"You must become a prey to know the hunter."
Malakor's POV
"Your Highness," a voice grated from the doorway.
I stood by the window of my solar, the collar of my tunic unbuttoned, staring at the empty gate. I should have been miles into the Blackwood by now. I should have been leading the Royal Guard, chest out, sword gleaming, playing the role of the righteous executioner.
The scent of woodsmoke and stale ale preceded him, Sir Kaelan, my second-in-command and the man my father had appointed to be my "shadow." In reality, Kaelan was a watchdog, a blunt instrument of the King meant to ensure I didn't stray from the path of purity.
"The men are restless, Malakor," Kaelan said, his boots heavy as he stepped into the room. "The horses have been saddled for three hours, and the Thorne pack is already deep in the Ravine. If we don't move now, we'll be picking through their scraps instead of leading the charge, and the King is asking why his son is still staring at a wall."
I slowly turned, keeping a lazy, bored smirk plastered on my face. It was the only weapon I had that could still cut. "The King forgets that a Prince does not scavenge Kaelan. A Prince arrives when the stage is set. Let the Thornes tire themselves out on the low-level filth and let them dull their blades on the scavengers. I have no interest in being covered in common vampire soot before midday."
Kaelan's jaw tightened. He was a man of action, a true wolf who lived for the snap of bone and the rush of the chase. My procrastination was an insult to his very nature. "This isn't a gala, Prince Malakor. It's a hunt, and every hour we wait is an hour the Iron Wolf spends proving he is more of a leader than you."
The Iron Wolf.
The name sent a spark of ozone through my blood. I could still feel the phantom pressure of Athel Thorne's hand on my jaw from the previous day, the raw, toxic heat of his dominance. He was out there now, fuelled by a hateful, singular purpose. He wasn't hunting vampires; he was hunting me; he was looking for the leak.
"Athel Thorne can have the glory of the morning," I said, picking up a silver letter opener and turning it over in my fingers. "I prefer the nuance of the afternoon."
"Nuance?" Kaelan stepped closer, his voice dropping. "There is no nuance in the Wild-Zones. There is only the quick and the dead. If you're afraid of the Blackwood."
I moved so fast it defied the laws of the wolf. In a blur of white silk, I was across the room, the tip of the silver letter opener resting against the soft skin just beneath Kaelan's ear. My amber eyes flashed, the violet depth beneath them screaming to be let out.
"Careful, Sir Kaelan," I whispered, my voice a jagged edge of silk. "Fear is a human emotion. I am a Vane. We don't fear the dark; we own it. I am staying behind because I am waiting for the right report and not the frantic yapping of Thorne's pups."
Kaelan froze, his pulse thrumming against the silver point. He saw the flicker of something inhuman in my gaze, a speed that wasn't wolf-born, a hunger that was too cold to be natural, and for a second, the mask slipped, and he saw the abyss.
I pulled back, spinning the opener and dropping it onto the table with a melodic clink. The smirk returned, though my heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
"Check the southern perimeter scouts," I commanded, reclaiming my royal mask. "I want to know if the damn Iron so-called Wolf has veered off the main trail. If I am to lead this hunt, I will lead it where the real prizes are and not where the Thorne family wants to play hero."
"Yes, Your Highness," Kaelan muttered, bowing lower than usual, and he backed out of the room, his eyes never leaving mine until the door clicked shut.
The moment I was alone, I slumped against the table, my breath coming in shallow hitches. My skin felt as if invisible hooks were flaying it. The alchemical wash I had applied that morning was the strongest batch yet, caustic and thick, but the beasts within were pushing back with terrifying strength.
He is waiting, the Wolf growled, smelling the distant scent of Thorne's rage.
He is hungry, the Vampire hissed, its fangs aching for the life-force I had sensed in Athel.
He is yours, the Succubus purred, the cloying honey in my mind making my head swim.
I wasn't procrastinating because of royal boredom. I was procrastinating because I was terrified of what would happen the moment I stepped into the shadows of the Blackwood with Athel Thorne. In the Citadel, the walls and the laws kept us apart, but in the Wild-Zones, there was no law. There were only the predator and the prey, and I didn't know which one I was anymore.
I needed to move, but I needed to move on my own terms. I had "other plans" for this hunt. If I followed the main column, I would be surrounded by my father's spies and Kaelan's watchful eyes. I would be forced to play the prince until the pressure shattered me.
No. I needed to separate Athel from his pack. I needed to confront the Iron Wolf in a place where no one could hear him scream or hear me confess.
I walked to the heavy oak wardrobe and pulled out my hunting gear. It wasn't the ceremonial white and gold of the palace. It was a suit of reinforced grey leather, cured in silver salts and etched with runes of suppression. It was designed to stifle my scent, to lock the pomegranates and ozone behind a wall of cold, dead skin.
I strapped on my sword, a Vane-forged blade of quicksilver and light, but my hands lingered on the small, concealed dagger at the small of my back. It was a bone-handled thing, cursed by a witch from the southern hives. It didn't kill; it paralyzed.
"Forgive me, Father," I whispered to the empty room, "but I'm not hunting for your crown today."
I slipped out of the solar through a servant's passage, bypassing the main courtyard where Kaelan and the guards were still waiting. I moved through the bowels of the Citadel, through the damp, salt-scented tunnels that led to the secret postern gate.
Outside, the air was even colder, but the lack of prying eyes felt like a warm embrace. My horse, a lean, grey mare bred for silence and stamina, was waiting in a hidden stable near the wall. I mounted her in one fluid motion, my cloak settling around me like a shroud.
"Steady, Ly," I murmured to the horse, though the name made me think of Athel's sister, the girl who looked at him with a love I would never know.
I spurred the mare into a gallop, bypassing the main road and cutting through the jagged foothills. I was taking the whispering Pass, a treacherous, narrow track that would bring me into the heart of the Blackwood Ravine hours ahead of my own guards, and right into the flank of the Thorne Sentinels. As the trees began to close in around me, the light of the fractured sun dimmed into a permanent, bruised purple. The scent of the forest rose to meet me: damp earth, rotting leaves, and the sharp, metallic tang of Athel's recent massacre.
I could smell it, even through the miles; I could smell the blood he had spilled. It was a violent, domineering scent that called to the Vampire in me, making my mouth water. He was marking the woods. He was claiming the territory with a trail of bodies.
I slowed the mare to a walk as I reached the edge of the ravine. Below, in the dense thickets, I could hear the distant sounds of the Thorne pack: the bark of commands, the clash of steel, and the occasional, guttural cry of a dying vampire.
I stayed on the ridge, a shadow against the purple sky, watching the "Iron Wolf" work. I saw him move through the brush, his black armor slick with blood, his blade a blur of silver. He looked like a god of destruction, a toxic, beautiful force of nature. He was everything my father wanted me to be, and everything I was meant to destroy.
He paused for a second, his head tilting back as if catching a scent on the wind, and I pulled my cloak tighter, my heart stopping. Even with the runes, even with the alchemical wash, he was looking for the scent that I had hidden for years.
I simply sat there, a silent observer of my own doom. I would wait until the sun dipped even lower, until the shadows grew long enough to hide the violet in my eyes. Then, I would go down, and I would find him when he was tired, when he was covered in the filth of the hunt, and I would see if the Iron Wolf could still bite when the pomegranate he hated so much was pressed against his throat.
"Wait for me, Athel," I whispered, a dark, dangerous smirk playing on my lips. "I'm coming to show you what a real monster looks like."
I turned the mare away from the ridge, disappearing into the thickest part of the woods. My guards could wait, my father could wait, and the world could burn for all I cared; I had plans of my own.