Ryan
The castle no longer felt like his.Once, every stone had hummed with the pulse of the pack — his pack — loyal, fierce, unyielding. Now the corridors were heavy with whispers and the quiet tread of spies pretending to be servants. The Elders had turned his kingdom into a shrine for their prophecy, and he, its unwilling idol.
Ryan stood before the map table in the war room beneath the palace. The candles there burned with blue-tinged flame, their smoke curling like ghosts. His generals — men he trusted more than any council — waited in silence as he marked the parchment with his dagger's tip.
"We move the northern patrols away from the Elder's district," he said. "Their guards answer to me, not to them. That's our first line back."
General Halric frowned. "Won't that draw attention?"
"It should," Ryan said. "Let them wonder. A little fear reminds them whose claws still rule this kingdom."
His wolf approved with a low, wordless rumble inside him. At last, it growled. We take back what's ours.
But Ryan knew fear was a blade with two edges. The people loved their Elders as seers. If he struck too openly, they would call it blasphemy, not justice. He needed precision — rebellion disguised as obedience.
When the meeting ended, he remained alone. The map before him blurred into the memory of Isabella's eyes during the last council: quiet fury hidden behind poise. The bond hummed faintly in his chest, restless and demanding.
She knows too much, he thought. And yet… she knows the truth.
His wolf's voice slipped through his thoughts like smoke. She could be ally or doom.
Ryan slammed his palm against the table hard enough to shake the candles. "She's nothing," he hissed to the empty room — and even he didn't believe it.
Isabella
The library had become her kingdom.Between the scent of old parchment and the whisper of pages, she found clarity the throne denied her. Tonight the snow pressed against the windows, dulling the world beyond into silence.
The book she had uncovered — The Testament of Dusk — lay open once more. The script was faint, the edges of the page burnt as if someone had tried to erase it from history. She traced the words carefully:
When the bond is forced, it consumes its makers. Power feigns devotion, and devotion births ruin.
It was confirmation. The Elders had been shaping royal unions for centuries, each ending in plague, madness, or war. And every time, they called it prophecy fulfilled.
A door creaked behind her. She didn't look up. "You shouldn't sneak up on me, Ryan."
His voice came from the shadows. "You shouldn't be alone in here. They'll start to notice."
She closed the book and turned. He looked tired — more soldier than king — the kind of exhaustion that came from holding back both rage and destiny. For a heartbeat, neither spoke.
"They built this lie to control us," Isabella said. "Every bond before ours, every death — it was their doing."
"I know." His jaw tightened. "But truth doesn't free us. Power does."
"You plan to fight them," she guessed.
"I plan to survive them," he corrected, stepping closer. "And you will too — if you stay out of their way."
Her smile was brittle. "If I'd stayed out of the way, I'd already be dead from their plague."
For a moment, his eyes softened, the bond thrumming between them like a pulse. Then he turned sharply toward the door. "Whatever you're planning, don't. Not yet."
When he was gone, Isabella reopened the book. Her pulse matched the beat of the bond — faster, louder, impossible to ignore. If Ryan would not trust her, she would act alone.
Ryan
Dawn came crimson.He walked the parapet above the courtyard, the cold air biting through his armor. Below, the banners of the Elders fluttered beside his own, an insult stitched in silk.
He caught the scent of snow — and of something else. Fear. Rebellion. The two often traveled together.
His lieutenant approached. "My king, the western houses are arming quietly. They claim it's defense against thieves, but…"
"Rebellion begins with excuses," Ryan said. "Keep watch, but do nothing. Let them think we don't see."
Inside him, the wolf stirred. You play at politics while they steal your throne.
"I play because I must," Ryan muttered. "Blood now would feed their cause."
But as he said it, he felt Isabella's pulse flicker through the bond — quick, determined. She was awake somewhere, thinking dangerous thoughts. The connection between them had grown too strong to ignore. Every emotion echoed like a heartbeat not his own.
She's going to move against them, he realized.
And for the first time, his fear wasn't for himself.
Isabella
By candlelight, Isabella met quietly with her most trusted handmaid, Clara — once a healer's apprentice, now her messenger.
"They'll never expect you," Isabella said. "You'll take the sealed letter to Lord Varrin in the east. He owes my father a debt."
Clara hesitated. "If they find me—"
"They won't," Isabella interrupted, though her own heart was pounding. "Go before dawn. Tell him the Elders have rewritten fate itself."
When Clara left, Isabella leaned back against the shelves, trembling. Every step she took felt like walking the edge of a blade. But doing nothing was worse.
The bond pulsed again — an ache that wasn't hers. Ryan's emotions, wild and uncertain, brushing against her own. For a heartbeat, she almost sent calm through it, a silent reassurance. Almost. Then she drew the connection tight and shut him out.
Let him feel the silence.
Ryan
He felt the silence like a wound.Through the bond, her emotions vanished — a door slammed shut between them. It left him hollow, furious, unbalanced.
The wolf roared inside him. She defies you. She hides secrets.
"Then she's learning," he whispered, though anger made the words sharp. "Good."
He turned from the window, every sense alive with purpose. If the prophecy was a chain, he would break it. If the council was a throne of puppeteers, he would burn their strings. And if Isabella truly meant to move against them… then for the first time, perhaps they were on the same side.
Isabella
Snow fell heavily by the time she reached her chamber balcony. The torches below flickered as guards passed. Somewhere in the dark, the howling of wolves echoed through the forest — not the controlled songs of the pack, but something wilder, older.
She gripped the railing, whispering to the storm, "Let them think they hold the crown. The night belongs to those who dare to take it."
In the distance, another howl answered — deep, fierce, and unmistakably his.
She closed her eyes.The rebellion had begun, though neither had spoken the word aloud.
Ryan
When the howl left his throat, it wasn't command. It was promise.Below, the guards paused, unsure whether it was a warning or a declaration.He only knew that the sound carried to her — and through her — as the bond burned like fire and frost in his veins.
The Elders built their world on lies, the wolf said. Let's see how it trembles when we tell the truth.
Ryan looked toward the palace windows where faint candlelight flickered in Isabella's chambers. He didn't need to see her to know she was awake.
"Soon," he murmured, voice rough with both fury and resolve. "We end their prophecy."
The storm outside thickened, drowning the castle in white silence. But within its heart, two rulers moved toward the same inevitable reckoning — bound by a lie, united by defiance, and followed by the first, faint echo of rebellion's howl.