The wind shifted. Mira felt it before she saw anything: an eerie stillness, like the trees themselves had stopped breathing. Her gut twisted. Something was wrong.
Thorne had been uneasy for days. He paced more. Slept less. His eyes never left the edge of the forest.
“They’re getting too close,” he said one morning, sharpening his blade with short, angry strokes. “I can feel it.”
“Who?” Mira asked, tightening her hold on Caelan and Rowen. “Rogues?”
He shook his head. “No. Organized. Focused. Trained. These aren’t rogues. These are royal.”
Mira frowned. “Why would the royals come here?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll kill every one of them if they threaten you.”
She stepped closer. “We’ve been safe this long. Maybe it’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” His eyes were storm-dark. “I’ve felt this before. It means war’s on its heels.”
That night, the forest went quiet. Too quiet. The scent hit first—leather, steel, and command. Then movement. Shadows shifting. Wolves in silver-trimmed armor breaking the tree line.
“Get back,” Thorne barked, shoving Mira and the boys behind him.
One scout stepped forward, removing his helmet. His voice was calm, but unyielding.
“We’re not here to harm. But the female must come with us.”
Mira stepped beside Thorne. “Why?” she asked.
“Your aura,” the scout said. “It matches a bloodline long thought to be lost. You’ve been identified.”
Thorne growled. “She’s not going anywhere.”
“We don’t want violence,” the scout said, raising his hands.
“You found it anyway,” Thorne snapped—and lunged.
The clash was immediate. Blades met claws. Thorne was a storm: fast, brutal. Three scouts fell before a sword caught his side. He didn’t fall, didn’t cry out. But blood spilled fast.
“Thorne!” Mira screamed, grabbing for him. He shoved her back.
“Don’t!” he hissed. “You need to get out of here. Take the boys.”
“They want me,” she said. “Not them.”
He winced, clutching his side. “Then go. Make sure you come back. Promise me.”
“I’m not leaving you like this.”
“You have to,” he said. “For them. For you.”
A scout stepped forward, cautious. “We were told not to harm you. Only to deliver you. The king has been looking for his missing daughter.”
Mira stood. Her face was pale but steady. “You’ll treat me with respect. I go by choice. Not chains.”
“No chains,” the scout agreed. “Just a journey.”
She looked down at Thorne, kneeling beside him. “I’ll return. I swear it.”
His voice was rough. “I’ll hold you to that.” Then he slumped to the ground, unconscious.
She knelt beside him, brushing blood from his brow.
“You saved me again,” she whispered. “I hate leaving you like this.” Her tears touched his chest, but he didn’t stir.
They left at dawn, after she instructed the healer to take care of Thorne. Mira rode with her chin high and her eyes locked forward. The boys were silent, watching everything next to their mom. The forest faded behind them. She didn’t look back.
They traveled two days before reaching the capital. The city shimmered in the distance—walls of white stone, banners of royal blue. People watched her procession with curious eyes. Some bowed. Others whispered.
She expected a dungeon. Instead, they took her to a temple. High ceilings. Quiet halls. Not a prison, but not freedom either.
A priest waited beside a silver basin.
“We ask only for confirmation,” he said. “Place your hand above the water.”
Mira hesitated. “And if I don’t?”
“Then the crown will come for you. Either way.”
She stepped forward, heart hammering. “And what if it’s true?”
The priest’s voice softened. “Then you will no longer belong to only yourself.”
A cut across her palm. Blood dripped. The basin shimmered, glowing. The light turned gold. Gasps echoed through the chamber. One priest dropped to his knees.
The elder priest stared at the basin, then at her.
“She is the Lycan King’s daughter.”