Chapter 4 A WOLF IN SILK

The full moon hung heavy above the Blackwood Estate, its glow silvering the windows and bathing the stone halls in a pale, otherworldly light. From the forest came the distant howls of wolves returning from patrol. The sound usually brought Lucien peace.

Tonight, it made his skin crawl.

He stood before the sealed archive door again. The one that held the letter. The one marked with the Blackwood crest and a sigil that only his father could unseal. Dorian Blackwood hadn't used the archives in years,but he was still the only one with the key.

Lucien's hand hovered over the lock.

If he was caught tampering with it, there'd be consequences. But if that letter truly connected Elara to the massacre, then someone in their world had gone to great lengths to bury the truth. And secrets like that didn't get locked away for nothing.

He stepped back.

Not yet.

He needed leverage first proof no one could deny.

Meanwhile, Elara was finishing her evening duties in the greenhouse behind the manor. The head gardener, a gruff older man named Bram, had quietly taken a liking to her. He never asked questions about her past and always saved her the softest bread at midday.

Mind the orchids,he grunted, handing her a watering can. Those white ones cost more than you do.

Elara blinked, then smiled faintly.

She moved carefully, her touch as gentle as mist on petals. Flowers responded to her, oddly enough tilting toward her, blooming brighter under her hands. It was something Bram had noticed but never spoke of.

As she worked, she didn't hear the approach of footsteps until they were too close.

Elara,came Seraphina's voice,very low and syrupy. "Still playing house with the roses?"

Elara stiffened.

Seraphina entered the greenhouse with the grace of a panther, her silk gown whispering around her ankles. Her hair was pinned with emerald combs, her lips blood-red.

A shame,she continued, circling slowly. "You'd almost be pretty if you cleaned up. If you knew how to walk like a woman instead of skulking like a rat.

Elara kept her head down, fingers trembling slightly around the watering can.

"Of course,Seraphina went on, "no matter how pretty a slave may be, she'll never be a Luna. That spot's taken.

Elara turned away, willing herself to ignore the sharp sting behind her eyes.

Then Seraphina's voice dropped to a whisper. He'll grow bored of you, you know. Men always do. Especially Alphas.

She reached forward and tucked a strand of Elara's hair behind her ear again,too intimately.

But this time, Elara flinched away.

Seraphina's eyes narrowed.

"You dare?" she hissed.

Elara didn't respond, didn't look at her. But she straightened. Just a little. Her spine stiffer than before.

Seraphina noticed.

"Oh," she said softly. You think he'll protect you. That he sees you.

She laughed once? short and cruel. He sees a toy. I see a threat."

And with that, she turned and swept out, leaving a trail of perfume and malice behind.

In his chambers, Lucien sat with Markus again, unrolling a map of the surrounding territories. The air was thick with tension.

Are you sure it was a foreign wolf?Markus asked, eyes scanning the drawn borders.

"Positive," Lucien said. The howl came from east of the ridge and past Blackwood land."

That's D'Arcy territory.

Lucien nodded grimly.

They've been quiet for years,Markus murmured. Why stir now?

Maybe they're not stirring,Lucien said. Maybe they've been watching.

Markus leaned in. Maybe You think they knew who she was?

If Seraphina has any idea Elara's the Vanora heiress, she won't hesitate to finish what someone started ten years ago.

Markus let out a long breath. And your father?

Lucien stood, pacing. He wants this wedding sealed before the Council visit next month. A united front, he says. But if I expose Seraphina

You better have more than rumors and a girl with no voice,Markus warned. You need proof.

Lucien nodded once.

"Then let's get that letter."

Night fell deeper.

The manor dimmed. Servants retired to their quarters. Only the guard patrol remained, their boots echoing faintly down the marble halls.

Lucien waited until the changing of the watch and when the corridor to the west wing would be clear for five minutes.

He moved quickly, key swiped earlier from his father's quarters pressed into the archive door.

It clicked open.

The scent of age and secrets poured out.

He moved directly to the vault drawer beneath the Vanora section. The lock on it was different and older. Silver runes carved into the wood shimmered faintly under the moonlight.

Lucien's hands trembled slightly as he inserted the second key.

The drawer creaked open.

Inside lay a sealed parchment, its edges brittle, the Vanora crest burned into the wax.

Lucien lifted it, heart pounding. The seal was unbroken.

He didn't open it.

Not yet.

He needed a witness. Someone neutral. Someone the Council trusted.

A plan began to form in his mind.

He would take it to the elder of the neighboring Leclair Pack. Neutral territory. Let them verify the seal. Present it to the Council before the wedding.

If the letter held what he suspected, it could destroy the alliance. End the arrangement.

Save Elara.

He closed the drawer, resealed the vault, and left.

But he never noticed the second figure standing in the shadows at the end of the hall.

Seraphina watched him go, her expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, she smiled.