Chapter 2 THE SCAR AND THE STORM

Elara didn't sleep that night.

She lay curled in the corner of the servant quarters, blanket barely covering her thin frame, eyes wide open as thunder rolled across the hills outside. Her fingers kept tracing the folded scrap of parchment where her name was written as if touching the ink could anchor her to something real.

Lucien Blackwood had spoken to her.

Not shouted. Not commanded.

Spoken.

And something about his voice deep, steady, almost reverent had sent a strange heat to her chest. Not fear. Not exactly. Something... older. Something like memory, but not quite.

She turned over, her scar pressing into the wooden floor. A dull ache pulsed there, not physical. Familiar, though. As if her body remembered things her mind had forgotten.

She was still awake when the first light of dawn slipped between the cracks in the wall. The other servants stirred, yawning and grumbling about the rain. But Elara moved quietly, brushing her hair and pulling her sleeves down over her wrists. She had no room for distraction. Not now.

Not when the Alpha himself had seen her.

Lucien hadn't slept either.

He stood in the training courtyard, shirt clinging to his chest from the morning's downpour, fists striking the post again and again. His Beta, Markus, watched in silence from the sidelines.

"You're bleeding," Markus finally said.

Lucien didn't stop.

You know you could've just said no to the marriage. You didn't have to beat the life out of a training dummy to prove a point.

Lucien's eyes flashed as he delivered another blow, breath ragged. I can't refuse it. You know that.

Markus folded his arms. You're the future Alpha. If anyone can challenge a tradition, it's you.

I already have,Lucien snapped. He stepped back, flexing his knuckles. And it got me one step closer to exile last time.

Markus let out a long breath, then approached, lowering his voice. This is about the girl, isn't it?

Lucien's silence was answer enough.

Markus blinked. Wait... don't tell me-

"She's my mate."

Hell,Markus muttered, rubbing his face. The slave girl?

Lucien glared at him. Don't call her that.

Lucien, I didn't mean anything by it, I just said she's been working here for a year, and no one even knows where she came from.

Exactly,Lucien said darkly. And that's what scares me.

He stared past the treetops, where the storm clouds had begun to thin.

There's something wrong about her presence here,he added. Like she was hidden, not just lost. I need to know who she is.

And what about Seraphina?

Lucien's jaw clenched. I'll deal with that later.

Markus frowned. You've got two weeks until the binding ceremony. If you don't find a way out before then... it's over, Lucien.

I won't let fate be overwritten by politics,Lucien growled. Even if it means going against my father.

Markus didn't argue. He knew better than to try.

Down in the village, whispers traveled faster than horses.

They said the Alpha's son had been seen speaking to a servant girl. That he looked at her like a man starved. That Seraphina D'Arcy had caught wind of it and wasn't pleased.

In her guest chamber, Seraphina sat before a gilded mirror, her pale fingers delicately brushing through auburn curls. Her eyes are cold and calculating and watched her reflection with satisfaction. But her lips were tight.

She'd noticed the girl, of course. The waif in the stables with dirt under her nails and haunted eyes.

She'd noticed Lucien's reaction to her too.

It hadn't slipped past Seraphina how his gaze had lingered. How his smile are rare as it was had faltered when he looked her way.

Seraphina stood, pacing to the window. Her wolf stirred within her, low and irritated. She hadn't waited this long, played this many games, just to be overshadowed by a mute nobody.

No. This girl would be dealt with.

She rang the bell.

A servant scurried in moments later.

Find out everything you can about the stable girl,Seraphina said smoothly. I want her name, her origin, her loyalties. Quietly.

The servant bowed and left.

Seraphina returned to her mirror and smiled.

The game had begun.

Elara's hands trembled as she poured water into the mare's trough. She hadn't been summoned, not yet, but she could feel the attention shifting toward her.

People stared more. Whispers grew sharper.

She'd been noticed and in her world, that was never a good thing.

She was about to head back toward the servant quarters when a voice stopped her.

You missed a spot.

Elara turned, startled.

Lucien leaned against the stable door, arms crossed, boots muddy from the training yard. He looked tired. Wetter than usual. But his eyes held that same fire from the night before.

He gestured toward a corner of the stall, where hay had spilled.

Elara moved quickly to clean it, but he stepped forward, stopping her with a gentle touch to her arm.

You don't have to bow around me,he said.I want to talk to you. Just you."

She hesitated, then slowly nodded.

Lucien studied her closely. The scar on her jaw. The way her eyes scanned exits. The way she flinched at sudden movements.

She'd been hurt.

Do you remember anything?he asked softly. Where you came from? Who you were before you came here?"

Elara lowered her gaze. Then she shook her head.

But then... she paused.

Closed her eyes.

Images flickered,shouts, wolves, fire. A woman with silver hair screaming her name. A burning crest: two wolves entwined beneath a crescent moon.

She gasped, stumbling back against the stall. Lucien caught her before she could fall.

What did you see?he asked, voice tight.

She opened her mouth but no words came. Just a breath. A whisper of something long buried.

Lucien's arms tightened around her.

I swear I'll help you remember,he said, quietly but fiercely. Even if I have to rip the truth from this land with my own hands.

Above them, thunder rumbled again,but this time, it felt like a warning.

And far from the stables, in a tower no one visited, a locked drawer clicked open on its own.

Inside it, an old, bloodstained letter shifted slightly in the dark.