Chapter 2 LYRA'S POV

I should've killed the guard on the stairs.

Not because he did anything wrong. He barely looked at me as he led me to my temporary prison. But it would've made a point.

Let the King know I wasn't here to be caged like some fragile little heir.

"Your room," the guard says, stepping aside.

I don't bother answering. I walked in, shut the door, and let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

The east wing is beautiful. Stone arches, flickering lanterns, firelight glinting off old glass. Everything smells of smoke and pine and ancient magic. It should feel like safety.

It doesn't.

I drop my bag onto the velvet bench and rip off my coat. My skin feels too tight, my wolf pacing beneath the surface. She didn't like Thorne either.

Or maybe she did. That was the problem.

"Stupid," I mutter, pacing the room. "This is stupid."

I'm not here to fall in line. I'm here to survive.

There's a knock at the door. Not the guard's rhythm. This one is lighter. Cautious.

I yank the door open. A woman stands there, arms full of folded fabric.

"Oh," she says, startled. "Hi. I'm Mira. I was told to bring your clothes."

I look at her. Too young to be afraid, too smart to act like a servant.

"I don't need a maid," I say.

"I'm not a maid. I'm the tailor's daughter. You need formal wear for the claiming ceremony."

I stare at the stack in her hands. Silks, velvets, white and silver and deep royal blue.

"All this for a ceremony I didn't agree to."

Mira shrugs. "Still happening, whether you want it or not."

I step back and let her in.

She walks past me like she owns the place and lays everything out on the bed. "You don't look like what I expected."

"Is that a compliment?"

"More of an observation."

I sit on the edge of the bed. "What did you expect?"

"A delicate little thing. Soft. Obedient. Scared of her own shadow."

I snort. "Disappointed?"

"Not at all. I like troublemakers."

She picks up a silver wrap. "This one's custom for you. The symbol of the Nightfang line is embroidered into the hem. You're supposed to wear it when he claims you."

"I'm not wearing that."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not a Nightfang. And I'm not his."

She studies me. "You hate him."

"I don't know him."

"Doesn't seem like the kind of guy who lets people get close."

I glance at her. "You know him?"

She shrugs. "My uncle's on his council. I've seen the King around. He's... intense."

That's one word for it.

"Do people actually like him?" I ask.

"Some do. Others fear him. But no one doubts him. That's more than you can say for most alphas."

I don't respond. Because I know she's right. And that bothers me.

Mira gathers her things. "I'll leave the dresses. Try them on, don't. Your choice."

She reaches the door and pauses. "You should watch your back. Not everyone in this place wants a new queen."

"Thanks for the tip."

She smiles and leaves.

I sat there a while, staring at the silver embroidery. The wolf's head is stitched in thread so fine it catches the firelight like it's alive.

I grab the thing and toss it into the hearth.

Let it burn.

I found the library by accident.

I meant to take a walk, clear my head. But the castle is a maze, and my thoughts are louder than my footsteps. The moment I open the carved doors, I feel something shift.

It's warm. Too warm for a place full of stone and dust.

A voice floats through the rows of shelves.

"I wondered when you'd start snooping."

I stop. "I wasn't snooping."

Thorne steps out from behind a bookshelf, holding a glass of something dark. His coat is gone. His shirt sleeves are rolled up. And he's smiling like he's been expecting me.

I should leave. But I don't.

"You read?" I ask.

"Contrary to rumour, I am literate."

I walk past him, trailing fingers along a shelf. "Didn't peg you for a scholar."

"I'm full of surprises."

"Still waiting on the good ones."

He chuckles, low and rough. "Try the poetry section."

"I'd rather stick pins in my eyes."

"Then we agree on something."

I stop at the massive window. The moon is rising. Nearly full.

"You feel it," he says behind me.

"Yes." I don't mean the moon.

The band is loud tonight. It pulses beneath my ribs, tightens my throat. I hate how much of me is already tuned to him.

"You don't have to fight it all the time," he says.

I turn to face him. "Why not? You do."

His gaze sharpens. "I fight everything. That's how I stay alive."

"Maybe you should try surrendering once in a while."

He walks toward me slowly. "That's not who I am."

"Then stop pretending you want peace."

"I don't want peace. I want control. There's a difference."

He stops a foot away, looking down at me.

"Let's stop playing nice," I say.

"I haven't been playing at all."

I stare into his eyes. "Then why haven't you marked me?"

He doesn't answer.

His wolf is there, just behind his skin. I can feel it like heat. "You're afraid," I whisper.

He growls, quiet and lethal. "Of what?"

"Of what happens when you stop pretending this doesn't matter."

He steps closer. The heat between us coils tight.

"Be careful, Lyra. That's the kind of talk that gets you claimed."

I don't back down. "Maybe I want to be."

Something shifts in his expression.

The room is still. The bond is howling now, desperate and full of need.

And then-

A crash.

Loud and sudden, from the hallway.

Thorne is already moving.

We reached the corridor at the same time. The guard outside my door is on the ground, throat slashed open. His blood spreads in a wide, slick pool.

I kneel beside him. Still warm. Still bleeding.

Thorne curses, already shouting orders down the corridor.

"I was just in my room," I say. "He was fine."

"You left ten minutes ago," Thorne snaps. "A lot can happen in ten minutes."

More guards arrive. Mira pushes through them, wide-eyed.

"Don't," I say to her. "Stay back."

Thorne kneels and sniffs the air. "This wasn't human."

"No," I say. "It was a wolf."

He looks at me. "Yours?"

I stand slowly. "You think I killed him?"

"I think someone wants you blamed."

We both turn toward the blood-streaked door.

There, scratched into the wood above the handle, is the same symbol he saw in the war room.

The rune. Again.

But this time, it's different.

This time, there's a name carved beneath it.

My name.

Lyra.