Vaeron stood at the edge of the king-sized bed, his gaze fixed on the woman lying motionless beneath the heavy covers. For a mont, he said nothing, attention centered solely on the werewolf princess.
Her breathing was steady now, chest rising and fall in even breaths, her chest rising and falling in slow, even rhythm that was almost enough to quiet the storm inside him.
Almost.
The dirt, blood, and ash that had clung to her skin were gone, washed away until her face was left bare and unguarded. Without the gri of battle, she looked younger sohow—softer, more fragile than she had been beneath the chaos of the ruined fair.
A thick blanket had been drawn over her, tucked close around her body, leaving only the graceful line of her neck and the pale curve of her face exposed to the firelit room.
She was still far too pale.
The firelight caught against her skin, giving it a faint warmth that her body had not yet fully reclaid. A loose strand of brown hair rested against her cheek, damp from the cloth the healer had used to clean her.
Still... she was alive. Still breathing.
That seed to loosen up the tension inside him a bit.
His eyes lingered on the faint rise and fall of her chest, as though he needed to see it again and again to believe it was real. For one terrible mont at the fair, he had thought he was too late. Again. The thought settled like iron in his chest as his jaw tightened.
Slowly, he moved closer, the wooden floor barely creaking beneath his weight. He stopped beside the bed, his gaze lowering to the bruises peeking above the blanket line, to the faint marks along her neck and collarbone where the cold and strain had left their evidence.
His hands curled at his sides. She should never have been there, or forced to face sothing like that. And yet she had, and worse—she had survived it.
With the higher number of attacks, Regharon was the closest to the capital and the safest, given the threshold’s capacity. Since the shield has been breached, the only protection relied solely on the abilities of all higher-ups together. And yet despite the threshold—being one—and their presence, these creatures managed to breach the barrier without a trace.
An impenetrable ward concealed their trail, making it nearly impossible for anyone to locate them. It was only after a faint signal from Vespera’s ability, that they figured out their location. It was so faint that it could barely be caught. The search was not imdiate, but once the location was finally determined, rage coiled through him at the knowledge that his little wolf was there as well.
Vaeron has never doubted Vespera’s capacity. However, he knew that a situation such as that was most likely beyond her. If those creatures could be able to hide their tracks while they attacked Regharon, slipping past every ward and blocking every route through which they might be traced, then the situation was far more complicated than anyone had first imagined. It was no re anguish but sothing carefully orchestrated, dangerous to unsettle even the strongest ward in the city.
His eyes darkened further. Vaeron allowed himself to dwell under the prison of silence occupied by her soft breath. It was the only sound grounding the turmoil itching to be released.
Even unconscious, there was tension in her features, as though whatever dreams held her were no kinder than waking.
A faint line had settled between her brows. Perhaps distress, fear, or mory... he couldn’t tell exactly which. So he watched her, noticing every subtle movent she made. From the slight arch of her brows to the tight lines etched across her clammy forehead and the uneasy press of her lips, discomfort was written plainly across her face.
For a while, it continued, although it only seed worse as seconds passed by. "No..." she breathed, the words barely forming. "Please.... no..."
Without thinking, Vaeron reached out. He didn’t know what to say. His fingers hovered just above her forehead for a mont before brushing that loose strand of hair away from her face.
The touch was careful, almost hesitant, as though he feared she might break, and that seed to have suppressed sothing within her.
She was burning.
Vaeron’s eyes narrowed, the usual coldness in them giving way to sothing protective. It was obvious she was fighting sothing. Whatever it was was a battle within her.
Without delay, he pulled the blanket back, letting the heavy folds slip away from her fra, and pressed the back of his hand gently against her forehead. Heat t him imdiately—far too much of it. It radiated relentlessly from her skin in waves, as though sothing beneath the surface still smoldered.
His expression hardened.
One mont she was shivering, and the next, she was burning without control. With a sharp snap of his fingers, the glow from the hearth died at once, plunging the chamber into a cooler half-darkness lit only by the silver wash of moonlight. Vaeron crossed the room in long, purposeful strides and went straight to the shuttered window.
He threw it open.
A fierce rush of winter air swept inside imdiately, filling the chamber with the bitter breath of night and the raw scent of scorched earth, frost-bitten stone, and distant pine from the woods surrounding Blackvale. The cold bit through the room like a blade, sharp enough to steal the warmth from skin in seconds.
For any ordinary mortal, it would have been unbearable.
This wing of Blackvale was built along the northern face of the castle, where the cliffs fell steeply into the dark forests below. The winds gathered there without rcy, rising from the ravines and curling around the black stone walls before forcing their way through every opening. It was the coldest part of the fortress, where winter seed to linger even when the rest of the realm softened into spring.
Beyond the window, Blackvale stretched into the night. Daylight spilled over the ancient obsidian towers and narrow spires, catching on the frost that clung to their edges like silver lace. Far below, the inner courtyards lay hushed beneath a thin veil of snow as the cobblestones glead. Beyond the walls, the land descended into dark woodland and mist-covered ridges, where twisted trees stood like silent sentinels beneath the storm-colored sky. Even from this distance, the destruction was still visible.
The earth around downtown lay blackened and scarred, leaving nothing but charred soil and splintered remains in its wake. Thin ribbons of smoke still curled lazily into the pale daylight, rising from the ruined grounds in slow, ghostlike spirals.
In the cold light of morning, it looked even more terrifying. What the darkness of night had hidden, daylight revealed without rcy.
The scorched earth spread farther than it had seed before, streaking the once-lively grounds with ash and ruin. Broken stalls and shattered beams lay scattered like bones across the frost-hardened land, while the jagged split in the earth cut through the heart of the fair like a wound that refused to close.
From afar, the devastation seed almost unreal, and yet it was there, stark and undeniable beneath the gray morning sky.
Vaeron’s gaze hardened as he took it in, his jaw tightening at the sight of smoke still rising from downtown. Even at this height, even from this distance, the scent of scorched wood and burnt magic seed to linger on the wind. Sothing terrible had happened there. And in the clear cruelty of daylight, it looked far worse than it ever had in the dark.
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