جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 140

KieranThe Keep is holding its breath.I can feel it in the corridors. The air is too still, the silence too brittle. When we walk past the guard posts, the salutes are snapped off a fraction of a second too fast. When we pass the kitchens, the chatter dies instantly, replaced by the clatter of pans being scrubbed with aggressive, nervous energy.They’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. They’re waiting for the Redmaw monsters to climb the walls, or for the sky to turn black, or for their Alpha to crack under the pressure.I tighten my grip on Alexei’s arm.“Walk faster,” I mutter.“We’re already walking at a brisk clip,” Alexei replies, matching my stride effortlessly. He isn’t limping anymore, but I know he still favors his left leg when he thinks I’m not looking.“Where are we going? If this is another meeting with Elder Lyme about the grain stores, I’m going to bite someone. And not in the fun way.”“No meetings,” I say. “We’re going to the library. And we’re locking the door.

KieranThe doors of the Great Hall are thick oak, reinforced with iron bands. They were built to withstand battering rams during the Clan Wars a century ago.Today, they are barely enough to withstand the sound of my own people screaming.I close them behind me, the heavy thud cutting off the roar of the crowd outside, but the noise doesn’t stop. It echoes in my skull. It bounces around the hollow spaces in my chest where my confidence used to be.Traitor! Redmaw lover! Choose, Alpha! Choose! Our children are ill because of your mate!I lean my back against the wood, closing my eyes. My head is pounding. A rhythmic, blinding throb behind my eyes that syncs with the frantic beat of my heart. I feel scraped hollow. I feel like I’ve been standing in a wind tunnel filled with broken glass for three hours.The town hall meeting was a disaster.It was supposed to be a reassurance. I went down there to tell them that the sickness in the lower district was being treated, that the healers we

AlexeiThe sky finally broke.After days of oppressive, dusty heat, the heavens cracked open an hour ago. It isn’t a gentle rain, it’s a deluge. Thunder rattles the windowpanes in their lead frames, and lightning flashes every few seconds, illuminating the bedroom in stark, stuttering bursts of blue-white light.It feels like the world is ending outside. Inside, however, the world is just beginning.I’m sitting on the floor. Specifically, on the new rug Kieran finally purchased. It is a deep, plush crimson, thick enough to lose your toes in. Kieran is sitting opposite me, cross-legged, wearing nothing but his linen trousers.I’m still fully dressed. This is a tactical error I’m currently rectifying.Between us sits the chessboard.“Knight to E5,” Kieran says, moving the ivory piece with a flick of his wrist. “Check.”He looks smug. His hair is messy, falling into his eyes, and the firelight dances over the pale skin of his chest. He looks relaxed for the first time in a week. The st

AlexeiWe don’t sneak out. We don’t ask for permission. Kieran simply orders two horses saddled, looks the gate guard in the eye, and rides out.For the first mile, the tension rides with us. I keep checking the treeline, scanning for movement, my hand hovering near the hilt of my sword. I listen for the sound of following hooves.But by the time we hit the ridge, the silence of the forest takes over.There is no Council here. There are no painted sigils, no whispering servants, no heavy decisions. There is only the wind, the smell of dry sage and pine, and the vast, open sky.The sun is beginning its descent. It hangs low in the west, a ball of burning copper that turns the world into something dreamlike. The light is a thick, syrupy gold. It catches the dust motes in the air and turns them into floating sparks.Kieran slows his horse and takes a deep breath, tilting his head back. The wind catches his black hair, sweeping it off his face.He looks younger. The lines of stress around

AlexeiThe training dummy doesn’t bleed, which is a shame, because this morning I really need to kill something.The sky is a bruised purple, hovering somewhere between the deep black of night and the gray promise of dawn. The Keep is asleep. The only sounds are the distant, rhythmic snoring of the guard in the gatehouse and the sharp thwack of my training sword hitting wood.I swing again.The iron, wrapped in heavy leather, connects with the dummy’s shoulder. The wood splinters with a satisfying crack. I spin, putting my hip into the next blow, driving the force upward. My leg protests, a sharp, hot spike of pain radiating from the scar tissue in my thigh, but I welcome it.Pain is honest. Pain makes sense. Pain is a transaction, you exert too much force, you pay the price.It is infinitely simpler than the transactional silence of the courtyard yesterday evening.Thwack.I grit my teeth, visualizing the look on the stable boy’s face. The hesitation in taking my reins. Thwack.I v