“You Are Not My Queen. You Are Something Far More Dangerous.” — The Alpha King Knelt Before the Human Healer While His Entire Court Watched

Back at the cabin, the remainder of the night passed in tense, exhausting silence.

Gertrude refused to sleep in her own bed, instead curling up in the wooden rocking chair with her heavy wool blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. Across the room, Alonzo sat on the floor with his back against the sturdy stone base of the fireplace, his golden eyes wide open, watching the dark windows with unblinking vigilance.

By morning, the cabin looked less like a home and more like a military outpost.

The front door had been temporarily reinforced with heavy crossed timbers. Two of the Royal Guards—a massive, scarred Lycan named Vane and a sharp-eyed tracker named Seth—stood watch outside, while Alonzo remained inside, stubbornly refusing to leave Gertrude’s immediate vicinity.

"You can't just sit in my kitchen forever," Gertrude said flatly, pouring herself a cup of bitter morning tea while glaring at the king, who was currently sharpening a hunting knife with a stone.

"Watch me," Alonzo replied without looking up. "Until my vanguard arrives from the capital to secure this ridge, you are under my direct protection."

"Protection?" Gertrude scoffed, slamming her ceramic mug down onto the table. "Your presence here has turned my quiet cabin into a target board for every assassin in the northern provinces! Yesterday I was just an herbalist. Today I'm a tactical liability."

Alonzo stopped sharpening the blade. He raised his head, those piercing golden eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "You saved my life, Gertrude. When every instinct told you to bar the door and let me bleed out in the snow, you dragged me inside. In my world, that binds a life to a life. You are not a liability. You are my anchor."

Gertrude opened her mouth to argue, to throw a sharp retort about ancient Lycan traditions and modern common sense, but the raw, unfiltered sincerity in his voice stole the words right out of her throat. She looked away, staring down at her teacup, her cheeks warming uncomfortably.

Before the silence could stretch any further, a sharp knock echoed against the reinforced door.

Three rhythmic raps, followed by a short scratch.

Alonzo was on his feet in a single fluid motion, his knife flashing as he strode across the room. He unbarred the heavy timber and pulled the door open just enough for Vane to slip inside, bringing a rush of freezing wind with him.

"My King," Vane reported, his breath pluming in the cold air. "We swept the lower trail. We found Coulter Woods' tracks, but he never made it to Oakhaven."

Gertrude’s stomach dropped. "What do you mean, he didn't make it?"

Vane tossed a small, blood-stained leather glove onto the table. A heavy silver coin rolled out from the palm, spinning across the wood before coming to a stop against Gertrude's teacup.

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