Aria woke to the sound of boots outside her door. Heavy, unhurried, deliberate—like they belonged to someone who had no reason to fear anything that might wait inside. Each step scraped faintly over the flagstones, the cadence steady enough to raise the hair along her arms.

The latch clicked.

Kaelen stepped in without knocking. No armor this time, just a dark shirt rolled at the sleeves, forearms crisscrossed with scars that caught the dim light. The faint scent of steel and pine clung to him, sharp against the warmer, spiced air of her chamber. His golden eyes swept the room with calculated precision, taking in every corner before finally landing on her.

“You’re not staying here,” he said.

Her spine stiffened. “You planning to throw me back across the border?”

“Quite the opposite.” He crossed to the table and set down a folded tunic of deep midnight blue, the fabric soft enough to have come from the royal stores. “You’ll be moved to my private wing.”

Her breath caught. “Your—what?”

“For your safety.” He said it like a decree, not an explanation. “Last night proved my enemies aren’t above slipping knives into my halls.”

“And locking me in your wing also makes it easier for you to watch me.”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t deny it. “Get dressed. The guards will escort you.”

She held his gaze for a heartbeat longer, refusing to flinch. “I’m not your prisoner.”

The faintest curve tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You are until I decide otherwise.”

The private wing was quieter, its stone walls softened with tapestries instead of weapon racks. Gold-threaded curtains muffled the winter light. Her new chamber overlooked the snow-laden courtyard, where warriors trained in silent, deadly rhythm, each movement precise as clockwork. She could feel their stares even from this high up, as though the fortress itself was deciding whether to tolerate her presence.

By midmorning, a servant in muted livery appeared with a shallow bow and orders for her to report to the war table. She found Kaelen already there, leaning over a map that sprawled across half the table’s surface. Red markers dotted the borders—too many clustered near Duskbane territory. The air smelled faintly of wax and smoke, the fire crackling low in the hearth.

He didn’t look up when she entered. “You’re late.”

“No one told me this was mandatory,” she said, stepping closer.

“It is when you live under my roof.”

His tone was sharp, but the bond between them hummed, an invisible thread tugging her forward. She hated that she felt it too—like gravity bending her toward a star she should avoid.

Training came next. The sparring yard was a ring of packed snow surrounded by silent onlookers. Kaelen tossed her a wooden blade, its weight balanced perfectly.

“Show me how you fight.”

She rolled her shoulders, gripping the hilt. “So you can learn my weaknesses?”

His golden eyes narrowed. “So I can learn how to keep you alive.”

Their first clash was swift, the echo of wood on wood cracking through the cold air. His strikes were precise, testing, but with an underlying force that made her arms ache. He didn’t hold back, and she refused to give ground. Her lungs burned in the frigid air, muscles screaming as she ducked under his swing and drove the hilt of her weapon toward his ribs.

He caught her wrist before impact, his grip hot against her chilled skin. For a moment, neither of them moved. His gaze dropped to where his fingers circled her pulse. The bond flared—heat licking through her chest, curling low in her belly.

He released her abruptly, stepping back. “Again.”

By the third morning in his wing, whispers had spread like frost over stone. Servants paused mid-step when she entered a corridor. Warriors turned to watch her pass, their eyes hard with judgment.

At breakfast, Kaelen’s second, Lord Malric, didn’t bother hiding his disdain. “The fortress has no place for a cursed mate,” he said over his goblet, voice carrying across the hall. “Other Alphas are already sending demands for her removal. She’ll bring war to your gates.”

“Let them send their demands to me,” Kaelen said, never looking away from his plate.

Malric’s lip curled. “And when they send armies?”

Kaelen’s knife sank into the meat with a sharp crack of bone. “Then they’ll see how I respond to threats.”

Later that day, Aria found herself beside Kaelen in the strategy room, their shoulders almost brushing as they examined border reports inked in precise script.

“You’re not worried about the unrest I’m causing?” she asked.

“You didn’t cause it,” he said without looking up. “You’re just the excuse they were waiting for.”

Something in his voice softened the edge of her breath. “I’ve been hunted since I was sixteen,” she said quietly. “Every night, I wonder if it’s the one I won’t wake from.”

His hand stilled on the map. For a moment, the air between them thickened, the world narrowing to the space they occupied. Then he turned away, hiding whatever flicker had crossed his expression. “Train harder. Make them regret hunting you.”

The nausea hit during weapons drills the next morning. At first, she thought it was just the lingering ache of her wounds, but by the time Kaelen called a halt, her vision swam. The packed snow under her feet seemed to tilt. She staggered out of the ring, clutching her stomach.

Rowan, the fortress’s elder, appeared at her side with surprising swiftness. “Sit.”

“I’m fine,” she lied.

He gave her a look that made lying pointless. “You’re pale. Sweating.” He knelt, pulling a small satchel from his robes. “Open your mouth.”

She scowled but obeyed. He pressed a bitter leaf against her tongue, the taste sharp and metallic. “For the dizziness.” Then he reached into the satchel again, drawing out a vial filled with silver dust suspended in liquid that shimmered faintly.

“What is that?” she asked.

“A truth for the body,” he murmured, tilting the vial so the light caught the swirling particles. “It tells me what words cannot.”

Before she could protest, he pricked her finger with a thin needle. A single drop of blood slid into the vial. The silver shifted, clouding, then blooming into a deep crimson halo that pulsed once before settling.

Rowan’s face went still, the lines around his mouth deepening.

“What?” Aria demanded.

His gaze flicked to her stomach, then back to her eyes. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost reverent.

“You’re carrying the Alpha King’s heir.”