The moment I step through Valen’s gates, my internal alarm system starts screaming.
“Well, this is fucked,” I mutter under my breath.
Not war-fucked. That I could handle—blood, chaos, honest violence. This is worse. This is polished-stone, bow-too-deep, rehearsed-terror fucked. Like walking onto a stage where everyone knows their lines except me.
“Prince Cassian,” some poor bastard of a servant squeaks, practically folding himself in half. “Alpha Valen awaits your—”
“Yeah, I’m sure he does.” I scan the courtyard. Guards everywhere, trying real hard not to look at me directly. Smart move. “How many archers you got posted up there?”
“I… what?”
“The rooftops. How many?”
He goes pale. “I wouldn’t know, Your Highness.”
Right. Of course not.
Two sword-wielding guards by the main entrance, four with bows I can see, probably more I can’t. And one beta who keeps tugging at his collar like he’s about to choke on his own anxiety.
Then it hits me.
Not the political setup—though that’s obvious as hell. Something else entirely.
A scent of a she-wolf.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I breathe, stopping dead in my tracks.
It doesn’t just reach me—it tackles me. Slides down my spine like ice water and sets up camp in my lungs. Nothing soft about it. Rose mixed with ash, sweat, and something raw. Something that tastes like fresh blood and old wounds.
My wolf doesn’t just stir. It roars.
Mine.
I stumble. Actually stumble like some green kid who’s never smelled a woman before.
“Your Highness? Are you—”
“I’m fine.” I catch myself, roll my shoulders like I meant to do that. “Just… which way to my quarters?”
But I’m not fine. Not even close. Because whoever she is, wherever she is, every instinct I’ve got is screaming at me to find her. Now.
***
I find an empty room off some corridor—don’t really care which one. Just need space to think without an audience.
The scent follows me anyway. Of course it does.
“Okay, Cassian,” I tell the empty air, pacing like a caged animal. “Let’s think this through logically.”
There’s a girl here. Obviously. And she smells like everything I’ve been looking for without knowing I was looking for it. Which means either I’m having some kind of breakdown, or…
“Or Valen’s got himself a trap.”
The fire’s burning too hot, filling the room with smoke that should mask other scents. It doesn’t. Nothing could mask that scent.
I yank off my gloves, press my palms to the cold stone wall. Try to get my head straight.
They’re preparing her for something. That much is clear. Question is whether it’s for me or for something worse.
Either way, I’m supposed to play nice. Smile. Pretend this is all totally normal diplomatic bullshit.
“Except I’ve never been good at playing nice,” I remind myself.
***
By the time they call the assembly, I’m wound tighter than a bowstring.
The whole courtyard’s lit up like some twisted celebration. People dressed in black, whispering like they’re at a funeral. I post up near a pillar, let the stone keep me grounded.
That scent hits me again, stronger now.
She’s here.
I don’t see her yet, but I know exactly where she is. Like my internal compass just found true north.
“This is either the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” I mutter, “or I’m about to get spectacularly fucked over.”
Probably both.
Then Valen struts out like he owns the world. Doesn’t even look at me—just starts his little speech to the crowd. Something about honor and tradition and blah blah political horseshit.
I’m not really listening until he gets to the punch line.
“This is Lucy. She’s yours, for as long as you want her.”
My hands clench into fists. “She’s not a fucking gift,” I growl.
That’s when I see her.
Small. Serious. Wrapped in silver that makes her look like some kind of sacrifice.
Our eyes meet across the courtyard. And my entire world shifts on its axis.
I move before I can think better of it. Slow, deliberate steps through the crowd.
Her scent gets stronger with every step. Fear, yeah, but something else underneath. Something that makes my wolf practically purr with satisfaction.
She doesn’t run. Points for backbone.
I reach out, brush a strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t flinch.
“You’ll serve me?” I ask, keeping my voice low. Private.
“Yes.”
No hesitation. Just quiet certainty.
I turn to face Valen, let every word carry weight.
“I want her moved to my quarters. Tonight.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Already? She hasn’t even—”
“She’s mine now.” I hold his gaze, let him see exactly how serious I am. “Isn’t that what you offered?”