Gavriel was moving before anyone could stop him, Dexmon and King Tiberon close behind. He cut ahead, already falling in step behind Alaric.
The air felt heavy as they turned back toward the castle.
Serena walked swiftly behind Elara, who still had her arm. Her breathing was uneven, and the gold glow still hadn't faded.
They had barely cleared the side entrance when Serena swayed. Her knees gave out completely.
Dexmon was there in an instant, catching her before she hit the stone. He scooped her up immediately, primal instincts overriding rational thought.
"Follow me," Alaric said quietly.
He reached for a framed portrait along the corridor wall and swung it aside, revealing a narrow passage hidden behind it. Hidden from most, but not all.
Dexmon stepped through without slowing. Serena's head rested in the crook of his neck.
When her forehead brushed his skin, his body jolted.
He adjusted his hold at once, smooth and practiced, as if nothing had happened.
Heat lingered where she touched him. Electric. Unfamiliar.
A bead of sweat traced his temple. The sensation refused to fade. It drowned out everything else.
Another frame shifted aside, and they emerged back into the recovery chamber Serena had been staying in.
"She's burning up," Dexmon said, jaw tight as he lowered her carefully onto the bed.
Serena's face was drawn, her brow creased with pain, lashes damp against her cheeks.
"She'll be alright," Elara said calmly, stepping closer. "She just overheated during our tour."
Every head turned toward her.
The door opened a moment later.
Hyran entered, cloak whispering softly as he crossed the threshold. The Master Mage of Drakenfell took in the room with a single measured glance, his gaze lingering on Serena longer than the others.
"Ah," he murmured. "That explains it."
Gold flared briefly in his hands.
Then he froze.
His brow furrowed as he studied Serena's face, the faint gold still pulsing beneath her skin.
Slowly, deliberately, Hyran withdrew his magic entirely.
He mindlinked Alaric without thinking to shield it.
A fatal mistake. An unshielded mindlink could be heard by any alpha, beta, or gamma nearby.
Hyran:She is overpowered. Healing magic will hurt her, not help. Did anyone see her blood?
Alaric:No. But if they remain here and I place an I.V., they will.
A third presence slid into the link, uninvited and unmistakably amused.
Gavriel:What's special about her blood?
Hyran and Alaric both went still.
Careless.
Too late.
Hyran:Her blood isn't normal. It shouldn't exist.
Silence followed.
Gavriel's next question was not mindlinked.
He asked it aloud.
"What is she?"
Elara felt the shift and assumed the worst.
"She has a wolf," Elara said quickly, stepping closer to the bed. Her voice was calm, steady, practiced. "She just overheated. That's all. I can take care of her."
She turned slightly toward King Tiberon and Dexmon, respectful but unyielding.
"We appreciate your hospitality," she continued evenly. "Once she wakes, we will leave. We won't trouble you further."
Dexmon's jaw ticked. There was absolutely no chance of that happening.
King Tiberon, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke.
"Her secret is safe here," he said quietly. "We do not press power that is not ours to name."
He paused, then looked directly at Elara.
"Does King Viremont have any understanding of her abilities?"
Elara's eyes flicked to Alaric in disbelief.
Alaric did not meet her gaze.
Tiberon watched the exchange and drew his own conclusion.
"Viremont is the only region that chains women in silver," he said evenly. "That narrowed the field considerably."
Elara swallowed.
"No," she said at last. "He is not aware. Her blood turns red after a few seconds. Her power has only surfaced once before. No one realized it was her."
The room went still.
"Was she his mistress?" Gavriel said, his voice dark, jaw tightening in disgust at the thought.
Elara's mouth flattened.
"No. We received word that King Viremont had inquired about her," she said. "So she tried to escape again. This time, I went with her."
"Again?" Dexmon snapped.
"Yes," Elara said. "She failed twice before. Forty lashes in public for the first attempt. Silver cuffs for the second."
Her voice stayed steady, even as her jaw tightened.
"The third attempt ends in death. She's prepared for that."
She paused, just long enough to make it clear she was choosing her words with care.
"I can't say more."
King Tiberon stepped forward. He did not raise his voice, but the room shifted around him all the same.
"She is safe here," he said, tone hard as forged steel. "No harm will come to her by our hand."
His gaze moved to Serena, deliberate and assessing.
"If you choose to remain," he continued, "both of you will fall under our protection. We will not return you to Viremont."
Dexmon stepped forward at once, hand coming to his chest.
"On my life," he said.
✦✦✦
Dexmon told himself he was only going to check on her.
Just a glance. Just to make sure she was still breathing evenly, that the faint glow beneath her skin had finally settled.
But the moment he saw her lying there, something in his chest gave way.
He sat on the edge of the bed. Then, without realizing he had moved, his fingers brushed a loose strand of hair back from her face.
The instant their skin touched, a quiet spark rippled through him.
She looked uncomfortable, a faint crease of pain etched between her brows.
His hand found the zipper at the back of her training suit. He hesitated, fingers resting there as heat radiated through the fabric into his palm.
He glanced back at her face.
She was burning up.
This was a bad idea.
That thought barely slowed him.
Jaw tight, his pulse loud in his ears, he moved carefully, peeling the heavy fabric away until she was down to her undergarments and bandages. All the while, he told himself it was for her fever, for her healing, for anything except the truth.
His breath hitched despite himself.
She was beautiful.
He pulled a thick blanket up around her, tucking it securely in place.
The urge to hold her pressed hard against his ribs. An instinctive pull he had no business indulging.
His wolf spoke in his mind, interrupting his train of thought.
Aegon:If you lie with her, she will heal faster.
"Fuck it," he muttered under his breath.
He had already stripped her down to her undergarments. At this point, pretending restraint felt dishonest.
He slid beneath the blanket and drew her back against his chest. She fit there with unsettling perfection. Like she had been shaped for that space.
For him.
He breathed in her scent again. Pine, moonfire, and something wild beneath it that made his chest ache. It was overwhelming.
He still could not fathom how beautiful she was.
Any attraction he tried to summon for Princess Viremont felt laughable by comparison.
He told himself he would proceed anyway. Even with a fated mate. Out of duty. Out of honor. He had given his word months ago.
But it had never felt right.
Not then.
And certainly not now.
He pressed a quiet kiss to the back of her head.
There was no avoiding it anymore. He would have to end things with the princess. Keeping that promise would be nothing but self-inflicted torture.
Serena needed to be claimed. Interest in her was already growing, and he would not leave her unprotected.
But he wanted her to choose him. Without destiny pressing a thumb to the scale. Without bonds or prophecy whispering in her ear.
A choice made with clear eyes.
Sleep claimed him before he realized it.
He woke before dawn.
Serena had not stirred.
It took effort to pull himself away, every step toward the door an act of restraint. As he left the room, he made a quiet decision.
As soon as she was healed, she would be moved into his quarters.
He did not allow himself to think about whether she would agree.
For her safety.
That was the story he was sticking to.