POV: Francesca
Luka stood between two worlds, his chest rising and falling too quickly, his eyes darting from me to Wilhelm, from Cassian’s rigid fury to the soldiers who waited for a command that would shatter everything.
The courtyard trembled with restrained violence, every breath tasting of iron and rain-soaked stone.
Then Rosalinda burst forward.
She had abandoned her composed stillness, silk skirts gathered in her fists as she descended the steps with sharp, hurried strides. Her face was flushed, eyes bright with calculation rather than fear, as if she had finally spotted a crack she could force open.
“Take him,” she said loudly, pointing at Luka. Her voice cut through the tension with startling clarity. “Take the boy. The king will have another heir.”
I turned toward her slowly, disbelief giving way to cold clarity. Rosalinda did not look at Luka. Not once. Her gaze was fixed on Cassian, on Wilhelm, on the soldiers—on power shifting like loose gravel beneath her feet.
Cassian stared at her, shock flashing across his face. “What are you saying?” he demanded.
Rosalinda lifted her chin. “I am saying this child is a liability,” she replied smoothly. “If he is taken, the crown does not fall. There will be another heir.”
Her hand drifted, deliberately, to her abdomen. The implication hung heavy in the air.
Wilhelm laughed. It was not loud or wild. It was the kind of laugh that stripped illusions bare and left nothing but rot behind.
“You truly believe that lie will save you?” he asked calmly.
Rosalinda’s smile tightened. “I don’t need to believe it,” she said. “I only need the court to.”
Wilhelm took one step forward, his presence rippling outward like a warning tide. “There will be no other heir,” he said. “Not from you.”
A murmur swept through the gathered soldiers.
Rosalinda’s eyes flicked briefly toward him, irritation flashing beneath her composure. “You presume much for a man returning from exile.”
Wilhelm’s smile sharpened. “I presume nothing. Any werewolf here can smell the truth.” His gaze swept the courtyard deliberately. “You are not pregnant. Not now. Not ever.”
Rosalinda’s fingers twitched.
“And we can smell the herbs,” Wilhelm continued, his voice steady and merciless. “Bitterroot. Moonleaf. And… wait for it… Bloodthorn. The desperate tonics of a woman forcing her body to obey what it cannot.”
The color drained from Rosalinda’s face.
A ripple of unease moved through the soldiers and nobles alike. Heads turned subtly toward her, nostrils flaring as the truth settled in their instincts. The sharp, acrid undertone of artificial fertility magic hung around her like a sour perfume, impossible to ignore once named.
Cassian took a step back from her. “Rosalinda,” he said slowly, doubt creeping into his voice. “Is this true?”
She laughed, brittle now. “You’re listening to them?” she snapped. “To traitors and liars?”
I stepped forward, my voice quiet but unyielding. “You tried to steal my son through another woman’s body,” I said. “You tried to erase him because he stood in your way.”
Rosalinda’s gaze snapped to me, hatred blazing openly at last. “You should have stayed dead,” she hissed. “This kingdom would have been mine.”
The last threads of restraint snapped. Cassian’s face twisted with fury and humiliation.
“Guards,” he barked. “Seize her.”
Rosalinda spun toward him. “You can’t do this,” she protested, panic cracking through her voice. “I am your queen. I brought you alliances. I secured your throne.”
“You lied to me,” Cassian roared. “You plotted against my heir, and I don’t forgive that!”
“My heir,” she screamed back. “I was supposed to be the mother of your legacy!”
The guards dragged her away as she fought, her silk tearing under their grip. She kicked and clawed, her voice rising into shrill fury. “You think this ends me?” she shouted. “You think a cell will stop what’s coming?”
Her words echoed long after the gates closed behind her. Cassian turned then, his gaze landing heavily on Luka.
The boy—no, the young man—stood frozen, shock etched into every line of his face. His world had cracked open, revealing rot beneath the foundations he had trusted.
“This is not over,” Cassian said grimly. “If he cannot be trusted, he will be contained.”
He gestured sharply. Before I could move, guards closed in around Luka, iron shackles snapping into place around his wrists. He struggled instinctively, panic flaring in his eyes as he looked toward me.
“Stop,” I demanded, stepping forward. “He has done nothing.”
Cassian did not look at me. “He has blood that invites war,” he replied. “That makes him dangerous.”
They dragged Luka toward the keep, down a narrow stairway leading beneath the castle. I knew that place, every werewolf did: the anti-lycan vault.
“No,” I whispered, my chest tightening painfully. “You can’t lock him there.”
Luka twisted in their grip, his voice breaking. “Father!”
Cassian hesitated only a fraction of a second, then turned away.
The heavy doors slammed shut behind Luka, the echo reverberating through my bones like a wound reopening.
Wilhelm’s hand closed around mine, grounding me as fury surged through the bond. I felt his wolf pacing beneath his skin, restrained only by discipline honed through years of captivity.
“So be it,” Wilhelm said coldly, his voice carrying across the courtyard. “If it is war you want—then war it is.”
I lifted my chin, standing beside him as the last fragile threads of peace snapped. “You have stolen my son, cursed my body, and poisoned this kingdom with lies,” I said, my voice steady despite the grief tearing at me. “You will not hide behind walls and prisons forever.”
Cassian turned back to us, his eyes blazing. “You think you can take this kingdom from me?” he snarled. “You stand in my courtyard surrounded by my soldiers.”
Wilhelm’s gaze swept the gathered forces calmly. “Not all of them,” he replied.
Around us, hesitation spread. Soldiers shifted, some lowering their weapons just slightly, the scent of doubt thickening in the air. Truth had a way of unsettling even the most disciplined ranks.
I squeezed Wilhelm’s hand, my voice dropping into something quiet and deadly. “You declared war the day you took my child.”
The banners snapped overhead as thunder rolled in the distance, the sky darkening in grim agreement.
Whatever came next would be written in blood. And this time, I would not be cast out.