Chapter 2 - THE WHISPERS OF DUNBARTON
Within the massive, stone-hewn walls of Castle Dunbarton, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the despair of the Riverlands. Here, the air smelled of burning pine, roasted meats, and the crisp, clean ozone of the northern peaks.
Isolda sat by a towering arched window, staring out at the snow-capped mountains that stretched endlessly toward the horizon. The rough, suffocating burlap sack was gone, replaced by a gown of deep midnight-blue silk that hugged her slender frame, contrasting sharply with her shimmering silver-blonde hair.
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The door creaked open, and King Cedric entered, his massive frame carrying the effortless, terrifying grace of a true apex predator. Yet, as his amber eyes landed on Isolda, the fierce warrior softened instantly.
"You didn't touch your supper," Cedric said softly, walking over with quiet steps so as not to startle her. He placed a small silver tray on the table beside her chair, filled with warm spiced honey-cakes and sweet berry tea.
Isolda kept her gaze lowered, her luminous amethyst eyes catching the firelight. "I’m not hungry, Your Grace. And… I still don't understand why you are doing this. I am an outcast. A rejected Omega. Keeping me here brings no political advantage to your crown. It only invites war."
Cedric pulled up a heavy wooden chair and sat directly across from her, close enough that she could feel the radiating warmth of his powerful body.
"Let me tell you a secret about the North, Isolda," Cedric murmured, his voice deep and rumbling like distant thunder. "We do not care for politics, and we despise cowards who trade their mates for gold and soldiers. Tristan Caldwell is a blind fool who threw away a rare diamond because he was blinded by cheap glass."
Isolda flushed, a delicate pink dusting her pale cheeks. "He said I was a blight."
"He lied," Cedric replied fiercely, reaching out to gently trace the back of his calloused index finger along her knuckles. A jolt of pure lightning raced through both of their veins, making Isolda gasp and pull her hand back in shock.
Cedric smiled, a rare, breathtaking expression that transformed his rugged, battle-scarred face into something dangerously handsome. "Your wolf is waking up, Isolda. And mine is roaring. We received word from the South an hour ago."
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Isolda stiffened. "From... Tristan?"
"Tristan is currently watching his rivers turn black and his fields rot into ash," Cedric said, his amber eyes flashing with cold satisfaction. "The magic of the land rejects him because he abused its true sovereign. But that is only the beginning. My generals want to ride south and raze the Riverlands to the ground. I called a war council for tomorrow morning. And I want you by my side when I do."
