Chapter Nineteen — The Ghosts of His Own Making
949 Words
Kael’s POV
The fire in the distance flickered like a dying heartbeat between the trees.
Jarek and I moved first, leaving the men to guard the camp. The forest floor was slick with snow and shadow, the only sound the soft crunch beneath our boots. The smell of smoke grew thicker with every step — sharp, acrid, tinged with the faint sweetness of pitch.
“Careful,” Jarek murmured. “Could be bait.”
“It is,” I said quietly. “But not for us.”
The glow brightened as we reached the clearing. What we found there wasn’t a camp — it was the remains of one.
Three tents half-collapsed under the snow, the embers of a fire still burning low. The ground was churned with footprints — some fresh, some nearly filled again by the storm. Whoever had been here had left in a hurry.
Jarek crouched beside a broken crate. “Supplies from the Ravaryn armory,” he said, frowning. “They were ours.”
I knelt beside him, running my hand over the wood. The mark on the lid was familiar — a crescent sigil burned into the grain.
“Veyra’s personal crest,” I murmured.
Jarek blinked. “The Alpha’s mistress? Why would—”
“She has no official command,” I said, rising. “But she has access to the supply ledgers. She could requisition shipments under the Luna’s seal if no one checked twice.”
He stared at me. “Then this ambush wasn’t ordered by your father.”
I met his gaze. “No. It was arranged by someone who wanted it to look like he did.”
Veyra.
Clever, ambitious, venomous Veyra.
She’d seen Malrik’s paranoia growing and decided to use it — to eliminate me first, then Selene, and secure her place beside the throne as the only one left he trusted.
It was the kind of move only someone raised in this den of wolves could make.
Jarek kicked the snow. “We can’t prove it.”
“Not yet.” I turned slowly, scanning the camp. “But someone stayed behind to clean up. They left in a hurry. Which means they left something behind.”
---
We searched in silence, the forest around us shifting with faint noises — creaks, cracks, the distant groan of ice. It was Jarek who found it first: a torn piece of leather near the smoldering fire, half-buried in the ash.
He held it up. A crest was pressed into the surface — faint but visible.
The mark of my father’s inner guard.
The elite soldiers sworn only to him.
So it was his order. Or at least, his men carried it out.
The realization burned slow and cold through my chest.
Malrik hadn’t just exiled me — he’d sent his own guard to ensure I never returned. But Veyra had been involved too. They were feeding off each other’s paranoia now, spinning webs in opposite directions until both forgot who the spider was.
And in the middle of it all stood Selene.
“Jarek,” I said, my voice low. “We’re not waiting for dawn. We ride now.”
He didn’t argue.
---
We reached the edge of the forest by midday. The storm had broken, leaving the sky iron-gray and heavy. The river below was frozen solid, the plains beyond stretching out toward the distant mountains.
Jarek pulled up beside me. “You’re heading back, aren’t you?”
“I can’t,” I said. “If my father’s men see me, it’s over before it begins. But I can send word.”
He frowned. “Through who?”
“The witch,” I said. “Eryndor.”
Jarek blinked. “You trust him?”
“No,” I admitted. “But Selene does.”
I dismounted, pulling a strip of parchment and charcoal from my satchel. The message was short — a soldier’s note, meant to be burned after reading.
The ambush was real. The Alpha and Veyra move together. Trust no one but the witch. Do not let him near her alone.
I folded it tight, sealing it with wax from the edge of my torch.
One of the younger scouts approached, breath misting in the cold. “Message bird ready, my lord.”
“Send it south,” I said. “Straight to the Ravaryn fortress. Deliver it to Eryndor’s chambers — no one else.”
The scout nodded, fastening the small scroll to the raven’s leg. It lifted into the air with a rough caw, vanishing into the gray.
Jarek watched it go. “And if it doesn’t make it?”
“Then we move faster,” I said.
He grunted. “Faster to where?”
“Back home,” I said softly. “Before my father turns the next knife toward her.”
---
That night, I sat apart from the campfire, watching the last streaks of sunset fade to steel. My sword lay across my knees, the blade faintly reflecting the dying light.
The bond stirred again — faint, like the brush of breath against my skin.
Selene was awake. I could feel it.
For the first time since I’d left, I allowed myself to close my eyes and follow that faint pulse between us.
Her scent came to me through memory — smoke, cold wind, and silver. Her voice echoed faintly: Don’t die before I finish what I started.
I almost smiled.
“Not yet,” I whispered. “Not until you’re free.”
And in the quiet that followed, the wind shifted — carrying the faint, unmistakable sound of howling wolves.
They weren’t mine.
Not yet.
But soon.
---
- Writer
