[POV: RUVAN]
"Where are we?" Ruvan muttered angrily as he paced one of the long halls of the fortress.
It was undoubtedly the Citadel he had ruled from when he was King… but it was wrong.
Solenne nearly died during the sacrifice; if the ritual hadn't been interrupted and the wolfsbane was still around her wrists and in her system, her wolf-healing wouldn't have started working in time.
Since she had gotten so close to death, her body was taking its time revitalizing itself. She had been sleeping intermittently for several days—or, what Ruvan assumed were days, anyway.
Morning never came in the Citadel. There was no sun, no significant shift in light—just the slow dimming and brightening of an artificial outdoors beyond the windows.
Ruvan had spent several days searching all the rooms and corridors to find no exits. The courtyard that used to be there no longer existed, and no windows would open.
Escaping was impossible.
Once he determined leaving was off the table, he began interrogating all of the warrior spirits that had awoken alongside him—but they were useless.
Most were too scared of him to speak, and the few who dared were just as clueless as him. The only relevant thing the Alpha learned during his investigation was that, besides the warriors, there were still omegas whose spirits were trapped in the fortress.
Alphas were the most powerful in the hierarchy, followed by betas, and lastly, omegas. Omegas were typically maids, cooks, gardeners, and various other laborers.
…And over forty such werewolves found themselves stuck in the Citadel with the Alpha King.
Ruvan commanded them to start cleaning up the place—it was a disaster, and he didn't want his mate to hate being stuck with him since he couldn't kill her until he understood what was different about her.
He knew he was frightening the girl; he could smell her fear whenever he entered the room, so he tried to fend off the voices as best he could… but it didn't always work. But what more was there for him to do?
It was his life.
They were his constant companions, and the only respite he ever got from them was a few quiet moments when he'd sit beside Solenne while she slept. Her presence was calming to him, but it wasn't a cure-all.
The ghosts that haunted his mind were persistent. They created an exhausting cacophony of heinous and nonsensical thoughts that constantly streamed into his mind.
'Where is he?'
'Who?'
'The walls…'
'Kill her.'
'Mate.'
'Pretty… touch her hair…'
'He cursed us. Kill him.'
'Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.'
Ruvan snarled as he stomped down the hall, listening to the incessant intrusions of the godfire in his head. His mind was especially agitated today, but he didn't know why.
"Shut up," he grumbled.
—
[POV: SOLENNE]
Solenne dressed in silence. The garments Ruvan left for her were simple—dark, practical, and slightly too large, but she didn't mind. Anything was better than the white silks of the cursed ritual.
She had lost track of time and spent more time asleep than awake since the night she was sacrificed. Ruvan had dropped food off for her a few times, and she immediately went back to bed after each meal…
It all blurred together.
Her thoughts drifted to Ruvan's unpredictable shift a few nights before.
His laughter. His promise to watch.
Her shoulder still tingled where his fingers had brushed it.
You're trembling, he had said.
She wasn't trembling now, but she was wary.
Solenne couldn't sense him nearby like she usually could, so she guessed he was on the other side of the fortress—if he was still there at all.
He had warned her not to leave the chamber, but she was growing restless. If she slept any longer, she felt her muscles might deteriorate. That, and her wolf was eager to exercise and explore.
So, despite her better judgment, she slipped into the corridor with soft steps, careful not to disturb anything. She glanced at the tapestry Ruvan referred to, noting that it was perfectly aligned.
'I wonder if it really moved? Or was he only imagining that, too?' Solenne thought. 'He said he left it crooked on purpose, but it's straightened out right now.'
She sighed quietly and shook her head before facing down the dark, ominous hall.
Solenne didn't know where she was going; she only needed to move and breathe freely for a few minutes. She started her walk, moving silently through the fortress. Her bare feet made her traversal quiet and unnoticeable.
The halls of the Citadel were colder than within the King's chamber. Less dreamlike. The statues of wolves watched her as she passed. Some she vaguely remembered from when he brought her to the room. Others… she could have sworn were new.
Eventually, she came to a wide archway. Beyond it lay a vast gallery—lined with tapestries, old battle standards, and cracked frescoes painted with fantastical and dramatic scenes.
She stepped inside, curious—and immediately froze.
Someone else was there.
…and it wasn't Ruvan.
A tall figure stood at the room's far end, facing a window that showed nothing but darkness. He didn't turn when she entered. He didn't need to.
She felt the weight of his presence immediately. It was unlike Ruvan—wild, unstable, scorching. This man's presence was the opposite: cold and controlled.
Like a blade that had been sharpened over centuries and had never dulled.
His smooth voice broke the silence, "You walk softly."
Solenne flinched.
The man turned slowly.
He was taller than Ruvan and slighter in build but no less powerful. He wore a full suit of armor. It was black with silver etching, shaped to his form with precision.
His long, dark hair was tied back in a war braid, and his eyes—pale as moonlight—met hers with calm interest. "I thought you might come this way."
She didn't speak or move, only eyed him cautiously. Her muscles were all tensed, prepared to flee at a moment's notice.
He didn't seem to mind.
"You are not a servant," he said. "You are not a warrior. You do not wear our colors, and yet…" He took a single step toward her. "You touched the heart of the fortress. It breathes again because of you—we breathe again because of you."
Solenne slowly raised a hand, pointing to herself. She mouthed, 'Me?' with an incredulous frown.
The man studied her for a long moment. "Yes, you."
She crossed her arms and hugged herself tightly, unsure what to do.
"Are you shy, or are you mute?" he asked. His voice held no judgment or animosity; it was a simple question.
Solenne pointed at her throat and shook her head, indicating she was mute. The mysterious man nodded in understanding.
Then, he lifted his hands and started to gesture: [I know sign language. Speak freely.]
She froze. 'He… he really knows it?'
Solenne felt her stomach flip with anticipation. She answered, signing quickly and excitedly, [You really understand?]
"I do," he gave her a polite nod. "Your form is good—but slightly different. I suppose I've been in stasis for a long time; the language has probably evolved."
[Who are you?] Solenne asked.
He bowed his head slightly. "Thalos," he said. "General of the King's Guard. The Iron Fang."
Her light eyes widened. She signed, [You… work for Ruvan?]
"I did before he went mad," Thalos answered. There wasn't a hint of emotion in his voice; he spoke only as if he were stating facts. "…Before he was cursed."
[I see. That makes sense.] Solenne looked down at her feet for a moment as she thought about what to say. She looked up at him, [My name is Solenne.]
"Solenne," Thalos' gaze didn't waver as he tested her name. He nodded approvingly, "You may not speak, little wolf, but your silence and aura are louder."
…And then he smiled.
It wasn't an unkind, fake smile—but it wasn't comforting either.
[Thank… you?] she replied.
"Don't worry, it was a compliment," Thalos said. "Well, Miss Solenne, I owe you my life for relieving me of being trapped in stasis—so it's only natural I repay you. Would you like a tour?"
Solenne nodded, the traces of a smile gracing her lips. [You owe me nothing—I was a sacrifice, nothing more—but a tour would be nice. I am stir-crazy; my wolf wants to move.]
"A tour it is," he said softly. "Well, let's start with this room, shall we? The King's Gallery."