Chapter 3 THORNE'S POV

Someone just signed a death warrant in my name.

Not mine. Hers.

I stare at the rune carved into the door. Old blood magic. Crude, deliberate. And beneath it, a single name: Lyra.

The guards are frozen behind me, waiting for orders. Mira's whispering prayers in the corner. Lyra's standing in the doorway of her room, like she doesn't know whether to run or start tearing the place apart.

"Find the scent trail," I growl. "Now."

Three wolves shift instantly and vanish into the hall, their paws silent against stone.

Jarek appears beside me. "Another rune?"

"Yeah."

He sees the name. His face goes still. "Someone wants her dead."

"No," I say. "Someone wants me to kill her."

Lyra snorts. "What, you think this is about you?"

"It's all about me. That's the problem."

"You're full of yourself for someone who's being played."

I look at her. "You think I carved my door and murdered my guard to impress you?"

"I think you'd do just about anything to stay in control."

I step closer. "I am in control."

"Then why does this feel like a warning?"

I don't answer. Because she's not wrong.

Jarek nods toward the body. "We need to move him. Too many eyes."

"Take him to the ritual chamber. I want a full cleansing before moonrise."

"Yes, my king."

He signals the guards. Two of them lift the fallen man gently, as if his soul might still be listening. They vanish down the hall.

I look at Lyra. "Inside. Now."

She doesn't move.

I lower my voice. "Lyra. I won't ask again."

She turns slowly and walks back into her room.

I follow, closing the door behind me.

She spins on me the second it clicks shut. "If this is your version of keeping me safe, you can keep it."

I fold my arms. "You think I did this?"

"I think someone in your court did. Which means your protection isn't worth the silver it's stamped with."

"You think this is some kind of message from my wolves? No one under my command carves runes in royal doors and walks away breathing."

"Then someone isn't under your command anymore."

I stare at her, jaw clenched.

She's smart. And she's not wrong. That's the part I hate.

"You're staying in the tower," I say.

"No."

"You don't get a vote."

She crosses her arms. "Lock me up then. At least be honest about it."

"It's not a prison."

"Oh? High walls, one exit, armed guards? Sounds like a spa weekend."

I don't flinch. "It's a warded stronghold. Not even shadow wolves can cross the boundary without being invited."

She glares at me. "You think someone's coming for me?"

I pause. "I think someone's already here."

Her jaw tightens. "You mean Rowan."

"No. Rowan doesn't leave messages. He sends heads in boxes. This is someone else."

She looks at the mark again, burned into the back of her mind. "Why my name?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know, or you're not telling me?"

"I would tell you if I thought it would keep you alive."

She looks at me. Her voice is quiet. "Do you care about that?"

I take a step toward her. "More than you want me to."

She exhales sharply. "That's not comforting."

"It wasn't supposed to be."

The bond stirs again. Like a thread pulled tight between our chests. Every time we're near each other, it hums with potential. And danger.

"You said you wouldn't mark me unless I asked," she says.

"That's right."

"What if I asked now?" The air between us goes still.

I searched her face. "Don't test me, Lyra."

"I'm not."

"You don't want to be claimed out of fear."

She tilts her head. "What makes you think I'm afraid?"

I don't answer. Because I know the look in her eyes.

Not fear. Fury. And something deeper.

She wants to survive.

And she's starting to think I might be the only way she does.

I step back. The claiming ceremony is in two days. Until then, you stay guarded, you stay inside the ward, and you tell me if anything feels off."

She folds her arms. "And what do you do?"

"I find out who wants you dead."

"And then?"

I meet her eyes. "I kill them slowly."

Jarek finds me in the war room two hours later.

He looks like he's seen a ghost. "What is it?" I ask.

"We tracked the scent from the hallway. It ends outside the walls."

I stiffen. "Outside?"

"There were no prints. Nothing physical. It just vanishes."

"No rogue can breach the castle without crossing the ward."

"That's what I thought. Until I found this."

He drops a piece of torn cloth on the table. The scent hits me immediately. Faint. But familiar.

Blood wolf.

Not just any blood wolf. Hers.

"This was hers," I say.

Jarek nods. "It was buried under the snow, right past the eastern boundary. Like someone wanted us to find it."

"She didn't leave the castle."

"Are you sure about that?"

I stare at the cloth. "She's being framed."

"Or she's playing us both."

"She didn't kill that guard." Jarek leans forward. "You don't know her."

"I know she didn't lie about being hunted."

"Neither did her brother. You think he'd hesitate to send her in here to gut us from the inside?"

I look up. "Rowan's blade doesn't cut that quietly. If he wanted her to assassinate me, I'd already be dead."

Jarek hesitates.

Then he nods. "So what do we do?"

I turn toward the map on the wall. Every inch of our territory is marked in ink and blood. And somewhere, hidden in the dark, someone is laughing at me.

"I want everyone questioned. Quietly. Anyone who's left the castle in the last two days gets tagged."

"And the girl?"

I exhale. "Keep an eye on her. Don't let her see them."

"She's going to hate you."

"She already does."

Night falls like a warning.

The moon is close now. Too close. I can feel my wolf pulling under my skin, restless and hungry for the truth. I haven't shifted in weeks. Not since the last battle with the South.

But tonight, I need answers.

I leave through the eastern courtyard and strip down near the tree line. The cold bites, but I don't care.

The shift comes hard and fast.

Bones break. Muscles stretch. Skin rips open to let the wolf out.

I hit the ground running.

The air is clean, full of snow and old trees. I follow the scent to the boundary line. Just past the ward, the forest is quiet.

Too quiet.

I find the scrap of cloth again. Half buried under frost. I sniff it, growl low. Something about it is wrong. Off. It smells like Lyra, but layered with something else.

Magic.

Old, sick, buried-deep kind of magic.

And then I hear it.

Footsteps. Fast. Running.

I chase them through the trees, paws pounding the frozen earth. Whoever it is, they're fast. But not fast enough.

I tackle them just past the ridge.

We roll in the snow, snarling. I shift mid-motion, pinning them down in human form, my claws at their throat.

And I freeze.

It's a child.

Eyes wide. Barely thirteen. Covered in blood.

He stares up at me, lips trembling. "They're coming," he whispers. "Who?" I demand.

He tries to speak. His eyes roll back. And then-