Chapter 3

Sitting on the messy velvet bed, I rubbed the blood from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand and scanned the room for an escape route.

Outside the door, Bret suddenly raised his voice, putting on a fake, anxious tone.

"Audra? Are you in there? I heard strange noises inside!"

Heavy fists pounded against the wooden panels right after. He was signaling the nobles and guards gathered by Prince Byron in the hallway to break the door down.

The wood groaned under each blow, the sound slamming through my skull like a war drum, and the air in the room was already turning thick and hot from the candles and the incense, sticking to my skin. I could feel the heat of Casimer's body at my back, the sweat cooling on my own neck, and every second stretched thin as a blade.

I clutched my torn silk collar as my heart raced. If they burst in and saw me half-dressed with the Crown Prince, the Sinclair Pack would be doomed before dawn.

I turned my head sharply toward Casimer.

"The windows are on the south wall, above the second-floor terrace. We have to jump now."

Casimer stood still and let out a cold laugh, a ruthless glint flashing in his blue eyes.

"Just leave? That would be letting them off far too easily."

Reaching to his waist, he drew a long silver sword from its scabbard, the blade gleaming under the candlelight. In our world, silver was the only metal that could burn away a werewolf's healing power and kill an Inner Wolf, so only the royal family monopolized silver mines to forge such deadly weapons.

Thinking he meant to charge into the hallway and slaughter them, I reached out to stop him.

"If you go out there now, you are walking right into their trap! They brought witnesses!"

Casimer paused at my words, the silver blade half raised. His jaw tightened as he weighed them, and then the cold anger in his eyes sharpened into something far more calculating. He gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod—not retreating, but changing his approach.

Instead of walking to the door, he turned back to the bed and swung his silver blade, slicing through the heavy silk bed curtains.

With a loud tear of fabric, the canopy collapsed over the messy sheets.

Striding to the corner stand, he used the tip of his sword to flick several thick burning candles straight onto the wool carpet and fallen silk drapes.

Dry silk caught fire instantly, and bright orange flames shot up like hungry snakes across the floor.

Scorching heat filled the room within seconds as thick black smoke rose toward the ceiling. The fire roared and cracked, drowning out the pounding at the door, and the smoke clawed at my throat until each breath burned. Sweat slid down my spine, and the flames threw wild, leaping shadows across Casimer's face as he moved.

The pounding on the door grew frantic, and Bret's voice cracked with genuine panic.

"What is going on? Why is there smoke coming from under the door? Ram it open!"

A plan snapped into place in my mind. No, Bret Holland had not set this fire—but to bring him down, I needed everyone at the trial to believe he had. While Casimer turned toward the mattress, I darted to the door, tore a strip of silk from the burning drape beside it, smothered the small flame between my palms, and shoved the charred cloth deep into my sleeve.

Casimer sheathed his sword, walked back to the burning mattress, and yanked off the white bedsheet stained with the blood from his bitten tongue.

I did not flinch at the speed or the raw strength in his arms. In my last life, I had learned the truth the hard way—the sickly, dying prince the court whispered about was a mask, and beneath it was a warrior who could move faster than any Alpha I had ever seen. He had carried me out of a burning palace once before.

Stuffing that bloodstained cloth—which looked exactly like the proof of a virgin's first marking—inside his coat, he moved with a swift power that no sickly prince could ever possess.

"Move!"

Barking the order, he stepped to my side and wrapped one strong arm around my waist.

His rough, hot palm pressed tight against my lower back through the thin silk, making my spine stiffen. The heat of his hand seared straight through the fabric, and I could feel the hard beat of his heart against my shoulder, fast and steady all at once.

Before I could steady myself, he lifted me off my feet and charged toward the tall stained-glass window on the south wall.

Lifting his heavy military boot, he kicked the center of the glass pane with brutal force.

The stained glass shattered with a deafening crash, sending colorful shards raining down into the night air.

Cold wind rushed into the room, whipping my hair across my face and fanning the flames into a roaring sea of fire that swallowed the entire Marking Chamber. The sudden chill bit into my bare skin, a sharp contrast to the scorching heat at my back.

Pressing my head against his chest to shield my face from the glass, Casimer leaped out the second-floor window with me in his arms.

My stomach dropped as we fell through the dark air, my fingers tangling tightly in the front of his shirt. The wind screamed past my ears, sharp and cold, and for one endless heartbeat there was nothing but the rush of falling and the iron grip of his arm around me.

Wind howled past my ears while the burning timber crashed behind us.

With a heavy thud, Casimer landed on the grass outside the terrace, his powerful Alpha legs absorbing the drop without even bending a knee.

He released my waist at once and stepped back, putting polite distance between us as if that tight embrace had never happened.

Looking up at the second floor, I watched flames lick the stone window frame while black smoke billowed into the sky.

Through the roar of the fire, I heard the bedroom door finally crash open above us, followed by Bret's furious, frustrated roar when he found nothing but flames.

Watching the blaze light up the night, I curled my lips into a cold smile.