جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 50

Ashton’s POVThe council was pressed against the walls, silent, because no one wanted to be the one who spoke and drew the attention of two kings who were circling each other like animals. “Stand down,” I said, and my voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to. Xander didn’t look at me. He was watching Zeth, his jaw tight, blood running from a cut over his eyebrow and down the side of his face. “It’s not a fight,” Xander said without turning. His voice was calm in a way that made me more afraid than if he had been yelling. “It’s sparring.” Sparring. In the throne room. With the entire court watching and knives on the table behind them. Before I could answer, Zeth moved. He was fast, faster than I remembered, and he took Xander by surprise, driving forward with his shoulder and nearly crashing him to the ground. Xander didn’t fall. He swayed at the last second, twisted, and slammed his knee up into Zeth’s ribs with a sound that made several of the councilors flinch. “Nice,”

Ashton’s POVI couldn’t breathe in that war room. The air tasted like iron and torch smoke and bad decisions. On the table, the rivers were still drawn in neat blue lines. In a few hours they would run gold. Xander’s voice was still in my ears. Flat. Final. "Fine." And Zeth’s hand on his shoulder like they were already celebrating. Mara fell into step behind me without a word. Three paces back, the way she always did when I was about to break something. “The archives,” I said. My voice sounded wrong in the hall. She didn’t ask why, we just went down. The stone stairs spiraled into the east wing, deeper than the kitchens, deeper than the dungeons. With every step the temperature dropped. The sound changed. Footsteps stopped echoing and started getting swallowed. The air turned heavy. Dust and old paper. Cold that sank into your bones. At the bottom were iron doors, black with age, with a wolf’s head hammered into the center. I stopped. “Go,” I told Mara. Her brows pull

Ashton’s POVHis lips were still on mine when I remembered who I was. The heat that had been crawling under my skin went cold. My wolf, still blue and shimmering beneath the surface, recoiled like I’d burned it. The baby kicked, hard, and it wasn’t recognition anymore. It was panic. I shoved. Both hands to Zeth’s chest, pushing with everything I had. He didn’t move at first. His arms were locked around me, his mouth still claiming, like he thought if he held on long enough I would stop fighting. “Let me go,” I said against his mouth, and the words tasted like betrayal. Zeth pulled back half an inch. His eyes were still gold, still burning, but something in them cooled. He didn’t let go. “Why?” he asked, quiet. “Because he’s coming?” “How did you.” “I can smell him,” Zeth said. “Anger and moonlight. Always.” I shoved again, and this time he allowed it. I stumbled back, catching myself on the edge of the table. “The child is not yours,” I said, and I made my voice s

Xander’s POVWe waited. Three days we stood on that ridge and watched the rivers we had poisoned carry our decision downstream, and with every hour that passed the silence in my chest grew heavier. On the fourth morning we moved. We did not ride. We walked. The first village was empty of sound. No children in the square. No smoke from the hearths. The second village had wolves lying in the dirt, and when I say wolves I do not mean beasts, I mean people who could not find their way back to their skin. Some of them were curled around themselves, shaking. Some of them were not moving at all. And the third village was where the mothers were. They were kneeling in the mud, holding small, still bodies to their chests, and they were crying. They were calling names that would never be answered again. My stomach turned and I could not let it show. A king does not get to be sick. “Xander,” Zeth said behind me. His voice was low. “This is what war looks like. You knew it would.

Brenda’s POVMy claws were already out. The woman on the floor was tied at the wrists and ankles, and she was bleeding from the mouth where she had bitten her own tongue to keep from screaming. Pathetic. I crouched in front of her and let her see my teeth. One more word out of her and I would tear her throat open and wear it. From the dark corner, Lord Merrick’s voice rolled out like smoke. “Brenda,” he said. “I'll ask her again.” His hood was up. His face was shadow. But I could see the way his claws caught the torchlight when he moved. At his feet was the little girl. Hessa’s granddaughter. Maybe eight. Barefoot. Shaking so hard her teeth were chattering. “Tell us the truth about Ashton,” Merrick said, and his voice was calm. That was what made it worse. “Or I let her kill you. And this little rat.” He reached down and dragged the girl up by the collar. She made a sound like a wounded animal. “Shut it, old lady,” I said to Hessa. “You better start talking before