Chapter 4 - THE JOURNEY TO THE NORTHERN RIDGE
The carriage ride into the northern hills was long, silent, and suffocatingly intimate.
The vehicle was heavily armored, flanked by a dozen elite royal guards riding jet-black warhorses. Inside, the plush velvet cushions absorbed the sound of the churning wooden wheels, leaving only the rhythmic clatter of hooves and the low, rumbling vibration of Declan’s breathing.
Vivian sat on the opposite bench, staring out the reinforced glass window as the manicured gardens of Ashthorn Palace gave way to wild, untamed pine forests and jagged grey cliffs.
"You haven't said a word in three hours," Declan finally broke the silence, his deep voice cutting through the dim interior light.
"I am contemplating the wisdom of fleeing the capital with the Alpha King while half the nobility thinks I've bewitched you," Vivian replied dryly, without turning her head.
Declan chuckled—a low, rich sound that vibrated pleasantly in the enclosed space. "Let them think what they want. Distance gives clarity."
"Does it?" Vivian finally turned to look at him. In the shadows of the carriage, his sharp jawline and heavy shoulders looked sculpted out of marble and shadow. "Or does it just isolate us where no one can hear us scream when the council finally decides to act?"
Declan’s amusement vanished instantly. He didn't answer with words. Instead, with a sudden, deliberate movement, he stood up from his bench and slid across the narrow aisle, sitting right beside her on the velvet seat.
The carriage lurched slightly over a stone, throwing Vivian off balance. Strong, iron-hard arms caught her instantly, pulling her flush against his chest. The sheer heat of him enveloped her, chasing away the chill of the mountain air seeping through the carriage walls.
She froze, her hands resting against his solid chest, right over his racing heart. "Declan..."
"No one will touch you," he whispered fiercely, his face dangerously close to hers. His breath, smelling faintly of mint and woodsmoke, brushed against her lips. "I brought you here because here, I don't have to share you with a thousand demanding lords. Here, I don't have to pretend I am just a king fulfilling an office."
Vivian’s breath hitched. She could feel the hard ridge of his muscles beneath his shirt, the incredible, overwhelming presence of an alpha whose wolf was practically purring beneath the surface at her proximity.
"You are playing a dangerous game, Your Majesty," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rumble of the wheels. "You are attaching your crown to a nobody."
"Then let the crown burn," Declan murmured against her temple, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head, pressing her closer until she had nowhere else to hide. "I spent decades building walls to protect a throne that feels empty. You are the first real thing that has happened to me in ten years. Do you honestly think I care about a crown compared to that?"
Before Vivian could process the terrifying depth of his confession, the carriage slowed to a halt.
The heavy iron door swung open, and the freezing mountain air rushed in. They had arrived at the High Ridge Lodge—a sprawling stone fortress built directly into the side of a massive granite cliff, surrounded by towering pines and under a sky now glittering with millions of unfiltered stars.
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Declan stepped out first, offering his massive hand to help her down. Vivian placed her small palm in his, feeling the absolute security of his grip as he lifted her effortlessly to the snowy ground.
As they walked toward the heavy wooden doors of the lodge, the distant, haunting howl of a mountain wolf echoed across the valley—a wild, primal serenade welcoming them into the dark.
