Chapter 7 - The Frost-Blight Approaches
Three days passed in a blur of endless documents, military maps, and ancient history lessons.
Aloan sat at the high desk in the Royal Library, illuminated by the soft light of a desk lamp. Maps of the realm were spread out before her—vast parchments showing the Silver Crest mountains, the fertile river valleys of the south, and the dark, jagged expanse of the Northern Wastes.
Dr. Nolan Mercer was bustling around her, pulling dusty leather ledgers from high shelves and dropping them onto the desk.
"You see, Sovereign," Nolan said, tapping a finger on a map of the northern border, "the Royal Wolves were never intended to be military weapons for conquest. They are the living anchors of the Great Barrier—a massive spiritual ward created by the First King to keep the Frost-Blight contained."
Aloan looked at the map. "The Frost-Blight?"
"An ancient, corrupting shadow," Nolan explained, his voice turning dark. "It turns living creatures into mindless, ravenous horrors made of black ice and bone. For two hundred years, because no Alpha could summon the Royal Beasts, the Great Barrier has been weakening. The northern border has been decaying."
"And now?" Aloan asked.
"Now that you have bound all three spirits, the Barrier is trying to heal," Nolan said, pointing to the glowing marks on her shoulder and forehead. "But the energy requires a focus. You cannot remain locked in this citadel, Aloan. To fully restore the Barrier, you must take the beasts to the Northern Pass—the ancient Watchtower of the First Bound."
The heavy wooden library doors creaked open.
King Callum stepped inside. He had removed his heavy chest plate, wearing only a plain dark tunic and leather breeches. He looked exhausted, deep shadows under his eyes, but his gaze brightened the moment he saw Aloan.
"Nolan," Callum said, nodding to the scholar. "Leave us for a moment."
Nolan bowed quickly and scuttled out of the library, closing the heavy doors behind him.
Callum walked over to the desk, leaning against the edge of the dark wood, looking down at the maps spread before her. "Has he been boring you with ancient history?"
"No," Aloan said, offering a small, soft smile. "He’s been explaining why Duke Vane is so afraid."
Callum paused, looking at her with genuine interest. "Afraid? Vane Prescott doesn't know the meaning of the word."
"He does," Aloan said, tracing her finger along the northern border map. "He’s afraid because for two hundred years, House Prescott made themselves indispensable by fighting the monsters at the border with iron and blood. If I can heal the Great Barrier with the wolves, his house loses its purpose. He loses his power."
Callum stared at her for a long moment, a quiet laugh escaping his lips. "You see through people with frightening clarity, Aloan Hartley."
"When you spend six years as a servant, Your Majesty, you learn to watch people's eyes," Aloan said gently. "An Alpha's words are usually lies. Their eyes always tell the truth."
"And what do my eyes tell you?" Callum asked softly, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register.
He stepped closer, leaning down slightly so his silver-gray eyes were level with hers.
Aloan’s heart skipped a beat. The air between them suddenly felt warm, charged with a strange, magnetic intensity that had nothing to do with her royal marks and everything to do with the man standing before her.
"Your eyes..." Aloan murmured, her breath catching in her throat. "Your eyes say you are tired of carrying a kingdom on your own."
Callum closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, letting out a ragged breath. When he opened them, the cold distance of a king was entirely gone, replaced by a raw, vulnerable warmth.
"I have been King since I was eighteen," Callum whispered, reaching out to cover her small hand with his large, warm palm. "Every person in this castle wants something from me. My lords want land. My council wants power. The people want protection. You are the first person who has ever looked at me and seen a man instead of a crown."
Aloan turned her hand over in his, intertwining her fingers with his scar-laced hand. "Then let me share the weight, Callum. You don't have to carry it alone anymore."
Callum looked down at their joined hands, a soft, beautiful smile spreading across his face. He leaned in closer, his thumb stroking the back of her hand, his forehead gently coming to rest against hers.
"Callum," she breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Before he could speak, the library doors were thrown open with a violent BANG.
A young royal scout burst into the room, covered in mud and blood, his breathing frantic. "Your Majesty! Sovereign!"
Callum instantly stood up, stepping in front of Aloan, his Alpha aura snapping back into place. "What is it?"
"It's Duke Vane!" the scout gasped, falling to one knee, clutching a wounded shoulder. "He... he didn't march back to Iron Ridge! He took five thousand men and marched directly to the Northern Watchtower! He’s breaking the ancient seals on the Frost-Shatter Altar!"
Aloan gasped, standing up from her desk. "Why would he do that?!"
"He thinks if he destroys the Watchtower, he can force the Royal Wolves to manifest there to defend it!" the scout cried out. "He wants to capture them in iron chains before the Great Barrier heals!"
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"The fool," Callum snarled, his hand flying to his sword hilt. "He’s going to break the Barrier entirely! He’s going to unleash the Frost-Blight upon the entire northern valley!"
Callum turned to Aloan, his face grim, his silver eyes flashing with dark resolve. "Gather the beasts, Aloan. We ride for the Northern Pass."
