Chapter 126: Concern
Those thoughts remained fixed with him until she spoke, "It can’t be,"
She looked better now, even far better than when he last saw her. The last time, she appeared almost lifeless. He refused to recall how fragile that moment had been... for him and for her.
For a moment, all he truly wanted to know was to bask in watching every micro-expression on her face. And now he thought of it, the only thing he’d ever truly seen was fear and anger.
Fear, whenever he was around her, and anger when he killed her friend. All of those emotions were valid, but the fear was the most imperceptible of them all.
He could tell someone afraid of him. He could tell people who were terrified of his presence. But hers was different.
She appeared like someone who’d lived with it long enough to tell. He saw that when he first met her. He saw the fear in her eyes even when she stood with her family. He saw it when she arrived at Dreadwyn, and when she was around people.
Fear cannot be easily mistaken. It cannot be disguised.
That was the sort of fear that made him question her. The famous werewolf princess was known to be heartless, feared by members of their pack. How could the most feared person live with fear?
Vaeron never knew he wanted more than that, but the more he got closer to understanding things he wished not to, the stronger his curiosity became.
He had entered the bath to ease the exhaustion from his muscles. And somewhere between one thought and the next, he had lost consciousness.
Until Lucrezia had pulled him from the water.
Vaeron’s gaze lowered again to his hand. He could still remember the moment he opened his eyes. The first thing he had seen was her.
Small. Frightened. Standing too close.
His instincts had taken over before reason returned. And then she had said his name.
Vaeron.
Not my lord, not even Lust.
His name.
His eyes narrowed slightly. There had been something about the way she said it. It wasn’t about the title or the distance she usually kept between them. His name had reached him when nothing else had.
He turned his head toward the closed door. She was probably back in her chamber by now, perhaps still trembling, perhaps even crying.
He disliked the thought.
His gaze hardened. He should have sent her away sooner. He should never have allowed her into his chamber. He should have—
Vaeron stopped, closing his eyes for a brief moment. No. He wouldn’t think of it.
Then without warning, he pushed himself from the bath. Water slid from his hair and his naked body as he stepped onto the stone floor.
His body protested immediately. Every muscle felt heavy. Cuts beneath his clothes went untreated. A long scratch crossed his ribs. Another wound stretched from his shoulder toward his back. Fresh scars marked his face, and there was dried blood still caught near his collar.
Those scars across his face pulled slightly as his jaw tightened. He ignored all of it and stepped out of the bathing chamber.
The cold air struck his skin. He did not bother dressing properly. He pulled on dark trousers and a loose shirt, leaving the collar open, his mind still occupied by the events of the previous days.
His gaze moved toward the door again. She was gone.
His gaze darkened. Good, he thought. She should stay away from him tonight.
At least until he could trust himself not to frighten her again.
His expression darkened further. He did not like that thought. He liked even less that some part of him wanted to follow her.
He remained where he was. No, he thought. He had more important matters to deal with.
The breach—that was what mattered.
The Elders would reconvene soon, and they would continue searching. They would examine the wards again, and if someone truly was breaching them from within, they would eventually find out who.
He walked toward the window. Outside, Blackvale was buried beneath darkness and snow.
The castle rose from the mountainside like something carved from the earth itself. Towers disappeared into mist. The distant forests were nothing more than black shapes beneath the moon.
It was beautiful, deadly, and wrong. Vaeron had lived long enough to know when a place felt wrong. Blackvale felt wrong.
It wasn’t because of the council or because of the gods, but because something had slipped through the cracks. Something that should never have been able to enter.
He remembered that first night they discovered the disturbance. The western ward had been the first.
Vaeron stood at the edge of the boundary while the Elders examined the runes embedded into the ground. Snow fell around them.
One of the Elders knelt and pressed his palm against the stone but nothing happened.
He frowned. "Again."
The Elder repeated the examination.
Still nothing.
Vaeron looked toward the forest. "Well?"
The Elder rose slowly. "It is weak," he informed, his voice carrying a certain solemnity that made the atmosphere shrivel.
Vaeron’s eyes narrowed. "How weak?"
"Enough that something could force its way through." He replied.
"Could?" Vaeron asked, curious.
The Elder hesitated.
He stepped closer. "Do not give me possibilities," he demanded. "Tell me what you know."
The old god looked at him. For a moment, he saw the clear hesitation in them as he passed a look at one of his brothers who gave him a reassuring nod.
Vaeron gritted.
Finally, he relented, though not without slight hesitation in his voice. "We know the ward has been disturbed," he said.
"From outside?"
Silence answered.
That had been the first problem. There were no signs of an external breach, no burn marks, no shattered runes—no traces of magic pressing against the barrier.
The ward was simply weaker, as though something had passed through it without breaking it.
Vaeron hated that explanation, so they checked another and then another, and by midnight, they had crossed half the western grounds.
Some wards were undeniably weakened while others were not.
That was what made no sense. If something had attacked the boundary from outside, the damage should have followed a pattern.
It did not.
One ward would be weak, the next would be untouched, then another would show signs of interference.
Then another would be perfectly intact.
Vaeron stood in the snow, staring at the final rune they had examined. "This makes no sense."
"No," one of the Elders replied.
Vaeron turned again. "What are you suggesting?"
The Elder looked toward the castle. "I’m suggesting that we’re looking at this from the wrong side."
Vaeron said nothing.
The Elder continued, his voice carrying gravity as he regarded them. "The wards may not be failing from outside," There was an undeniable pause. "They may be breached from within, just like Lady Vaeloria said,"
The words settled over the group.
Vaeron’s expression became unreadable. Someone inside Blackvale. Someone with access. Someone who knew enough about the wards to move through them without destroying them.
That possibility changed everything.
They had spent hours searching the boundaries for an enemy. Perhaps the enemy had never needed to cross them. Perhaps it had already been inside.
Perhaps the enemy was with them now.
Vaeron remembered looking toward the distant castle. Toward the towering walls and the countless windows glowing faintly against the darkness. And he had known then that the problem was far worse than they had thought.
They continued searching for hours. No one rested. Every time they believed they had found something, the trail disappeared.
That was until the phantoms came.
He remained still, staring ahead of the castle. For some inexplicable reason, the image of her face returned to him.
The concern in her eyes when she had seen the scars and the way she had tried to reach for him. She had not looked disgusted. She looked worried.
He had mistaken it for pity. Perhaps he had been wrong.
Perhaps he was even right.
She had looked at him as though she could see the exhaustion beneath his skin. He remembered the expression on her face.
Concern.
That had been what made him angry. He could tolerate fear—even though only a little. He could tolerate hatred. But concern made something uncomfortable move beneath his ribs.
Because she had not looked at him like the others did. She had not looked at him as though he were a monster. She had looked at him as though he were hurt.
He hated that.
He hated that she had seen it.
His fingers clenched against his sides. He could no longer bear the memory.
Vaeron walked toward the door. He was exhausted. His body was wounded. His mind was barely keeping pace with the endless questions.
But sleep would have to wait.
Something had entered Blackvale. Something had moved through the wards without breaking them, and now they had proof that someone—or something—had been inside long before they knew to look.
Vaeron stepped into the corridor, looking toward its end.
One of the servants hurried past before slowing and bowing at the sight of him. "My lord."
Vaeron gave no response. His attention remained fixed on a particular direction.
For a moment, his instinct told him to follow after her. A part of him yearned for that. Instead, he stood still for a while before taking the opposite direction.