The chamber was still. Selene's breath rose and fell beside her in soft rhythm, but Maravelle remained awake, eyes wide in the dark. The silk sheets might as well have been chains.
She turned her face away from the moonlight spilling through the high window.
The past had a cruel way of waiting for the quiet.
It had been years, but the memory still burned.
Alaric.
His name was a secret she had locked in her throat. Her mate. Her true bond. Chosen by the stars and sealed in blood and soul. But to her father, King Maedros, that love was a threat to the order he'd spent a lifetime crafting.
Alaric was noble, but not noble enough. A wild-born warrior with no court ties, no alliances, no leash. The old king had said it with venom:
"You were born to rule, not to love. That bond will unmake you."
She had begged. Fallen to her knees like a child. She still remembered the cold of the marble, the echo of her voice. But Maedros had already made his decision.
He'd called on ancient, brutal magic—the kind outlawed by even the oldest seers. A ritual of banishment, tearing Alaric from their world and hurling him into another realm, one where time unraveled and memory frayed.
She had screamed as it happened. She remembered clawing at the edges of the spell circle, the scent of burning silver, the way the sky split open like a wound.
And then he was gone.
"You will marry King Stormbite within the week," her father had said, "and you will not speak his name again."
She had obeyed and buried Alaric in silence.
But the bond never faded. It throbbed beneath her ribs like a phantom limb. Every year since, she had ruled with an iron will, but never again let herself feel anything too deeply.
Now, lying in this cursed place, Maravelle whispered a name that had become a curse.
"Alaric…"
Her voice was no louder than breath. But something stirred in the dark, as if the night remembered him too.
....
Morning seeped in through the barred windows like a ghost, thin, gray light that did nothing to warm the stone beneath their feet. Selene paced the length of the chamber, her bare steps soundless on the cold floor, her breath tight in her chest.
Back and forth. Back and forth. The silk of her gown whispered with every movement.
Maravelle sat unmoving on the narrow cot, her spine straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked, for all the world, like she were waiting for tea to be served in a palace garden rather than imprisoned in a foreign stronghold.
Selene stopped mid-step and turned to her.
"How can you be so calm?" she burst out, voice cracking at the edges. "They mean to marry me to him. That criminal. That monster." She swallowed hard. "We're trapped. There's no one coming for us. There's no one who even knows where we are..."
"We will walk out of here by nightfall," Maravelle said, her voice as serene as still water.
Selene stared. "What?"
"You heard me."
"How? How, Maravelle? There are guards at every corner. Magic on the doors. We can't even shift."
The queen lifted her eyes and offered a slow, enigmatic smile.
"Do you trust me, child?"
Selene opened her mouth. Closed it. Then nodded, fierce and certain. "Of course I do."
"Good," Maravelle said, rising with the grace of a tide. "Then do exactly as I say. No questions. No fear. And no hesitation."
Selene watched her with wide eyes as Maravelle stepped into the full light of morning.
"Tonight," the queen murmured, "we stop being prisoners."
And in her voice was something old and sharp, something that did not belong to this prison. It belonged to a queen.
A soft knock at the door was followed by the quiet creak of hinges. A maid entered, head bowed, carrying a tray with bowls of steaming broth and flatbread wrapped in linen. Her movements were quick, practiced, too careful to be merely obedient.
She set the tray down and glanced once at Selene, then turned to Maravelle.
"Everything is set my queen," the maid murmured under her breath. "The northern gate will be unmanned at moonrise. You'll have one chance. I will come and get you when the time is right."
Maravelle's expression didn't shift, but her fingers curled slightly in her lap.
"Good," she said. "Then we'll be ready."
The maid hesitated. "You haven't forgotten your promise."
"I have not," Maravelle replied, voice quiet but firm. "You have my word."
Something unspoken passed between them. Then the maid bowed again and left, silent as shadow. Selene waited until the door shut.
"Who was that?" she demanded. "And what is going on?"
Maravelle took a small bite of bread, chewed, and swallowed before answering.
"Her name is Miri. She has been serving me since I came here. She was once a Seer's apprentice in the north, before her village was taken by the same brutes who have been taking werewolf girls." Her eyes darkened. "She has a crippled daughter and a younger sister hidden in a village. She's helping us escape, and in return, I promised to find them and see them safe."
"But how do you know she's telling the truth?"
"I don't," Maravelle said simply. "We don't have a choice right now."
Selene sank onto the edge of the cot, heart thudding.
They were kept indoors all day, the windows shuttered, the hall guarded. Miri came at midday with lunch and quiet updates, the prince and the sorcerer have been out since dawn, she whispered, glancing over her shoulder.
By late afternoon, she returned with new clothes draped over her arm. Silks. Jewels. Fabric that shimmered like water and barely covered anything.
"They're expecting you to join the revels tonight," Miri said, her voice low. "The prince returns soon."
Selene didn't move. Maravelle only stared at the garments, her jaw tight. No one said a word.
Later that evening as they were eating, Selene poked at the flatbread on her plate, grimacing. "This tastes like linen."
Maravelle didn't look up. "There's no salt in it."
Selene raised an eyebrow. "Why not? Even prisoners get salt."
A small shrug. "Salt's said to burn the tongues of demons."
Selene set the bread down. "Charming."
Maravelle set hers down. "Eat what you can. You will need your strength tonight."
That night, when Miri came, a guard followed her, but as usual, he waited just outside the door.
She was there to prepare them for the revelry. Her arms were full of silks and paints, her face composed.
Tucked into her sleeve was a pine needle, laced with something sharp and silent. Old forest magic. Not strong enough to kill, but enough to drop a werewolf in seconds.
As they stepped into the corridor, the guard grunted and turned to lead.
Miri "stumbled," catching herself on his shoulder.
"Watch it, you scum," he growled, then blinked, staggered. He dropped without a sound.
Miri didn't even look back. "Walk," she murmured, steady and calm.
She led the way and Maravelle and Selene followed.
The revelry still echoed from above, laughter, music, the slurred hum of wine-soaked men. But beneath the great hall, the old stones held their breath.
Miri moved ahead of them, her lamp hidden beneath a faded shawl. "Keep close. Don't speak," she whispered.
Maravelle walked swiftly, her bare feet silent against the cold floor. Selene followed, still in her party gown, now covered by a plain cloak. Her heart beat like thunder in her throat.
They passed through servants' corridors long forgotten by nobility, low ceilings, damp walls, the scent of soot and time. Once, a rat skittered across the stones and Selene startled, but Maravelle's grip on her wrist kept her grounded.
They stopped beneath a crumbling arch.
Miri pressed her palm flat against a section of the wall. A click sounded, faint, but real. Stone ground against stone. A narrow door swung open, no wider than a man's shoulders, but enough.
"Hurry," Miri whispered, eyes flicking back the way they came. "The bell will ring soon. We must be at the northern gate before it does."
Selene stepped forward, but Maravelle didn't move.
"No," Maravelle said softly. "You go on without me."
Selene froze. "What?"
"I can distract them, they won't know you have left till you are far gone." She cupped Selene's face with both hands. "Listen to me, child."
Selene shook her head, breath catching. "I won't leave you."
"You must," Maravelle said, firm now. "Miri risked everything for this. I am too slow and you can shift outside these walls. You are the only one who can reach Thornak in time. Tell him to be ready, the prince will attack soon."
Her voice dropped to a hush. "And see Miri's family safe in Vargorath. Give them a place. That is my last decree."
Selene swallowed hard. "You speak like this is goodbye."
"It might be." A thin, wry smile touched Maravelle's lips. "But don't mourn me yet. I still have a few teeth left to bare."
Selene's arms wrapped around her. They held each other tightly, breathing in a silence thick with everything unsaid.
Then Maravelle stepped back. "Go. Now."
Miri hesitated at the threshold, watching them both. Then, gently, she pulled Selene's sleeve. The younger woman stumbled forward, one last glance over her shoulder.
Maravelle stood tall, already turning away, already retreating into shadow.
The tunnel ahead was narrow, carved from earth and root. Selene pulled her cloak tight against the chill, the burden on her shoulders suddenly heavy as stone.
Behind them, the bell rang, sharp and clear.
They reached the hatch. Selene lifted it, and moonlight poured in.
The northern gate stood empty. They stepped into the night and shifted and run. Selene became silver fury, her Lycan form lean and fast. Miri's smaller wolf trembled beside her, quick, but not fast enough.
"I can't keep up," Miri gasped.
Selene didn't answer. She crouched low, nudged her to climb in the
Miri climbed on, clinging tight and kira, Selene's wolf ran.
The forest blurred. Bells rang behind them, too late. Wind tore past. Roots and branches lashed. Selene leapt, bounded, never stopped.