Chapter 5 - THE GATHERING STORM
Over the next three days, the Iron Peaks transformed into a war zone disguised as a winter wonderland.
More royal troops arrived from the capital—dozens of elite Lycan shapeshifters in dark plate armor, setting up a perimeter of hidden camps through the snowy pine forests. Tents were pitched discreetly beneath the snow-heavy branches, and scouts patrolled the ridges day and night.
Inside the cabin, the cramped quarters became a daily battle of stubborn wills between the absolute monarch of the Lycan Kingdom and a fiercely independent human healer.
"Move your boots," Gertrude muttered, trying to sweep the floor around Alonzo’s massive frame where he sat cleaning his crossbow by the hearth.
"You're working too hard," Alonzo noted, his golden eyes following her every step. "You haven't sat down in hours."
"I am cleaning, Alonzo—which is something people tend to do when uninvited royals track mud, blood, and rebel coins all over their kitchen!"
Alonzo let out a deep, rumbling chuckle that sounded dangerously close to a purr. "You call me by my name now. You've stopped calling me Bramble."
Gertrude paused, her broom hovering in the air. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't push your luck. I only stopped because your soldiers looked like they were going to faint every time I said it."
The banter was a thin shield masking a growing, suffocating tension. Gertrude could feel the way the air shifted whenever Alonzo was near—the subtle heat radiating from his skin, the heavy, magnetic pull of his presence that made her own heart race in ways she hated to admit.
On the fourth evening, Seth, the tracker, burst into the cabin without knocking.
"My King," Seth panted, snow clinging to his heavy cloak. "Our northern scouts report unusual movement near the Black Gorge. The rebel faction led by General Malakor is mobilizing. They aren't sending small hit squads anymore. They're marching an entire regiment toward the Iron Peaks."
Alonzo rose slowly to his feet, his towering frame instantly radiating an aura of lethal, predatory command. The easygoing banter vanished from his eyes, replaced by cold, hardened steel.
"Malakor," Alonzo growled, the name dripping with venom. "The coward who engineered the coup in the capital."
"He knows you're recovering here," Seth warned. "And his scouts have been watching the cabin. They know the healer is your vulnerability."
Gertrude froze, her jar of dried comfrey slipping slightly in her grip.
Alonzo turned his head, his golden gaze fixing entirely on her. He walked across the room, stopping inches away from her. His large, warm hands reached out, gently grasping her shoulders.
"Pack your essentials," Alonzo commanded softly, though there was an absolute finality in his tone. "We are moving you to the main royal encampment deep within the inner gorge. It is heavily fortified. You will be safe there."
Gertrude shook her head, pulling back from his grip with a fierce glare. "I am not packing anything, and I am not running away to hide in your military camp like some frightened damsel! This is my home, Alonzo!"
"It is a frontline target now, Gertrude!" he snapped, his voice echoing off the rafters, carrying a flash of raw, protective panic that stunned her into silence. "I will not risk your life to stubborn pride!"
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Before Gertrude could fire back a scathing retort, a blinding flash of white light tore through the cabin's frosted windows, followed immediately by a deafening, earth-shattering roar.
BOOM.
