002

ALINA.

"You’re still here, then?"

Maeve didn't wait for an invitation. She swept into my private quarters, setting a wooden tray of steaming tea and fresh bandages onto the table with a loud clatter. Her reddish-brown curls were pinned up in a messy bun, and her freckled face was pinched with worry.

"I still live here, Maeve," I said quietly, keeping my back to her "The decree was only signed yesterday."

"Signed, but not announced to the whole pack, thank the Goddess," Maeve muttered, marching over to grab a stack of my books before I could pack them. "Declan is out of his mind. I told Miles this morning…I said, 'Your Alpha has lost his senses.' Do you know what Miles did? He just rubbed his temples and looked like he hadn't slept a wink."

"Miles is his Beta. He has to support Declan's decisions."

"It's a stupid decision!" Maeve snapped, her light-brown eyes flashing. "Three years, Alina! You saved half their juveniles from violent awakenings! You cured the silver-poisoning outbreak in the outer guards! You've been his mate in every way that counts, treaty or no bloody treaty!"

"It was a treaty," I reminded her, though the words tasted so bitter. "And the treaty is finished."

Before Maeve could hurl another angry reply, the low, resonant chime of the iron gate bell rang.

It was the three ceremonial strikes.

The Arrival of high nobility.

Maeve frowned, striding toward the balcony that overlooked the courtyard. I hesitated for a second before following her.

Rolling through the gates of Rivenhall came a procession of three black carriages, each bearing the silver-and-blue crest of a rising falcon.

Surrounding them were two dozen armored guards on horseback, their cloaks fluttering in the wind.

"Wycliff," Maeve whispered, her hands gripping the railing so hard her knuckles turned white. "What in the world are they doing here today?"

My chest constricted.

The Wycliff Pack did not send guard escorts of that size for standard trade visits. They were one of the few territories in the northern region whose military might and commercial land holdings matched Rivenhall's.

For years, the Council had whispered about what a nightmare—or a miracle—it would be if Rivenhall and Wycliff ever merged. Together, they would control every major silver trade route and border pass in the province.

The lead carriage came to a smooth halt right in front of the Alpha House steps.

A footman dropped the wooden step, and a woman stepped out.

She was breathtaking. Golden-brown hair cascaded over her shoulders in flawless waves, framing a face with striking features and sky-blue eyes. She wore a tailored coat the color of deep cobalt, trimmed with high-grade fox fur. She moved with an effortless, regal posture that demanded every eye in the courtyard.

Sabine Wycliff.

Elder Victor was already waiting at the bottom of the stairs, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed, his eyes crinkling with a warm, welcoming smile that he had never once offered me.

"She's early," Maeve breathed,"The Council wasn't supposed to review the southern border trade pact until next month. Why is Sabine here now?"

I couldn't answer her. My throat felt completely dry.

Down in the courtyard, the front doors of the Alpha House swung open and Declan stepped out onto the top landing.

Sabine looked up, her blue eyes meeting his. She didn't bow or lower her chin like a visiting noble speaking to a foreign Alpha. She simply offered him a brilliant, self-assured smile and walked up the stairs to stand right beside him.

Victor stepped up between them, clapping his hands together. I couldn't hear his words from the balcony, but I saw the wide, approving grin on the old man's face as he motioned for them both to head inside.

"They didn't even wait for your trunk to be loaded," Maeve hissed, turning to look at me with rage. "Alina, look at me. Don't you dare let them push you out into the dark like this."

"I am not being pushed," I said, though my voice trembled slightly. "I am choosing to leave."

"Are you?" Maeve stepped closer, grabbing my hands. "Or did the alpha ask you to leave because of her?”

The thought settled into my stomach like a block of ice.

I will not keep you locked in a political cage, Declan had told me last night. You deserve your freedom.

Noble words. Honorable words. The words of an Alpha who cared so deeply about his wife's choice that he was willing to let her go.

Or... the words of a ruthless leader who realized a three-year temporary treaty with Westmere had served its purpose, and a permanent marriage with the heiress of Wycliff would secure his reign forever.

"He wouldn't," I whispered, trying to convince myself. "Declan is arrogant, but he isn't cruel."

"He's an Alpha," Maeve said bitterly. "They want power even in their sleep, Alina. You know how Victor operates. If Victor promised him Wycliff's southern trade routes in exchange for setting aside a doctor's daughter..."

She didn't finish the sentence.

She didn't necessarily have to.

By afternoon, the scent of spiced wine, and high-grade roasted herbs drifted up from the lower banquet hall.

I had tried to stay in my room, tried to focus on counting my medicine bottles, checking the glass stoppers on the silver-poison antidotes, and packing my dried herbs into linen pouches. But every laughter-filled echo from the floor below sounded like a hammer hitting my ribs.

At two o'clock, a knock sounded at my door.

It was a young pack servant girl, holding a folded piece of paper . "Luna Alina? Elder Victor requested your presence at the Council afternoon luncheon."

"Did Alpha Declan request it?" I asked.

The girl looked down at her shoes, fidgeting with her apron. "Elder Victor said... he said it was important for the pack's senior medical head to brief Lady Sabine on our health resources before her tour of the southern border."

Medical head. Not Luna. The title had already been stripped away in the formal invitations.

"Tell him I will be down shortly," I said.

Maeve stood up from the corner table. "You don't have to go down there and let them execute you in public, Alina."

"If I stay up here, it looks like I'm hiding," I said, smoothing down the front of my dark green dress. It was plain, simple, and comfortable—the dress of a healer, not a high lady. "I gave three years of my life to this pack. I will not hide in my room like a shamed mistress."

When I entered the dining hall, the chatter didn't stop entirely, but the atmosphere shifted immediately.

The long mahogany table was filled with the Pack Elders, military commanders, and Sabine's people. At the head of the table sat Declan.

To his right—where I had sat for three solid years sat Sabine Wycliff.

It looks like Elder Victor had personally arranged the seating. He sat directly across from them, his wine glass raised, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

Declan looked up the moment I walked through the double doors. His grey-blue eyes caught mine, and for a split second, a flicker of discomfort crossed his face. He made a slight movement as if to stand, but Victor leaned in, speaking quietly into his ear.

"Ah, Lina!" Victor called out across the room, using my shortened name instead of my formal title. "Come, sit. We were just discussing the medical supply lines for the southern watchtowers."

He gestured to an empty seat at the far end of the table, far away from Declan, surrounded by junior pack members.

I walked calmly to the chair and sat down, keeping my back straight and my hands folded in my lap.

Across the room, Sabine was speaking. Her voice was clear, "The Wycliff Pack is prepared to double the silver-ore shipments to Rivenhall's armory by the first of next month," she said, leaning slightly toward Declan. Her golden-brown hair brushed against the shoulder of his black leather coat. "Of course, an agreement of that size requires complete trust between our leadership."

"Our leadership has always maintained trust, Lady Sabine," Victor chimed in, his tone dripping with subtle meaning. "And with recent... structural changes within Rivenhall's high house, I believe our bond will only grow stronger. Don't you agree, Alpha?"

Declan took a slow sip from his chalice. "Rivenhall honors its trade partners," he said evenly, his voice unreadable. He didn't look at Sabine, but he didn't pull away from her either.

One of the older councilmen from the eastern territory laughed loudly. "Honors partners? Victor, you speak of trade, but we all see where the wind is blowing! A union between Rivenhall and Wycliff would make us unstoppable!"

A few quiet chuckles rippled around the table.

I stared down at my untouched plate. My pulse was drumming loudly in my ears. I waited for Declan to shut it down. I waited for him to speak up, with that terrifying Alpha authority he used so easily on everyone else, and declare that Sabine was here strictly for business.

He said nothing. He simply cut a piece of his meat, his expression cool and completely composed.

Beside him, Sabine didn't laugh, nor did she deny it. She merely raised her crystal glass to the smiling councilman, letting a small, secretive smile touch her lips. She accepted the insinuation effortlessly, letting it hang in the air.

A cold realization bloomed in my chest, cutting through the remaining fog of my grief.

Declan hadn't freed me because he loved me enough to let me choose. He had freed me because my political value had run out.

The Westmere peace was secured, the blood feud was dead, and now the great Alpha of Rivenhall needed a bigger piece on his chessboard.

I was just an obstacle he had politely swept out of the doorway before his real bride arrived.

I stood up. The chair scraped loudly against the stone floor, cutting off a trade explanation from one of the wolves beside me.

Declan's head snapped up instantly. His grey-blue eyes locked onto mine, a sudden, dark intensity storming behind his gaze. "Alina—"

"Excuse me," I said, my voice cutting cleanly through the room, quiet but completely clear. "I have medical things to finalize before my departure."

I didn't give Victor the satisfaction of seeing me rush. I turned on my heel and walked out of the hall with slow steps.

I walked out into the private courtyard behind the hall, where the autumn air hit my face like cold water.

I leaned against a pillar, closing my eyes, taking deep, shaky breaths to force the burning tears back into my eyes.

I will not cry for him, I told myself, pressing my palm hard against my chest. I will not give him a single tear.

"It's a lovely garden, isn't it?"

A soft, confident voice broke the silence.

I opened my eyes and turned around.

Sabine was standing at the entrance of the courtyard. She had followed me out.

She walked slowly, her dress sweeping gracefully behind her. Up close, her light-blue eyes were completely devoid of malice.

She stopped two feet away from me and looked me up and down, taking in my plain green dress, my lack of jewelry, and the tired shadows under my green eyes.

Then, Sabine extended her hand toward me, offering a polite, radiant smile.

"I have finally met you," Sabine said, her voice dripping with smooth, effortless confidence. "You have held Declan’s side far longer than I expected."