Sylra's POV
The interrogation chamber stank of blood and fear.
Caelen circled the surviving assassin, his movements deliberate, predatory. The man was bound to a chair, his face battered, his breathing shallow. He'd held out for hours. He wouldn't hold out much longer.
"One more time," Caelen said, his voice soft. "Who hired you?"
The assassin spat blood onto the stone floor. "I told you. I don't know names. We were paid through intermediaries—"
Caelen's fist connected with his jaw. The crack echoed through the chamber.
"Try again."
I watched from the shadows near the door, arms crossed, expression neutral. This wasn't the first interrogation I'd witnessed since arriving at the palace. It wouldn't be the last.
"Blackmaw." The word came out slurred, broken. "The contact was from Blackmaw. That's all I know. I swear on the Moon Goddess, that's all I know."
Caelen glanced at me. I nodded once.
He stepped back, wiping his knuckles on a cloth. "Get him to the cells. We'll verify his story."
Guards dragged the man away. I moved to the table where evidence had been laid out—weapons stripped from the dead attackers, arrows recovered from trees and bodies, scraps of clothing and insignia.
"The arrows." Caelen picked one up, turning it in the torchlight. "See this mark on the fletching? It's a forge stamp. Blackmaw."
I took the arrow from his hand, examining it closely. The stamp was small, easily missed, but unmistakable once you knew where to look.
"These are military issue," I said. "Standard equipment for Blackmaw soldiers."
"All of them." Caelen gestured to the pile. "Including the one that hit Rovan."
The implication settled between us, heavy and cold.
"Either they didn't know he would intervene—" I frowned, turning the arrow over in my hands.
"Or Rovan was expendable," Caelen finished. His gray eyes held mine. "Which makes him either a victim of his family's schemes... or a very good actor playing a very long game."
"There's one way to find out."
Rovan's recovery room was heavily guarded. Two of my father's personal soldiers flanked the door, and two more stood inside. They parted as I entered, their eyes tracking my every movement.
He lay propped against pillows, his shoulder heavily bandaged, his face pale but alert. His eyes found me immediately, and something flickered in their depths. Hope. Desperation. Calculation.
I couldn't tell which was real anymore.
"Sylra." He tried to sit up straighter, wincing at the movement. "You came."
"I have questions." I crossed to his bedside and dropped the arrow onto his lap. "Recognize this?"
He stared at it for a long moment. His jaw tightened.
"Blackmaw forge work," he said quietly. "Standard military issue."
"The same arrows that were meant to kill me. The same arrow that's currently poisoning your blood with wolfsbane." I leaned closer. "Your family's arrows, Rovan. Your pack's weapons. Explain."
"My mother." The words came out hollow. "She orchestrated everything."
"Keep talking."
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, something had broken behind his expression. "The second mating to Elene—it was never my choice. Mother demanded it. Elene's family controls the northern trade routes, the silver mines that fund half our military operations. Blackmaw needed their resources, and Elene's price was a crown."
"So you sold me for silver."
"I was trapped." His voice cracked. "Every time I tried to resist, she reminded me what was at stake. The pack's survival. Our alliances. Everything my father built." He laughed bitterly. "She made it sound so reasonable. So necessary."
"And the assassination attempts?"
"Her work. All of it." Rovan's hand trembled as he reached for the arrow, staring at it with something close to horror. "I learned the full extent only recently. The death warrant, the assassins at your training yard, today's attack—she planned it all. She would kill you regardless of whether I succeeded in winning you back."
"How convenient that you discovered this after taking an arrow for me."
"I tried to stop it." His eyes met mine, burning with intensity. "When I realized what she intended for today, I tried to warn you. But there wasn't time. And then in the forest, when I saw the arrow flying toward you—" His voice broke completely. "I didn't think. I just moved."
The confession hung in the air between us. Complete. Detailed. Every piece fitting perfectly into place.
Too perfectly.
Something nagged at the back of my mind. The timing of every revelation. The smooth progression from excuse to excuse, each one building on the last. The way his voice cracked at precisely the right moments, the way his hands shook just enough to seem genuine.
Rovan had always been good at telling people what they wanted to hear.
"I was wrong about everything." He reached for my hand, his fingers brushing against my wrist. "About my mother. About what I owed my family versus what I owed you. I should have chosen you. Every time, I should have chosen you."
His grip tightened. Warm. Familiar. Once, that touch would have made my heart race.
Now it made my skin crawl.
"Rovan—"
The door burst open.
Caelen stood in the doorway, his chest heaving slightly, his gray eyes sweeping the scene with predatory intensity. His gaze locked onto Rovan's hand wrapped around my wrist, and something dangerous flashed across his features.
"Your Highness." His voice was controlled. Too controlled. "The council has assembled. They're waiting for you to present the evidence."
I pulled my hand free from Rovan's grip. "Now?"
"Now." Caelen's eyes never left Rovan's hand. His jaw was tight, the muscles in his neck corded with tension. "They've been waiting for nearly an hour. Lord Harren is... impatient."
Rovan struggled to sit up. "Sylra, wait. I haven't finished—"
"You've told me enough." I stepped back from the bed, putting distance between us. "The healers will continue treating you. We'll speak again after the council session."
"Please." His voice dropped, urgent and raw. "You have to believe me. Everything I've said is true. My mother is the enemy, not me. I've never stopped loving you. I never will."
I paused at the door, looking back at him. The wounded Alpha in his sickbed, bandages stark white against his skin, eyes pleading for forgiveness.
The image was perfect. Sympathetic. Designed to break through every defense.
"I believe you told me exactly what you wanted me to hear," I said quietly. "Whether any of it is true remains to be seen."
I walked out without waiting for his response.
Caelen fell into step beside me, his presence solid and familiar. We moved through the corridor in silence until we were well out of earshot of Rovan's guards.
"The evidence is compelling," Caelen said finally. "If his story is true, Lady Vela will be arrested before nightfall."
"And if it's not?"
He glanced at me, something unreadable in his gray eyes. "Then we've just handed our enemy exactly what they wanted."
"Which is?"
"Our trust." His voice hardened. "Or at least the appearance of it."
The council chamber loomed ahead, its doors guarded by a dozen soldiers in full armor.
I straightened my spine and buried my doubts beneath a mask of royal composure.
Whatever game Rovan was playing, I intended to win.