Rowan’s expression could have been carved from the blackstone walls. The candlelight in the healer’s chamber flickered over the deep lines in his weathered face, catching the sheen of sweat on his brow. He held the strip of stained linen between thumb and forefinger as though it weighed a hundred pounds.

“You’re with child,” he said. No softening. No hesitation. Just the strike of a blade.

The words seemed to drop into the silence and shatter it.

My breath caught, my fingers curling into the edge of the cot. The pounding in my ears drowned out everything else—Rowan’s slow exhale, the crackle of the hearth, the faint clink of glass jars against the shelf as the draft stirred them. For one, suspended heartbeat, I almost imagined I’d misheard him.

But then his next words fell, heavier still.

“And not just any child.” His gaze shifted, unblinking. “The heir of two curses.”

Kaelen moved before I could. His shadow fell over me, his presence filling the small chamber until I felt penned in, the air pressing against my lungs. The scent of steel and storm clung to him, sharper now in the confined space. Golden eyes burned into Rowan’s face.

“What do you mean?” His voice was low, dangerous—a blade drawn but not yet swung.

Rowan didn’t flinch. “The child carries both your bloodlines—the King’s curse and hers. Such a union could shatter them both… or bind them forever.” His attention shifted to me, gaze dark as the deepest well. “It may kill her before it’s born.”

The world tilted, just a fraction, as though I were standing on a deck at sea. My heartbeat thudded against my ribs, each beat a cold reminder of the life now inside me. I forced my spine straight, refused to let them see me bend. “You’re saying I might die.”

“I’m saying,” Rowan replied, “that the threads of fate are tangled. This pregnancy will either unmake your curses or destroy you.”

Kaelen’s jaw flexed, his hands curling into fists, knuckles pale against the shadows. “Then we find a way to ensure she survives. No matter the cost.”

His voice was steel—possessive, absolute, with no room for argument. For a heartbeat, I almost let myself believe him. But I knew better than to put my life in a king’s hands. Especially one whose bond with me was an accident of fate, not choice.

“I don’t need your protection,” I said, meeting his gaze with all the defiance I had left. “I’ve survived Selene’s hunters since I was sixteen. I’ll survive this.”

Something flickered in his eyes—rage, maybe, or fear—but he didn’t answer.

Rowan cleared his throat, the sound rough against the tense air. “There’s more.”

Of course there was.

He reached into the folds of his robe and withdrew a folded scrap of black vellum, its edges crusted with dried crimson wax. “This arrived not an hour ago. A raven from Duskbane territory.”

Kaelen took it, broke the seal with a snap, and read. His grip tightened until the parchment crumpled.

“What is it?” I asked, though part of me already knew the answer.

He handed it to me.

The bloodstain was fresh, the metallic tang sharp in my nose. Selene’s handwriting was neat, elegant, and laced with venom.

I know where you hide my prey. She carries what is mine. The moon will claim her—and the child—before the next frost.

No signature. She didn’t need one.

My pulse thudded in my throat. “She knows.”

“She’s bluffing,” Kaelen said, but the muscle in his jaw betrayed him.

Rowan shook his head. “Selene’s words are never empty. If she vows to claim the girl, she will act.”

I wanted to tell them both I wasn’t theirs to fight over, that I wasn’t a pawn in their war. But Selene’s name alone had my chest tightening, my mind flashing with memories—moonlight glinting off silver blades, the snap of bone, the whisper of my own breath as I hid among the dead.

Kaelen turned to Rowan. “Double the ward-lines on the eastern approach. I want every tower on watch.”

Rowan hesitated. “And the girl?”

“She stays here.” Kaelen’s tone left no room for debate. “If Selene wants her, she’ll have to come into the heart of my power to get her.”

The words weren’t comforting. They were a challenge—a gauntlet thrown. And part of me feared Selene would relish the chance to answer it.

–––

That night, the fortress was restless. I could feel it in the corridors—the hurried steps of servants, the low rumble of guards exchanging terse orders. From my chamber, the sound of boots striking stone was a constant drumbeat, as if the keep itself had a racing pulse.

I stood at the high, narrow window, my fingers resting on the cold sill. The night air seeped through the leaded glass, bringing with it the faint tang of pine and smoke. The moon hung heavy and swollen above the forest, its pale light pooling across the hills like milk spilled in the dark.

Kaelen’s keep loomed like a black crown on the hilltop, torchlight spilling down its walls like molten rivers. The ward-lines shimmered faintly at the edges of sight, threads of pale silver where magic met the earth.

For hours, I stayed there. Watching. Listening. Thinking of curses and children and the weight of bloodlines I’d never asked to bear. My palm drifted, almost without thought, to my abdomen. The gesture startled me, and I dropped my hand as though the contact had burned.

When I finally caught the flicker of movement beyond the ward-stones, my heart stuttered.

At first, I thought it was a trick of the moonlight. But then it came again—a shadow slipping between the trees, pausing just beyond the invisible barrier that marked the King’s borders.

Not one shadow. Several.

I leaned closer to the glass, breath fogging the pane, straining to make out details. The silver glint in their hands caught the light—blades, polished and hungry.

Selene’s scouts.

They stood there for a long moment, unmoving, their faces lost in the gloom but their intent sharp enough to pierce the wards. One lifted his head, tilting as if he could scent me even across the barrier. The magic between us hissed faintly, a warning from the wards that they could not cross—yet.

And then, as silently as they’d come, they melted back into the forest. Not a broken twig, not a whisper of disturbed leaves.

A cold shiver traced my spine, settling like ice at the base.

I wasn’t sure if I was safer here inside the King’s walls… or if I’d just stepped into the wolf’s den.