Chapter 112
Chapter 112
Lila
The wooden staff cracked hard against my forearm, but I didn’t flinch.
Pain was better than all the sitting still I’d been doing.
lexhaled through clenched teeth, adjusted my grip, and went again. The palace training yard was guards. But today’s wasn’t a stranger. It was Kellen.
nearly empty–just me and a rotating schedule of
Kellen had been one of the only guards who spoke to me like a person during the early days of the selection. He offered a quiet “good luck” before the trials.
A tall, broad–shouldered wolf with a crooked grin and soft eyes. Friendly. Steady. The kind of male who didn’t ask questions unless you wanted him to.
Today, though, I didn’t want a friend.
I wanted the exhaustion that came quickly when I pushed my physical limits.
Kellen’s swings were measured–controlled. He wasn’t treating me like an opponent. He was treating me like someone fragile. Or like someone he would be in trouble for hurting.
That made me furious.
Another swing came. I deflected too quickly, too sharply, and the staff in my hands vibrated with the blow. My feet slid, off–balance from my own aggression. I dropped hard onto the packed dirt, breath knocked out of me.
I lay there a second too long, staring up at the pale sky. Sweat clung to every inch of me. My arms felt like they were made of lead. My palms stung, and the inside of my mouth tasted like rust.
I pushed myself up. “Again.”
Kellen hesitated. “Lady-”
“Again.”
His mouth tightened, but he nodded. “Yes, my Lady.”
I hated that. The formality. The caution. But I didn’t correct him.
We circled each other again, the rhythm of our movements uneven. I was all instinct now. No strategy. No grace. Just movement for movement’s sake.
J could feel Ruby curled deep inside, quiet and still, like she didn’t never fully recovered from being locked away in that spelled room.
Like we never fully recovered from whatever was done to us as pups.
A few minutes passed–just enough for the burn in my arms to turn from ache to fire–before Kellen stepped back and lowered his staff. “You’re bleeding.”
I glanced down. The skin at the base of my palm had torn open–small, but raw. I hadn’t noticed.
“I’m fine.”
He stepped closer, concern creasing his brow. “You’re not. I must insist you take a break.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Not with the pressure building in my chest like it wanted to claw its way out.
Behind him, near the edge of the circle, Emma stood holding a towel and a water bottle. She wasn’t trying to interrupt, Just… waiting. Watching her e found mine and didn’t look away.
I dropped my staff. The sound of it hitting the dirt was louder than it should’ve been.
“I’m done,” I muttered, turning from Kellen before he could say anything else.
He stepped aside without another word, but his silence held too thuch understanding. It made my
skin crawl.
Emma approached as I wiped my face with the towel she handed me. The fabric was soft and cool, the only gentle thing I could stand.
“You’ve been out here for hours,” she said.
“I needed to move.”
“You needed to breathe.”
I huffed a breath, somewhere between agreement and dismissal. “Same thing.”
Emma tilted her head, watching me closely. “You don’t have to keep proving yourself.”
“Don’t I?”
She just handed me the water and waited while I drank. I didn’t realize how dry my mouth was until the
“You can talk to me,” she said softly. “You don’t have to carry it all alone.”
I gave her the barest nod. “Maybe tomorrow.”
She didn’t call me on it. She had done less of that since we reconciled. Since I was marked by the King.
first swallow hit.
I slung the towel over my shoulder and walked back toward the palace, body aching with every step. The sun was lower now, bleeding gold into the sky. The shadows stretched long across the field, but I couldn’t outrun them.
No matter how fast I moved, they always caught up.
By the time I reached the palace halls, the air had cooled and turned still. My boots echoed down the corridor, each step a dull knock against polished
stone.
My muscles throbbed, but it wasn’t the good kind of sore. It was heavy. As if I’d poured everything out and still hadn’t made room.
I passed a few servants who bowed politely and a pair of guards posted outside the council chamber. One of them–the younger one with the scar near his temple–glanced at me a beat too long. I looked away before he could speak.
+didn’t want kindness right now. I didn’t trust what it would unravel.
My door creaked as I opened it, and the familiar scent of lavender, worn leather, and old paper greeted me like a sigh. Home, or the closest thing to it in
this place.
I tossed the towel onto the side table and stepped further in, pulling the tie from my hair and shaking out the damp strands.
That’s when I saw it.
A small box, no larger than my palm, sat perfectly centered on the writing table. Velvet green, almost black in the fading light. The kind of thing that would look out of place in a room like mine–too elegant, too deliberate.
I froze.
My pulse ticked faster, a warning. The windows were locked. No scent lingered in the air. No signs of intrusion. And still, the hair on my arms stood up.
I stepped closer slowly, each footstep soft against the rug. I didn’t touch it at first. Just looked. No note. No wax seal. No symbol to daimi
Curiosity beat out caution.
I lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled in a bed of black silk, was a single pressed leaf. Silver, delicate, and preserved with care.
Not painted silver–naturally that way. A rare tree from the northern forests produced them under moonlight once a season. The kind of thing that didn’t just fall into someone’s pocket. It had to be found. Chosen.
Or remembered.
I reached in and touched it carefully, the fragile stem resting against my fingertips. It was cold. Not lifeless–just still. Like it had been waiting.
I swallowed.
Damon? No. Too sentimental. He didn’t know how to give soft things.
Emma? Sweet, but no–this wasn’t her language.
Asher?
Maybe. The man knew how to play games. But something about this felt… different. Not performative. Not like seduction. It didn’t seem like a trap or a
lure.
It was a question.
One I didn’t have the answer to.
I closed the box slowly and sat down at the edge of the bed, the wood creaking beneath me. My hands rested on my knees, fingers curled in tight fists.
I wanted to be angry. I wanted to feel violated. But instead, I just felt… unsettled. Like someone had looked at me and seen something I didn’t know I was showing.
I placed the box in the drawer of my nightstand, shutting it with more force than necessary. Then I crossed the room to the window, throwing it open with a rush of night air.
The garden below shimmered faintly under the moonlight. The same one I had stood in days ago–challenging the court, daring them to erase me.
But in this moment, I didn’t feel defiant. I felt cracked. Seen in ways I wasn’t prepared for.
The silver leaf still burned against my memory, too quiet and too intimate.
Heaned my forehead against the cool glass and closed my eyes.
Whoever had left it… knew exactly where to find me.
