جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 40

Lyra moved through the forest like a whisper. She was on the trail of the Hart, but she was also on the trail of Seraphina. The Queen-to-be’s scent was a foul, unnatural stench in the pristine wilderness, a trail of arrogance that was easy to follow.She saw the guards before they saw her, a line of brutish, clumsy men crashing through the undergrowth, driving the game before them. They were not hunters; they were beaters, a blunt instrument for a blunt-minded commander. Lyra slipped past them, a silent shadow in the trees, her mind working, calculating.She saw their strategy immediately. They were herding the Hart, funneling it towards the narrow ravine to the east. It was a simple, effective plan. And it was a trap. A trap for the Hart, and a trap for her.Lyra knew the ravine. It was a dead end. A place of high, stone walls and no escape. It was where Seraphina would be waiting, perched on her high horse like a vulture, ready to claim her prize. It was a coward’s way to hunt. And

The castle was quiet, a ghost of its former self, the hustle and bustle of the Hunt leaving a strange, empty stillness in its wake. Valen stood in the shadows of the colonnade, his gaze fixed on the Princess’s chambers. He could feel her inside, her mind a whirlwind of activity, her scent a faint, tantalizing whisper on the air. He could feel the omega girl with her, a small, fragile presence that was a constant, aching reminder of his own failure.He had seen the Princess go to the laundry, had seen her summon the girl. He knew what she was doing. She was playing the game, making her move, using the omega girl as a pawn in her own desperate bid for power. It was a Varek move, a move of cold, calculated cunning. And it made him admire her, even as it made him hate her.He was torn in two, just like the King. Bound by an oath to a man he despised, and a bond to a woman he was trying so hard to hate. He was a man of honor, a man of duty. But his duty was a cage, a prison of his own maki

Seraphina fought her way through the thicket, her face a mask of fury and frustration. Her magnificent black stallion was lathered with sweat and bleeding from a dozen scratches, its breath coming in ragged, painful gasps. But she didn’t care. The horse was a tool, a means to an end. And the end was in sight.She could feel the Hart. It was close. She could feel its life force, a fading, flickering light in the vastness of the forest. And then, she saw it. Lying in a small, hidden clearing, a pool of blood spreading from its chest, a single, perfectly placed arrow in its heart.And standing over it, a look of quiet, grim satisfaction on her face, was Lyra of Stonehearth.For a long, silent moment, Seraphina could only stare, her mind a blank slate of disbelief. It was impossible. It was a trick. A cheat. The Hart was hers. It was fated. It was her destiny.“You,” she snarled, her voice a low, guttural growl of pure, unadulterated rage. “You stole it from me.”Lyra turned to face her,

Flora stood in the shadows of the Princess’s chambers, her heart aching with a confusing mix of emotions. She had felt the Hunt, a strange, distant sensation, a connection to the King that was both a blessing and a curse. She had felt his frustration, his determination, the weight of his duty. And she had felt the moment of his defeat, a sharp, stabbing pain in her chest that was a mirror to his own.She didn’t know the details. She didn’t know who had won, or who had lost. She only knew that the King was hurting. And that was all that mattered.“He lost, didn’t he?” she asked, her voice a low, hesitant whisper.Isolde, who was standing by the window, her gaze fixed on the courtyard below, turned to face her. Her expression was a complex mix of frustration and grudging admiration.“In a way, he did,” she said, her voice a low, thoughtful murmur. “The girl from Stonehearth won. But she refused to play his game. She refused his boon. She left him with nothing but the truth of his own we

The omega quarters were a place of quiet despair, a warren of small, cramped rooms that smelled of sweat and cheap soap. Valen stood in the shadows of the corridor, his gaze fixed on the door to Flora’s room. He could feel her inside, her mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion, her scent a faint, tantalizing whisper on the air.He was a man of honor, a man of duty. But his duty was a cage, a prison of his own making. He was bound by an oath to a king he despised, and a bond to a woman he was trying so hard to hate. And now, he was a spy, a jailer, a player in a game he had no desire to play.He felt a familiar presence beside him, and he didn’t need to look to know who it was. Isolde.“You’re playing a dangerous game, Captain,” she said, her voice a low, cautious murmur.