Chapter 4 - SHADOWS IN THE KEEP
Night fell over the fortress like a thick black veil. Rain lashed against the tall glass windows of the King’s private tower, where Draven had insisted Rowan stay for her own protection.
Rowan stood by the hearth, watching the flames leap and dance. She wore a simple tunic of black silk, a gift from Draven’s personal wardrobe.
The heavy wooden door to the bedchamber clicked softly.
Rowan turned, expecting Draven, but instead, two shadowy figures glided into the room. Their faces were obscured by dark leather masks, and in their hands, long assassin daggers coated with green, glistening poison reflected the firelight.
"House Vance sends its regards, Omega," one of the assassins hissed.
Rowan’s instincts, honed by years of surviving in the rough outer territories before her servitude, kicked in instantly. She grabbed a heavy iron poker from the hearth and spun around just as the first assassin lunged.
CLANG!
The iron poker met the poisoned blade, sending sparks flying through the air. Rowan rolled across the rug, dodging a lethal slash from the second killer.
"Draven!" she shouted, but the heavy acoustic enchantments on the tower doors muffled her voice.
The first assassin charged again, driving his blade toward her throat. Rowan dropped the poker and threw her hands up defensively.
As her fear peaked, the silver-gold markings on her arms didn't just glow—they erupted. A blast of pure, kinetic lunar magic exploded from her palms like a burst of sacred lightning.
The shockwave hit both assassins dead in the chest, lifting them off their feet and slamming them violently against the far stone wall. Their armor shattered, and they slumped to the floor, unconscious.
The door burst open. Draven stormed in, sword drawn, his face a terrifying mask of primal fury.
He took in the scene in a fraction of a second—the smoking stone wall, the downed assassins, and Rowan standing in the center of the room, her arms pulsing with radiant light.
"Rowan!" Draven rushed to her side, grabbing her shoulders, his hands searching frantically for wounds. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you?"
"I'm fine," she panted, her heart racing. "My... my marks defended me."
Draven turned his glare toward the assassins. He walked over, ripped off one of their masks, and exposed the tattooed emblem of House Vance’s elite shadow guard on the man's neck.
Draven’s rage was absolute. His wolf surged to the surface, fangs lengthening and claws extending from his fingertips. "Marcus!" he roared into the corridor.
Beta Marcus sprinted into the room, stopping dead in his tracks as he saw the Vance assassins on the floor.
"Sire—"
"House Vance has committed treason within my personal quarters," Draven growled, his voice vibrating with predatory menace. "Place Lord Vance and Seraphina under house arrest immediately. Double the guard on the perimeter. If a single member of House Vance so much as breathes near Rowan, execute them on sight."
"At once, Your Majesty!" Marcus bowed low, his face pale as he dragged the unconscious killers away.
Draven turned back to Rowan. He closed the distance between them and pulled her tightly into his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Rowan felt him shuddering against her.
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"I almost lost you," he whispered, his grip possessive and fierce. "Five years I walked through this castle feeling hollow, not knowing why my soul rejected every woman presented to me. I will not let them take you away."
Rowan wrapped her arms around his broad waist, leaning into his strength. "I'm not going anywhere, Draven. Not anymore."
