Chapter 3 - The Queen’s Ghost
The scream tore from Maren’s throat, shattering the cold midnight silence of the royal gardens.
Footsteps echoed frantically behind her. Within seconds, heavy armor clanked against stone as Alpha King Theron burst through the rose hedge, his massive broadsword already drawn, his silver-white hair disheveled, and his chest heaving with primal panic.
His golden-flecked eyes swept the empty courtyard in a fraction of a second, landing instantly on Maren, who was trembling violently over the empty bassinet.
“Where is he?” Theron roared, his voice shaking the frost off the surrounding branches.
“Gone,” Maren sobbed, holding up the scrap of parchment like a bloodstained flag. “She took him. Valora.”
Theron snatched the note from her hand. His eyes scanned the elegant, looping handwriting, and for the first time since Maren had met him, the indomitable Alpha King looked completely, terrifyingly human. The paper crumpled into dust within his massive, iron-tight grip.
“Commander Corin!” Theron bellowed into the night air.
Within moments, a dozen guards flooded the gardens, torches blazing, casting long, dancing shadows across the snow.
“Lock down every gate, every tower, every stable,” Theron commanded, his voice dropping into a lethal register that promised absolute slaughter. “Search every corner of this fortress. If Lady Valora leaves this castle with my son, I want every guard on duty executed for treason.”
“Yes, Your Majesty!” Corin barked, wheeling his men around.
Maren dropped to her knees in the snow, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The relief she had felt over the past three weeks vanished, replaced by a suffocating wave of guilt.
She took him because of me, Maren thought, her nails digging into the frozen earth. Valora hates me. She wants to use the prince to destroy my credibility—or worse, destroy him to frame me.
Before she could spiral further into despair, a massive hand gripped her shoulder, lifting her effortlessly to her feet.
Theron looked down into her tear-streaked face. His thumb gently brushed away a tear on her cheek—a gesture so tender it felt entirely out of place on the battlefield of a crisis.
“She will not hurt him,” Theron said, his voice a low, fierce growl meant to anchor them both. “Tavian carries our blood. Valora wants power, not the death of the heir. She is using him as bait.”
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“Bait for what?” Maren whispered.
“For me,” Theron replied, his jaw tightening. “And for the truth.”
