The road to Xander’s country house was exhausting. He refused to stop during the nights and pressed the coachmen to change shifts so they each had time to sleep whenever they were not driving. There were two carriages, one for Xander, Leo and me and the other for the staff who accompanied us. Their carriage was bigger than ours to better accommodate comfort and the rotation between coachmen. We occasionally stopped for the head maid—Diana, to change my bandages and inspect my injured hand. It had surprised me to see her in Xander’s room tending to my wounds when I woke up the day after my fingers were broken. I didn’t think she particularly liked me when I was a maid. Diana always seemed distant, severe and meticulous with her work. She was probably stricter than the housekeeper—whom she reported. Lucia had also been by my side, reading a book beside the bed and taking turns with Diana to change the cold press they had placed on my head to lower the fever. She stayed with me until h

Gideon threw himself on his knees and grabbed the front of my dress. His eyes were all misty as he looked deep within my own. “Princess Cressida!” The colour in my face drained fully. I swatted the man’s hands and tried to brush him off as I moved back. The two other men stared at him, then at me, and eventually bent one knee and bowed their heads. Xander had taken some steps back as well. I sensed through our mate bond that he was as shocked as the man kneeling in front of me. I hyperventilated, and Diana quickly grabbed my arm and dragged me back inside the house. She sat me on the loveseat of the main room and removed the layers of winter clothes I had on. She then put a kettle over the fire to boil some water. I tried to unbutton my dress, but my left hand was not complying with the action I ordered. My fingers were shaking and felt numb. “Damn hand, why can’t you just do what I want!” I half screamed at it. Tears were spilling down my face. I heard shouting. The men seemed

Diana sat on her stool beside me and made me repeat the movements she had instructed me to do. They were repetitive, but I could feel the difference in the days after we started exercising my hand. She helped flex my fingers when needed and massaged the scarring. She was very patient with me and encouraged me to keep bending, even though it sometimes hurt. Diana had removed the splints, but I needed to keep my three fingers bandaged for another couple of days to ensure they healed right. It had been a relief since the splints made me itch something terrible. I was lucky that Xander's healing ability helped speed up the process. The last few days had been quiet. We were alone in the house while Xander and Gideon planned our trip to Perch. One of Gideon’s men had sent word to their headquarters that we would make way for them. I had no notion if they had mentioned me. I figured the risk was too significant to write that in a letter if someone other than leaders in the rebellion inter

We had resumed the road two days behind schedule. The snowstorm had not let out the following morning, and I had used that time to change the colour of my hair. Gideon had done a double-take when he had seen me coming down for supper that day. I grinned and winked at him. “You said so yourself. My hair was a dead giveaway, remember? I’ve found a better way of hiding it without cutting everything off.” From recalling that event, Gideon’s face had become beet red, and Xander had looked at us questioningly. I recounted what happened, and everyone laughed at Gideon’s rash action, which ultimately saved my life. Gideon had been right, though. I would have been found within a few days, maybe a week if he hadn’t cut all my fiery red hair. The inn we had stayed in was called the “Wayward Dog.” I learned from Gideon that it was a place many shifters stopped while on the road. I also discovered that all three men were shifters, which explained why they hadn’t seemed bothered by the cold sto

Xander POV I wandered through Baron Mallard’s guest house in the early hours of the morning. My feet kept bringing me back to Ida’s room. But I dared not go inside, although I terribly wanted to. I knew I had crossed the line when she slapped me in the carriage ride from the baron’s manor. I had tried to explain to Ida why it was necessary to do what I did, but I knew my actions stunned her. She had refused to look at me—to let me touch her. I wanted to howl in grief. From the moment he saw Ida, that bastard Mallard was all over her—then blatantly insulted me. He still held a grudge against my refusal of his daughter years ago. Beatrice had moved on since then and had married into a wealthy family. I thought we had been past this. How could I have explained why his daughter would never have been enough for me without mentioning I was a Lycan shifter? Beatrice was nothing compared to Ida. Nothing. I hated the persona I had created while doing my duties as heir to High Hill and it