Draven.
Every hit Wanda landed on redith, I felt it.
Not on my body—but sowhere deeper, coiled tight in my chest where it hurt worse.
And not just the physical blows: I felt her frustration, the rising panic, the sharp sting of betrayal she turned on .
But I stood my ground. Forced myself not to move, not to stop Wanda or speak up again. Because that was the only way she’d see the truth: the difference between sparring with —who pulled every punch—and facing soone who wanted to see her break.
Then the session ended.
And redith... she didn’t look at like I was her husband. Or even her Alpha.
She looked at as though I was sothing vile.
"You might be the greatest King our people will ever have,"
"But you shouldn’t have anything to do with marriage. You’re unfit to be a husband—and you’ve failed in that duty."
Those words replayed in my head long after her back turned. They cut deeper than any silver blade could. And damn , I deserved it—even if my intent had been for her sake.
As her form grew smaller, I felt sothing in twist.
I’d ant to make her stronger. Instead, I had reminded her what it felt like to be alone.
Still, I kept silent. I let her walk away. Because if she could do that on her own feet, after what she’d taken... then maybe she was already stronger than she realized.
When redith was gone, I turned to Wanda.
She was wiping a sar of dust from her sleeve, and though she tried to hide it, I saw the slight, victorious smirk tugging at her lips.
Her eyes widened the mont they t mine, and the smirk vanished, swallowed by the usual cool composure.
I didn’t feel anger toward her. I’d known exactly what she’d wanted the mont she’d asked to train redith.
"Satisfied?" I asked, my voice low.
Wanda’s mouth twitched. "Not quite," she confessed, lifting her chin. "She isn’t a worthy opponent. It felt like sparring a child."
I exhaled. "But at least you proved your point to her."
She tilted her head, studying my face. "You’re not angry with ?"
"Being angry would an I regret letting you train her," I said. "And I don’t."
Wanda walked beside as we turned toward the house. For once, she kept quiet, her steps asured to match mine.
At the hall, we parted ways silently.
I headed straight for my study, closing the door behind .
But redith’s image refused to leave my mind: the blood at her nose, the way her shoulders hunched as if sothing heavy sat on them.
I leaned against my desk, jaw tightening.
You did this.
Yet, even through the guilt, sothing else stirred—a begrudging pride.
She’d stayed conscious. She’d walked off the field under her own power. Weeks ago, she wouldn’t have managed that.
Her stamina and endurance were growing, though she probably didn’t see it yet.
If only she knew...
But that didn’t erase the bruises or the hurt in her eyes.
I stepped over to a tall shelf in the corner and pulled free the old iron-latched first aid box. The white paint on its side was chipped, but the contents inside were fresh.
’Perhaps this would be a start,’ I thought, ’a small step to make peace.’
In the back of my mind, Rhovan stirred—heavy, restless. "It will take ti for our mate to forgive us," he mumbled.
"I know," I told him silently. "But we owe her at least this."
Rhovan huffed, the sound like wind rustling through bone-dry leaves. "She has a stubborn heart. But I’d rather see it stubborn than broken."
I left the study, the box tucked under my arm, and headed toward the stairs.
Halfway up, I paused. Descending from above, redith’s five maidservants appeared in a single file.
Their heads were bowed, their faces pale, uneasy.
They nearly walked straight into before freezing and lifting their eyes.
"Alpha," Azul breathed, bowing first. The others followed instantly.
"Why aren’t you with your mistress?" I asked, my voice coming out sharper than I’d ant.
Azul swallowed. "My lady asked us to leave her alone, Alpha."
A small pulse of worry thudded beneath my ribs.
redith had never sent them away before, not that I know of. Not these girls, she kept closer than anyone.
That ant she was in a worse mood than I thought.
"Go," I ordered them quietly. "I will see to her."
They scattered, skirts whispering against the marble as they fled past .
On the third floor, I stopped outside her door. My hand curled around the brass handle, but I didn’t open it yet.
I knocked once and waited, but I was t with silence.
A few seconds later, I knocked again, this ti more slowly.
"redith," I called, forcing calm into my voice. "I know you’re in there."
Still, silence.
But Rhovan’s senses were sharper than mine. And mine were sharper than any human’s, so I tilted my head, listening.
The quick rustle of cloth, the scrape of fabric. Her breath—a hitch in her lungs, quickened. Panic.
My brow furrowed. redith was angry with —she should have been furious, defiant, but not afraid.
Yet what I heard was unmistakable: her heartbeat, erratic and ragged.
What the hell is she hiding?
My pulse tightened. I pressed down on the handle and opened the door.
redith stood in the middle of the room, her back just turned, but she spun around at the sound.
Her hand clamped over her nose. On the floor beside her feet, I saw droplets of dried blood, dark and ugly against the polished wood.
But what struck most wasn’t the blood. It was the way she stood: perfectly straight. Too perfect.
Earlier, when she’d walked off the training ground, she’d clutched her ribs on the left side, her posture bent by pain. Now, there was nothing.
And even the bruising on her nose—was it gone?
My eyes narrowed slightly, searching her face, her shoulders.
She should still be hunched over, barely able to breathe. How is she...?
I took one careful step forward, scanning every subtle tremor in her expression.
Sothing about her scent was different, too. Just faintly—but enough.
What the hell happened in the few minutes since she left ?
Reviews
All reviews (0)