The war tent didn't breathe. It watched.
Every candle flickered like it feared what I was about to do.
I tightened my grip on the ink-stained map stretched across the table, my heart thudding louder than the distant drums outside. Fenrik's last orders still burned beneath my skin—his handwriting smudged with our shared blood.
Then—
Steel kissed my throat.
Just enough to remind me how easy it is to die.
Not deep. Not yet.
I froze. My breath hitched.
"Should've known better than to trust House Moriba, Princess."
The voice slithered into my ear—honey laced with poison.
"Trust?" I rasped. "You sweet summer fool."
I jerked backward. My elbow met ribs. Crack.
Ugly. Wet.
He gasped.
I spun, grabbed the blade before it could find bone. Slashed.
Blood leapt across the canvas wall like it was trying to escape with me.
A second figure lunged from the shadows. I ducked—too late.
A blade sliced my upper arm.
Fire.
But the pain meant I was still alive.
My dagger found his throat.
No hesitation. No mercy.
He fell like a cut string. I didn't watch him die.
Outside, the stars didn't blink.
They just stared—apathetic gods, too far away to care.
Then—
"ZETULAH!"
Solric's voice cracked the night open. A name shouted like a curse.
I turned.
Mistake.
A flare exploded between us—gold and blinding—like betrayal made visible.
I staggered, blinded. Someone gripped my wrist. Too firm. Too familiar.
I blinked through the haze, saw the House Moriba sigil etched in the dirt—in Fenrik's blood.
The cut stung less than the truth.
House Moriba wasn't just winning.
They'd already started carving epitaphs in our bones.
Solric pulled me behind the shattered canvas wall, his breath ragged. "They're inside the perimeter. We have minutes."
I didn't ask how he knew.
Because he was already there.
Kaelith.
The fool who walked away from everything—kingdom, war, me.
And gods help me, I'd still burn the map to follow him.
If that rider carried anything less than his stupid smirk—
Then the night hadn't grown colder.
It had died.
The wind stank of blood and ash.
Not mine—but close. My lungs ached with what was coming, thick and inevitable. Iron coated my tongue, bitter as loss, mixing with smoke plumes staining the night.
My paws tore into moss, shredding soil like the rage thrashing inside me. Shadows writhed between trees, the dark so heavy it pressed against my ribs.
Emberclaw.
They didn't hunt. They devoured.
A scream ripped the air—not animal, not human. A sound that hollowed bones. Closer than my own heartbeat.
Kaelith's voice sliced into my skull, jagged and urgent: "They're corralling us. Trapped."
Muscles moved before thought. I swerved left, claws gouging bark, my howl shredding the cold. Smoke coiled like hands reaching through pines.
Fire.
The forest was kindling. Flames prisoning us.
I burst through brush—and stalled. Claws screeched on rock, the noise deafening in the hush. The ravine gaped below, teeth of stone waiting to bite. One misstep, and gravity would finish what Emberclaw started.
Behind me, trees roared into pillars of flame. Too late.
Shapes moved in the heat haze.
Warriors—furred, half-human—eyes glowing like embers.
And him.
General Vornar.
Smoke clung to his armor. His sword steamed where blood dripped onto dirt.
"Princess Zetulah." His voice was a campfire's purr. "Drop your teeth. Your pack keeps theirs."
I shifted mid-breath—bones snapping, claws sprouting, a snarl tearing free.
"Try," I rasped, the word raw, older than my bones.
Chaos erupted.
Kaelith lunged from nowhere—fur black as pitch, sword trailing night itself. He crashed into Vornar, blades screaming, sparks raining like stars.
Vornar's form bulked, flames writhing in his mane. "Traitor!"
I didn't look.
I ripped into the nearest soldier. Ribs cracked. Blood—salt-metal warmth—flooded my mouth. I hurled the body into a pine.
Another charged. I ducked, claws gutting his leg. Blood painted snow crimson.
Solric blurred past, daggers flicking. A soldier crumpled, throat split.
"Flank's breaking!" he barked.
Emberclaw tightened. Heat blistered the air.
"Zetulah!" Kaelith's shout cracked like ice.
I spun. The ravine yawned behind us.
A spear grazed my shoulder. Fur burned. Pain bit deep.
Move.
I stumbled back. Stone chilled my spine.
The cliff's edge.
Kaelith crashed beside me, breath ragged, blood smearing his jaw. Our gazes locked—one heartbeat of stillness.
Just us. The drop. The end.
Vornar advanced, sword melting snow to steam.
"No more escapes, prince."
Kaelith grinned, all teeth. "Predictable."
He grabbed my wrist.
We fell.
Wind shrieked. Stone blurred.
Mid-plummet, I shifted—wolf form twisting, Vornar's blade skimming fur.
Impact.
Water. Cold that stole breath. Currents dragged me under, bones crunching, lungs stabbed by river ice. Skull struck rock.
Blackness.
Silence.
Not quiet. Emptiness gnawing marrow.
I gagged on silt, ribs screaming. Firelight flickered.
Kaelith crouched nearby, half-wolf, shoulder torn. "Alive," he croaked, voice gravel.
I stood, swaying. Walls loomed—carved symbols itching my thoughts.
"Where?"
"Bad." He jerked his chin upward.
The cavern's throat stretched endlessly. Roots hung like gallows ropes. Markings clawed the stone—older than memory.
A growl trembled the air.
Not ours.
Eyes ignited. Amber. Ravenous.
Kaelith drew his blade. "Go. Now."
I stepped. The growl deepened.
A shadow emerged—wolf massive as myth, eyes like collapsed suns.
Others circled.
A voice ground like millstones. "Fire-blood. Earth-blood. Cursed."
Kaelith stiffened, poised to strike.
The alpha bared fangs. "One rises. One dies."
The pack attacked.
We backed against stone, weapons raised.
The wolves halted. Eyes calculating. Not animals—vengeance given fur.
Kaelith whispered, fraying: "Legends say… they ate gods."
The alpha sneered. "We crowned kings. Then devoured them."
My pulse roared. These were older than gods.
And we'd stomped on their grave.
The alpha lunged.
Kaelith's blade met its throat—black fire erupting. The beast reeled, fur singed.
Stalemate.
The pack growled, vibrations trembling stone.
Kaelith's voice broke—rage and exhaustion: "Zetulah… when I say—"
"No."
The alpha chuckled, bonesnaps.
"Martyr's choice."
I stepped forward, claws out. "We fight."
They surged.
Fangs. Claws.
We battled for breath, not glory.
Kaelith's flames sputtered. My limbs turned lead.
The alpha pinned me, breath reeking of rot. "Little queen. Your blood will—"
Kaelith's roar. His sword plunged into the beast's side—black fire geysering.
The alpha howled.
The pack froze.
It turned, gaze narrowing. "Void's mark… in his fire."
Kaelith panted, blade shaking. "Release. Her."
Silence.
The alpha stepped back. "Why bear the Abyss?"
"To slaughter a king."
The wolves traded glances.
The alpha snorted. "We'll observe."
They dissolved into shadows. Watching.
We didn't exhale until their eyes vanished.
Kaelith sagged against stone. "They'll stalk. Wait for corpses."
I glared into blackness. "If we die?"
His smile cut. "We'll light their pyre."
Above, war thundered.
Here?
The old wolves had picked a side.