The forest was quiet, except for the hum of crickets and the occasional whisper of wind through the trees. I sat on the thick trunk of a fallen oak, its bark rough beneath my palms, the faint scent of moss and damp earth filling my lungs. The moon hung high above, pale and ghostly, its reflection trembling on the nearby stream. Before , spread across the forest floor, was the large map of the Werewolf Kingdom, creased, smudged, and illuminated by the flicker of my campfire.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, eyes scanning the markings with rapt attention. Every road, every bend, every small symbol ant sothing. My mother’s last words echoed in my head “Your father, Kieran... he’s still alive. I saw him, in so kind of dark cave with a waterfall...”
A cave beneath a waterfall.
I traced the thin blue lines that marked the rivers across the kingdom, following them to where they pooled into cascades. The Lycan territory had four such caves beneath waterfalls, each one old and so guarded because they held remnants of the first packs that ruled whivh marked the beginning of the Valerius dynasty. The Elites had two, shallow, elegant things more for display and a good site to have fun cause it was out in the open. The Nobles had three, deep and forgotten in their terrain, and the Ferals.... only one.
Ten possible places. Ten places my father could be.
Ten places I would have to search, one by one.
My eyes burned from staring at the map too long, but I couldn’t stop. My hand hovered over the red marks I’d made, every cave, every possible route. My path looked like a spider’s web stretched over the kingdom’s heart. I had no army, no scouts, no one to command. Just .
I exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over my face. My beard had grown rough in the last few days, a shadow along my jawline. The wolfsbane infested wounds on my body from the lunar crest battle had healed but the ache in my chest hadn’t. My hair was a wild ss, strands of black silver hair falling into my eyes. The weight of exhaustion hung heavy on my shoulders, but I couldn’t stop now.
I thought of my mother again, the Ghosthound Queen, fierce and unstoppable, even in her final monts. The image of her blood streaked face as she told about my father still clawed at my insides. She had died believing in sothing, and if I did nothing, then her death ant nothing.
There was no way I was going to sit on the throne, wear a crown, and pretend everything was fine while my father might still be chained sowhere in the dark.
The council had tried to sway off my path. Astrid, Magnus, even Cyrin. They wanted to play the role, the new Alpha King, the symbol of stability. They said the people needed , that I had a duty to take my father’s place, to marry into the Midnight Heart Pack, to strengthen the Lycans’ hold over the kingdom.
But I couldn’t.
I clenched my fists, the map crinkling beneath my touch.
How could I wear a crown when the real King still breathes sowhere in chains?
I wasn’t ready to accept that. I would never be.
My gaze drifted toward the edge of the forest where the sound of the stream faintly echoed, distant, steady, like a heartbeat in the night. Sowhere out there, beyond the rivers and the caves and the endless trees, he was waiting for .
And I would find him.
I reached for the tal canteen beside , took a swig of cold water, and exhaled sharply. My reflection in the liquid shimred, tired, hollow eyed, but burning with purpose.
For a brief mont, my thoughts slipped elsewhere..... to her.
Lorraine.
Her na was a whisper I couldn’t silence, no matter how much I tried. The image of her collapsing during the funeral haunted more than I wanted to admit. The way her eyes had rolled back, her body limp, her skin pale as marble. Astrid had told it was exhaustion, but I knew better. Sothing was wrong.
She’d been unconscious for days when I left. Every instinct scread at to stay, to wait, to see her open her eyes again, to know she was fine.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t afford that luxury.
I rember those nights.
The silence of the hospital room was always heavier after midnight, like the air itself was afraid to move around her. I would sit in that small chair beside her bed, the light painting her skin in gold and shadow. She looked too still, too fragile for soone who had survived so much.
Her hair, it spilled across the pillow like spilled night. I used to brush a few away from her face, careful not to touch her more than necessary, because every inch of her reminded of sothing I couldn’t have. Her lips were pale, her skin cool but not lifeless. When she breathed, it ca out soft and uneven, and every rise of her chest felt like a fragile promise, one that could break at any second.
Sotis, when I leaned close enough, I could hear her whisper, words too faint to make out, maybe dreams, maybe mories. And every ti, I wanted to tell her to wake up. To stop torturing by lying there like that.
But I never did.
I just sat there, watching. Listening. Guarding her
I can still see her face when I close mine, every detail etched into mory. Her small and pale face, the way her lashes trembled even in sleep, the warmth of her scent that refused to fade.
I clenched my fists and forced myself to look away from the mory.
No. Not now.
I can’t afford this.
I can’t afford her.
Every thought of Lorraine was a distraction. My father was out there sowhere, alive or dead, and every second I wasted rembering her was a second closer to losing him forever.
I exhaled sharply and straightened, forcing the image of her out of my mind.
Not now, Lorraine.
Not until I find him.
I had a purpose. A promise.
Father first.
Everything else, the throne, the council, the marriage, even Lorraine, would have to wait.
I rolled the map carefully, tying it with the leather strap, and slid it into the satchel beside . Then I rose to my feet, brushing the dirt from my pants. My muscles were stiff, but my resolve was steel.
The night was growing colder, the air heavy with mist from the nearby falls. I slung the satchel over my shoulder and took one last look at the dying fire. The embers glowed faintly, then dimd.
Sowhere beyond the trees, wolves howled, distant but familiar. It sounded almost like a howl of distress
I didn’t care. Its probably from the Academy.
My boots sank slightly into the wet earth as I started walking. The moonlight caught the edge of the silver dagger at my waist, glinting faintly. My heartbeat steadied.
I’ll find you, Father.
Even if I have to tear through every mountain and waterfall in this damned kingdom, I’ll find you.
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