And if I catch you near the Moon Wall again... I will lock you in the archives myself."

​I stood alone in the dark corridor, my chest heaving, staring at the heavy red curtain hiding the ancient image of the woman with my mark, my mind racing with a thousand terrifying questions as the cold stone whispered secrets I was desperate to uncover.