Chapter 52

Chapter 52: Chapter 52

Ragnar was not coping.

He sat on the edge of his bunk, his head in his hands, his scarred face a mask of exhaustion and grief. The room was dark he hadn’t bothered to light the torches and the only sound was the steady drum of rain against the window. He had been sitting like this for hours, his mind churning with memories of Soren. Soren as a child, solemn and serious even then. Soren at twelve, when his Lycan first emerged. Soren at sixteen, when they’d snuck out of the palace together and nearly gotten caught by the royal guard. Soren at the academy, cold and distant and utterly alone, carrying the weight of his secret on shoulders that never bowed.

"Soren once told me," Ragnar said, his voice rough and raw, "that the only thing he was afraid of was losing the people he cared about. He said he’d rather die himself than watch someone he loved get hurt."

Finn sat beside him, close enough that their thighs touched, his hand resting on Ragnar’s knee. He had been there for hours, a quiet presence in the darkness, asking for nothing and giving everything. "He’s not dead."

"You don’t know that."

"No. But I know Soren. I’ve watched him train. I’ve watched him fight. I’ve watched him carry Thorne through the academy like he was the most precious thing in the world. And I know he’d fight through anything—anything—to keep him safe."

Ragnar almost smiled. "Probably?"

"Maybe. Don’t tell him I said that. he’d never let me live it down." Finn’s expression softened. "They’re going to come back. Both of them. And when they do, we’re going to throw the biggest celebration this academy has ever seen. With music and food and maybe some of that terrible ale they serve in the village."

"And if they don’t?"

"Then we burn the Mistwood to the ground. Together. Every tree. Every rogue. Every cursed inch of it." Finn’s voice was fierce, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "We burn it all, and we salt the earth so nothing ever grows there again."

Ragnar pulled him into his arms and held him tight. "Together," he agreed.

The hut was cold, and Nyra was burning.

Her fever had spiked in the past hour, climbing so fast and so high that Soren could feel the heat radiating from her skin even from across the room. Her face was flushed, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She had stopped shivering hours ago. That was worse. The shivering meant her body was still fighting. The stillness meant it was giving up.

"No," he muttered, pressing another cold compress to her forehead. The water was lukewarm—he had no way to keep it cold—but it was all he had. "No, no, no. Stay with me. You stay with me, Nyra. Do you hear me? I didn’t carry you through a rogue-infested forest and fight off three attacks just so you could die of a fever in a hut."

She didn’t respond. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow and rapid. Her lips moved, forming words that made no sense.

"Thorne..." she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, cracked and fragile. "Thorne, don’t drink it... Uncle Varek... the wine... don’t drink the wine, please..."

"Nyra." Soren gripped her hand, pressing it to his chest as if he could somehow transfer his strength to her through touch alone. "Nyra, I’m here. It’s Soren. Can you hear me? You’re not in the palace. You’re safe. I’m here."

"...promise me... take the throne... promise me, little sister... don’t let him win..."

She was back in the palace. Back in that horrible moment when her brother had died in her arms, poisoned by the uncle who was supposed to protect them. Soren’s heart shattered as he listened to her relive it, trapped in a fever dream she couldn’t escape, her face twisted with grief that was still so raw, so fresh, even after all these months.

"I promise," he said, even though she wasn’t talking to him. He pressed her knuckles to his lips, his voice breaking. "I promise I’ll help you take back the throne. I promise I’ll help you avenge him. I promise I’ll stay by your side through all of it. Just stay with me. Please. Please stay with me."

Her murmuring faded into silence. Her breathing remained shallow. The rain continued to pound against the roof.

Soren pressed his forehead to her hand and closed his eyes. The fire crackled weakly in the hearth, barely holding back the cold. Outside, the storm raged on, wind howling through the trees like the voices of the dead.

"I need to tell you something," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the rain. "Something I should have told you before. When I was talking about my family, about my sister and my mother and my father... I left something out. Something important. Something I was too much of a coward to say."

He took a shaky breath.

"I’m betrothed."

The word hung in the air like a confession.

"Her name is Selene. She’s the daughter of one of the pack kings, an alliance our families made when we were children. Our fathers signed the contract. I’ve never met her. Not really. Just formal occasions. Diplomatic dinners where we sat on opposite sides of the table and barely spoke. She’s a stranger to me, Nyra. She’s always been a stranger. But the contract is binding, and breaking it would mean war between our families. Political chaos. Possibly bloodshed."

His voice cracked.

"I didn’t tell you because I was afraid. Afraid you’d look at me differently. Afraid you’d think I’d been lying to you all along—that everything between us was a deception. Afraid you’d leave, and I’d lose you before I ever really had you."

He lifted his head and looked at her pale, fever-flushed face. Her silver hair was spread across the makeshift pillow, damp with sweat. Her lips were chapped and cracked. She had never looked more beautiful. She had never looked more fragile.

"But I don’t care about the contract anymore. I don’t care about the politics or the consequences or any of it. I’ll break it. I’ll face whatever comes—my father’s anger, the council’s condemnation, the threat of war. None of it matters. Because you’re my mate, Nyra. Not Selene. Not some stranger I’ve never loved. You. Only you."

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his tears falling onto her skin.

"I love you. I’ve never said that to anyone before. I didn’t think I was capable of it. I thought I was broken that the Ice Wolf was all there was, that I couldn’t feel the things other people felt. But you proved me wrong. You broke through every wall I built. You made me feel things I didn’t know I was capable of feeling. And I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me."

He pressed his forehead to her hand again, his shoulders shaking.

"I love you, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, and if you die in this hut before I get the chance to say it to your face—before I get the chance to see you smile and hear you laugh and kiss you again—I will never forgive myself. Do you hear me? Never."

She didn’t respond. But her fingers twitched in his grip. Just slightly. Just barely.

He chose to believe it was a sign.

The howl came just after midnight.

Soren’s head snapped up. His hand went to his sword before his mind had even registered the sound. Kael surged beneath his skin, instantly alert, instantly ready.

Rogue, Kael growled, his voice a low rumble of warning. The leader. The one that escaped. The one Nyra wounded. It found us.

"How?" Soren was already on his feet, already moving toward the door. "We covered our tracks. We haven’t left the hut since the rain started."

The smoke. The scent of sickness. The smell of blood from the rabbit you killed. It’s been tracking us for days, waiting for the right moment. Waiting for us to be vulnerable.

Soren looked back at Nyra. She was unconscious, defenseless, completely vulnerable. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. Her skin was still burning with fever. She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t do anything but lie there and trust him to protect her.

But before he could face the rogue, there was something he needed to do.

He crossed to the bed and knelt beside her. With hands that were surprisingly gentle for a warrior, he began the careful work of binding her chest and dressing her in the loose tunic and trousers that marked her as Thorne. The binding was difficult, she was limp and unresponsive, and he had to be careful not to hurt her or restrict her breathing. But he worked methodically, his movements precise and practiced.

"If anyone finds us," he murmured as he worked, "if the search party comes, they need to see Thorne. Not Nyra. Your secret is still yours to keep. I won’t let anyone take it from you."

Kael, help me watch the perimeter. Alert me if it gets closer.

Already on it. But hurry. It’s circling. Testing our defenses. It knows you’re in here.

Soren finished dressing her and pulled the furs up to her chin. He smoothed her silver hair back from her forehead it was getting so long now, falling past her shoulders and pressed a final kiss to her temple.

"I’ll be right back," he whispered. "I promise. Just stay here. Stay alive. I’ll handle this."

He grabbed his sword and stepped into the rain.

The storm had not let up. Rain hammered down in sheets, turning the clearing into a quagmire of mud and fallen leaves. Lightning flickered overhead, illuminating the twisted trees and the dark sky and the massive, scarred shape that stood at the edge of the clearing.

The rogue leader..