Transcription
The carriage horses were nervous. Scarlet noticed it the way she noticed everything dangerous, quietly from the edges, while the rest of the world thought she was simply another face in the crowd. She had learned that particular survival skill young, watching her father's shoulders tighten before the shouting began, reading the shift in a bar before a knife came out, sensing the exact moment a deal was about to turn deadly. And right now, those horses were telling her the entire procession was a trap.
They stamped high-need and wildeyed along the cobblestones, nostrils flaring at something no one else could smell. Not the cheering crowds, not the scent of roasted chestnuts and festival ale. Something darker. Something buried.
Scarlet was supposed to be invisible today. Just another traveling herbalist selling bundles to the people pressed shoulder-to-shoulder around her. She had planned to watch the alpha king's triumphant return from the northern wars, make her coin, and slip away before sunset.
Instead, her gaze kept dragging to the road 12 ft ahead of where the gleaming black carriage trimmed in snarling silver wolf heads would halt for the traditional blessing. There, a seam that didn't belong. Too clean, too deliberate. Someone had lifted that stone and set it back recently, and not for any reason the city's road wardens would recognize.
Her heart began its old, steady drum. Walk away, Scarlet. This isn't your kingdom. These aren't your people.
The crowd roared as the carriage rolled to a stop. The door swung open. And there he was. The alpha king of Ayria stepped down onto the avenue, tall and broad-shouldered, dark hair tousled from the journey, one powerful hand resting briefly on the carriage frame as he turned to acknowledge the cheering masses.
A collective ripple went through the women nearest the barricade. One woman in a tight bodice swayed on her feet, clutching her friend's arm with a breathless little laugh. "Gods above. I think I just forgot my own husband's name."
Scarlet's breath locked in her throat. The horses screamed. She was already shoving forward, voice tearing out of her before thought could stop it. "Don't get in!"
The king paused, one boot still on the carriage step, amber-flecked eyes snapping toward the sound of her voice. Scarlet lunged through the final line of spectators, heart pounding against her ribs. She grabbed his forearm with both hands, warm corded muscle under her fingers, and yanked with every ounce of strength she possessed.
Just as he stumbled into her, the carriage exploded. A deafening roar of fire ripped through the air. The blast tore the vehicle apart in a ball of flame, flinging twisted metal, burning wood, and shards of silver wolf heads in every direction. The force hurled them both back. Strong arms wrapped around her midfall, shielding her smaller body as they crashed hard onto the cobblestones. Heat scorched her skin. Acrid smoke burned her lungs.
When the world stopped spinning, she was on her back with the alpha king braced above her, his broad chest heaving, those intense eyes locked on hers from only inches away. His hand remained splayed across her waist, holding her steady.
"You," he said, voice low and rough, vibrating through her bones. "Just saved my life."
Around them, the avenue descended into chaos. Screams, running guards, terrified horses. But Scarlet couldn't tear her gaze away from the man pinning her to the ground. The man she just saved from the jaws of death. The scent of him, pine smoke, warm leather, cut through the reek of burning pitch and sulfur. Up close, his eyes weren't simply amber-fleck. They held flecks of molten gold that seemed to shift as he stared down at her, as though something inside him had woken and was now studying her with predatory focus. Scarlet's pulse hammered so hard she could feel it in her teeth. She had pulled a king out of a fireball, and now he was looking at her like he was ready to eat her.
Before she could speak, rough hands seized her shoulders, hauling her upright. Another shoved the king back. "Your majesty, step away."
"She could be—" The words died as the king rose in one fluid motion, power rolling off him in a tangible wave. The guards froze mid-reach.
"Touch her again," he said, "and I will tear your hands off." The men released her instantly. Scarlet swayed, knees threatening to buckle, but the king's arm was already there, steadying her, palm warm against the small of her back. She wanted to step away. She should have. Instead, her body leaned into the contact for half a heartbeat before her mind caught up.
"I'm fine," she muttered, even as soot streaked her face, and her ears still rang from the blast.
"You're bleeding." His thumb brushed just beneath her jaw, where a shard of wood had nicked her. The touch was feather-light, yet it sent heat licking down her spine. He examined the smear of red on his glove with a frown that looked pained. "Healers, now. I don't need." But he was already guiding her through the press of bodies. One arm curved around her as though the crowd might lunge at her. Guards formed a tight ring. Shouts and sobs echoed off the buildings while flames still licked at the ruined carriage.
They reached the edge of the square where a smaller, unmarked coach waited. He helped her inside with the same careful strength he'd used to shield her from the blast, then climbed in after her, filling the space with his presence. The door shut. The world outside dulled to muffled chaos. Scarlet pressed herself into the far corner, heart still racing. She was alone with the alpha king, and every survival instinct she owned was telling her this was far worse than the explosion.
He watched her for a long moment, the golden flecks in his eyes catching the lantern light. "My name is Sawyer," he said quietly, as if titles had no place between them right now. "And you are Scarlet?"
She kept her voice even, the same tone she used with dangerous men in pubs. "Just Scarlet, traveling herbalist."
"Scarlet? You knew the carriage was going to explode. How?"
She swallowed. The acrid scent still clung to her cloak. Nightshade resin mixed with something sharper, something she recognized from her father's more lucrative and less legal dealings. "The horses and the smell. Someone packed mage fire powder under the floorboards and sealed the seam with fresh mortar to hide it. I've seen that combination before."
His gaze sharpened, but not with suspicion. "Why did you run toward it? Most people would have run away."
"Most people didn't grow up like me." She met his eyes, refusing to look away, even though her hands were trembling in her lap. "Are you here to kill me or thank me?"
A faint, startled smile touched his mouth, gone so quickly she might have imagined it. "I'm strongly considering the latter."
The coach lurched into motion. Outside, the city blurred past, torches, frightened faces, the distant clang of alarm bells. Sawyer leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "You're shaking."
"Adrenaline," she said, which was only half a lie. The other half was the way he kept looking at her, like he was memorizing the shape of her face, the exact shade of her eyes. He reached out slowly and tugged her cloak more securely around her shoulders. The gesture was so simple, so unexpectedly gentle from a man who could snap necks with his bare hands, that her throat tightened.
"You're safe with me," he murmured. "I give you my word."
Scarlet almost laughed. "Safe with the Alpha King?" She had heard the stories, how shifters mated with a ferocity that swallowed women whole. How their devotion could turn possessive enough to cage. She was human, fragile by their standards. The last thing she needed was to become interesting to someone like him. Yet when the coach finally rolled through the palace gates and he helped her down, his fingers brushed the inside of her elbow and stayed there a beat longer than necessary. She felt it again. That low, unwelcome tug in her chest, insistent. Dangerous.
They walked through torchlit corridors lined with wary guards and whispering courters. Sawyer never once let her fall more than half a step behind him. At the entrance to a quiet solar, he paused. "I need to question you properly," he said, voice low. "But not while you're still covered in soot and bleeding." He gestured to a side door. "There are clean clothes, hot water, and a healer waiting. Take all the time you need. When you're ready, I'll be here."
Scarlet searched his face one last time for the trap, but she found only that same intense focus that made her feel seen in a way she had spent years avoiding. She nodded once. "Curt, don't send anyone in after me."
Inside the bathing chamber, she scrubbed until her skin stung, watching black water swirl down the drain. The nick on her jaw had already stopped bleeding, but she could still feel the phantom pressure of his thumb there. When she emerged in a simple wool gown the color of storm clouds, her damp hair braided tight, Sawyer was exactly where he had promised, standing by the window, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the night as though he could will answers from the darkness. He turned at the sound of her footsteps. Something flickered across his expression. Relief, perhaps, or hunger quickly reined in. He gestured to the low table where wine, bread, and cheese had been laid out.
"Sit." She did, but kept the table between them like a shield. Sawyer poured for her first, then himself, before taking the chair opposite. The fire crackled softly. For a long moment, the only sound was the pop of sap and the distant murmur of the palace coming to terms with an assassination attempt on its king.
"I have the sharpest nose in Yria," he began again, gentler this time. "Yet I didn't catch the nightshade and sulfur until the blast. How did you?"
Scarlet traced the rim of her goblet. "I've mixed worse things than nightshade when my father needed coin." The admission tasted bitter, but she refused to flinch from it. He wasn't particular about who he sold to. "I learned early how to identify poisons before they killed the wrong mark."
Sawyer's jaw tightened, but not in judgment. He looked protective. "You're no longer in that life."
"I left the day I turned 17. Been on the road ever since, healing where I can, staying invisible where I can't."
"And today you chose not to be invisible."
"Today the horses were off." She met his gaze head-on. "And you stepped out looking like you owned the whole world."
"Someone clearly disagreed. I figured one of us should do something about it before the fireworks started."
A low, rough sound escaped him. Half laugh, half growl. "You have a sharp tongue, Scarlet." He leaned back, but his eyes never left her. "I believe you had nothing to do with the attempt. The court will need more convincing, but I don't. You'll stay here tonight under my protection."
Her stomach flipped. "As your prisoner?"
"As my guest?" He paused, then added softer. "Though I won't pretend the thought of you walking out those gates tonight sits easily with me." The honesty in his voice unsettled her more than any threat could have. She could feel the pull again. That strange warm current that had sparked the moment she grabbed his arm. It made no sense. She didn't know this man. She certainly didn't trust him. Yet, it made her want to lean closer. Even as every instinct told her to run, she forced herself to stand, to wrap this up.
"Then I suppose I should thank you for the bath and the bread."
Sawyer rose with her, towering, but careful not to crowd. "Scarlet." He took one step closer, close enough that she caught the faint scent of him again. "I meant what I said earlier. You're safe with me. Whatever comes next, whatever shadows are hunting me, I won't let them touch you."
For one reckless heartbeat, she believed him. Then she remembered who he was, what he was, a wolf king who could claim whatever he wanted, and right now his gaze said he wanted her. She gave him a small, guarded nod. "Good night, your majesty."
"Sawyer," he corrected quietly.
She didn't answer. She simply turned and let the waiting attendant lead her through marble halls to a suite far too grand for a traveling herbalist. The door closed behind her with a soft click. But when she tested the handle minutes later, it didn't budge. Locked from the outside. Scarlet pressed her forehead to the cool wood, breathing through the surge of old panic.
"Walk away, Scarlet," she had told herself in the square. Now it was too late. Her father used to lock doors, too, right after he'd sold her to the highest bidder for the night, patting her cheek with that same lazy smile. "Stay put, sweetheart. Papa needs the coin." Then he'd leave her in the dark with whichever rough-handed man had paid extra while he drank himself blind in the next room.
Somewhere in the palace, another explosion rocked the night. Smaller, distant, but unmistakable. It came from the direction of the stables, she realized with a sick twist in her gut. A second strike. She slid down the door, knees drawn to her chest, and listened to the distant shouts and running footsteps. Her fingers still remembered the warm strength of his forearm. Her skin still remembered the weight of his hand at her waist. And despite every survival instinct screaming danger, a small, treacherous part of her wondered what it would feel like if Sawyer kept that promise. If, for once, someone powerful chose to stand between her and the fire instead of feeding her to it.
The morning light spilled through tall arched windows, turning the council chamber into a hall of polished marble and weary glances. Scarlet stood at the center of it all, still wearing the storm-grey wool gown from the night before, her braids slightly loosened from restless sleep. The air smelled of old wood and the metallic tang of barely contained aggression. A man named Lord Spez rose first, broad and red-faced, his voice booming off the vaulted ceiling.
"Your Majesty, this woman knew the precise moment your carriage would explode. She reeks of nightshade and sulfur even now. How convenient that a common herbalist just happened to be in the perfect spot to save you." A low murmur rippled through the assembled nobles. Scarlet kept her chin level, hands clasped loosely in front of her so no one would see them tremble. She had faced worse rooms than this, but never with so many eyes that could order her death with a single word.
Sawyer sat at the head of the long table, dark hair still damp from his morning bath, one powerful hand resting on the arm of his carved chair. Scarlet tried to ignore how his broad shoulders filled out his simple black tunic, and how the morning light caught the sharp line of his jaw and the molten-gold flecks in his amber eyes, but his gaze was fixed on her.
"She saved my life, Lord Spez. I would appreciate it if you spoke of her with the respect that fact demands."
"Respect?" Spez's lip curled. "She's human, an outsider, and she admits she grew up mixing poisons for coin. I say we question her under truth serum until she reveals who paid her."
Scarlet's stomach tightened, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she met Spez's glare with a cool, level stare. "If you want to pour truth serum down my throat, my lord, at least have the decency to offer breakfast first. Poison always goes down easier on a full stomach." A few uneasy chuckles broke the tension. Sawyer's mouth twitched with the start of a smile before he regained his composure.
"Enough. Scarlet will examine the remnants of the carriage this morning under guard. If she can tell us anything useful about the device, we will listen. Until then, she remains my guest." The dismissal was quiet, but absolute. As the council filed out, Spez shot her one last venomous look.
Sawyer waited until the heavy doors closed before he rose and crossed to her. "You handled that well," he said softly.
"I've had practice." She shrugged one shoulder, trying for nonchalance, even as her pulse still raced. "Doesn't mean I enjoyed it."
He studied her for a long moment, then reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You handled it better than most lords twice your age."
"Come," he said. "Let's get you out of this room." He led her through a sunlit corridor and down a wide stone staircase into the palace's lower courtyard where the shattered carriage had been dragged overnight. The wreck lay in pieces across the flagstones like a gutted beast. The smell of scorched wood still clung to the air. Scarlet knelt beside the largest fragment of the undercarriage, fingers tracing the charred edge where the mage fire powder had been packed. Sawyer crouched beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. Two guards stood at a respectful distance, but she noticed how Sawyer positioned himself between her and them.
"Tell me what you see," he murmured. She pointed to a faint residue along a seam. "They used a slow-burn fuse soaked in nightshade oil. It wouldn't ignite from normal jostling. Only when the carriage door was opened and weight shifted onto the floorboard trigger. Whoever built this wanted you inside before it went off."
Sawyer's jaw flexed. "And the scent nightshade masks itself under sulfur if you know how to blend them. Most noses miss it until it's too late." She glanced sideways at him, even sharp ones. He gave a low, rofal sound. Apparently. Their shoulders brushed as she reached for another shard. The contact sent that same low tug through her chest. She told herself it was only leftover adrenaline. Her body clearly hadn't received the message.
"You're good at this," he said quietly.
"I've had to be." She sat back on her heels, wiping soot from her hands. "When you grow up learning which plants can kill and which can heal, you learn to pay attention or you don't live long."
Sawyer watched her carefully. "I'm sorry you had to learn those lessons so young." The sincerity in his voice unsettled her.
"Don't be. They kept me breathing long enough to yank a king out of a fireball."
A faint smile curved his mouth. "And for that, I'm grateful."
Before she could reply, light footsteps pattered across the courtyard. A small girl of about eight hovered at the edge, half hidden behind a pillar, one scuffed boot twisting nervously against the stone. Messy dark braids framed a pair of wide amber eyes that kept darting between Scarlet and the wreckage. She bit her lip, then took one small step forward before blurting, "Is it true you pulled his majesty out of an exploding carriage?"
Sawyer's voice softened instantly. "Mera, you were told to stay inside today." The girl's cheeks flushed pink as she stepped closer, eyes fixed on Scarlet. "Now, did you really do magic? Can I see, please?"
Scarlet blinked, surprised by the earnest little face. "No magic, just loud horses and very bad timing."
Mera's gap-toothed grin broke wide open. "You smell like adventure and smoke."
"Mostly smoke." She crept closer. Small hands clasped tight in front of her. "I'm really good at finding tiny things. Papa always said I had eyes like a hawk. Can I help just a little?"
Sawyer's expression flickered with quiet pain. "Mera lost her father in the Northern Wars," he murmured to Scarlet. "She's been finding ways to stay busy." Scarlet felt a sharp tug in her chest. She knew that restless ache all too well.
"Here," she said gently, crouching down and offering Mera a small, harmless fragment of charred wood. "See if you can spot any strange marks on this one."
Meera's face lit up like she'd been handed treasure. She dropped to her knees beside them, braids falling forward as she examined the piece with fierce concentration, already chattering about how she was going to be the best guard in Ayria one day. For the next half hour, the three of them worked side by side. Scarlet pointing out residue patterns, Meera's excited voice filling the courtyard, and Sawyer watching them both with a quiet, protective warmth that made Scarlet's heart feel dangerously soft. Every so often his hand brushed hers as they reached for the same shard, and each time the contact lingered just a little longer than necessary.
When Meera finally grew bored and ran off to chase a palace cat, Sawyer helped Scarlet to her feet. His fingers lingered at her elbow again. "Thank you," he said. "She hasn't smiled like that in months."
Scarlet shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "Kids are easy. They haven't learned to be afraid of strangers yet."
"You don't feel like a stranger to her." His voice dropped low and rough around the edges. "Or to me." The air between them changed. She could feel the heat rolling off his body in waves, warmer than the afternoon sun, carrying that deep pine and wild scent that made her pulse stumble. For one dangerous heartbeat, she imagined stepping closer, pressing her cheek to that solid chest, and letting all the weight she'd carried alone finally rest somewhere else. She forced herself to step back instead, breaking the pull.
"I should wash this soot off before the next council meeting decides I'm guilty by association."
Sawyer didn't argue, but he walked her back through the palace himself, guards trailing at a discrete distance. Along the way, he pointed out small, personal things. A night-bloom vine he'd planted as a boy because its scent reminded him of the forest. The way the midday light turned the fountain into liquid gold. A hidden alcove high on the eastern wall where he liked to sit and think. He spoke quietly, as if he were offering her pieces of his private world, like treasures he hoped she'd like. There was something undeniably endearing in the way he watched her reactions, eager to see if his territory pleased her. Each shared detail felt like a gift, an invitation into the parts of himself he rarely showed anyone.
That afternoon, the council reconvened in a storm of raised voices. Lord Spez was louder than ever, slamming a leather ledger onto the table. "Nightshade purchases near the border, your majesty. Purchased in the exact quantities needed for mage firepower. And this woman admits she knows how to blend it. This case is open and shut from where I stand."
Scarlet stood at the side of the chamber, spine straight, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles ached. The accusations flew like arrows. She had nowhere to hide. Then a calm, measured voice cut through the noise.
"Enough, Lord Spez." Lady Vivia rose from her seat near Sawyer, silver threads gleaming in her dark hair. She carried herself with quiet authority, every inch the trusted counselor. "The girl saved the king's life at great personal risk. Until we have actual proof of guilt rather than convenient suspicion, I suggest we treat her with the respect she has earned. Or have we forgotten basic gratitude in this hall?" Her words carried weight. Several counselors shifted uncomfortably. Sawyer gave Vivia a small nod of thanks, but his eyes kept returning to Scarlet across the room, steady and reassuring.
The session dragged on. By the time it ended, Scarlet's head throbbed and her shoulders were tight with tension. The investigation was still open. The second explosion in the stables had confirmed there was an active threat inside the palace walls. No one was allowed to leave until the culprit was found. Least of all the only witness who had smelled the poison before it detonated. She was stuck here whether she liked it or not.
Sawyer caught her in the corridor before she could slip away. "You're exhausted," he said, noting the shadows under her eyes.
"I've had worse days."
"I doubt that." He hesitated, then offered his arm. "Walk with me. There's a garden that might clear your head. No counselors, no questions, just quiet." She knew she should refuse. Instead, she found herself sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow. The muscle beneath her fingers was warm and solid.
They walked in companionable silence at first, gravel crunching under their boots. The garden unfolded around them: high hedges of blooming jasmine, beds of lavender, and a small orchard where late apples glowed gold in the afternoon light. Sawyer kept his pace slow, matching hers as though he were in no hurry to return to the crown.
"You're quiet," he said after a while.
"I'm thinking." She glanced up at him. "You're different than the stories."
"What do the stories say?"
"That wolves take what they want. That once they decide something is theirs, there's no escaping it." He gave a low, rofal sound and rubbed the back of his neck. "Some wolves do. I used to be one of them." He stopped beside the stone bench beneath the flowering arbor and waited until she sat before lowering himself beside her, careful to leave her space. "The Northern Wars turned me into something darker than I like to remember. But when I came home, I swore I'd never use that kind of power on anyone who couldn't fight back." He glanced at her. "You bring out a different side of me."
Scarlet studied the strong line of his profile. "And yet you still lock doors from the outside."
His jaw tightened. "That was for your protection last night. The second blast proved someone inside these walls wants me dead. I couldn't risk them coming for you next." He turned to face her fully, amber eyes earnest. "If you truly want to leave, I'll arrange safe passage tomorrow. No guards, no conditions, but I have a feeling you're safer staying here for now."
"Why do you say that?"
"I'm good at taking care of myself," she said quietly.
"I know you are." His voice dropped low and rough around the edges. "But my wolf is very fond of you. He's been calmer since you grabbed my arm in that square. I'd like you to stay a little longer. At least until we know you're safe for sure."
Heat bloomed low in her stomach. She looked away, focusing on the sway of the jasmine overhead. "I don't know what to do with that."
"Then don't decide today," he said gently. "Just stay long enough to let me prove I'm not the monster the stories painted."
They spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden. He asked about her travels, the remote villages where she'd traded healing for bread, the mountain passes she'd crossed alone in winter. She answered carefully at first, then found herself sharing more than she intended, the way moonlight looked on fresh snow, the fierce satisfaction of watching a fever finally break after days of fighting it. In return, Sawyer told her about the long nights he spent reading old treaties, trying to build a peace that would outlast him, and how the wars had left him haunted by the men he couldn't save, including Meera's father. His voice grew quieter when he spoke of those losses, and Scarlet felt the unexpected urge to reach for his hand.
When the sun began to dip, he walked her back to her rooms. At her door, he stopped, reached past her, and deliberately turned the handle. "Unlocked," he said simply. "From now on, you're not a prisoner here, Scarlet. You never were."
She looked up at him. The hallway was quiet, the torchlight softening the sharp lines of his face. He stood close enough that she could feel the steady heat of his body again, that deep scent wrapping around her. For a moment, neither of them moved. Sawyer's gaze dropped to her mouth. His throat worked as he swallowed hard. Then he took one careful step back, clearing his throat. "Sleep well," he murmured. "If you need anything, I'm just down the hall." He lingered a beat longer than necessary before forcing himself to turn and walk away, shoulders tight with restraint.
The next morning, Scarlet woke to a soft knock. When she opened the door, Meera stood there with neater braids and a lopsided basket of slightly crushed wildflowers clutched in both hands. "These are for you, Miss Scarlet," she announced. She rocked on her heels, peeking up through her lashes. "They're the prettiest ones I could find. Can I come in?"
"I promise I won't talk too much."
Scarlet's mouth curved despite herself. "I like talking. Come on." Meera darted inside like a happy little storm, placing the flowers on the windowsill with great ceremony. For the next hour, she followed Scarlet like an eager shadow while Scarlet sorted through the herbs the palace healer had sent. She chattered non-stop in her bright, piping voice. "Did you know wolves can hear heartbeats if they listen really hard? Mine goes extra fast when I'm excited. The cook makes honey cakes shaped like little moons because the moon is our favorite. I'm practicing my shifting every night, but I still mostly just get fluffy ears. It's very annoying."
At one point, Meera climbed onto the window seat, knees tucked under her chin, and watched Scarlet crush dried feverfew with a pestle. "You're really pretty when you concentrate, Miss Scarlet. Like the king, but softer. He gets all serious. You get sparkly eyes." Scarlet's hands stilled, a smile tugging at her lips. "Sparkly eyes." Meera nodded solemnly, then leaned in like she was sharing state secrets. "He smiles more when you're around. Yesterday in the garden, he looked happy. He never lets anyone sit that close except me and sometimes Lady Vivia. But with you, he kept finding reasons to touch your hand." She giggled, covering her mouth with both palms. "I think he likes you a lot, but he's trying really hard to be good and not scare you away like a big silly wolf."
Scarlet felt her cheeks warm. "You're very observant for someone so small, Mera."
Meera beamed, gap-toothed and proud. "Papa said, 'I notice everything. That's why I'm going to be the best guard someday.'"
Later that afternoon, Meera insisted on giving her a very important tour. She took Scarlet's hand and tugged her through corridors and courtyards, chattering the whole way. "This is the kitchen. They always save me the burnt honey cakes because I like the crispy bits. This is the nursery where the little pups sleep all piled together like puppies. And this—" She pushed open a door to a bright, cheerful room filled with toys and cushions. "—is where the ones who don't have mamas and papas anymore stay. We get extra stories at night. The king checks on us every week and brings us new books."
Scarlet's throat tightened. She crouched down so she was eye-level with the girl. "What's the king like when he visits you?"
Meera thought for a second, swinging their joined hands. "He's big and scary to bad people, but with us he's nice. He lets us climb on him and tells the silliest stories about when he was a pup and kept falling in the river. He says we're his pack, too." Meera tugged Scarlet's hand again. "Come on, I saved the best for last."
The outer battlements where I practice being a guard. They climbed the wide stone steps together, the wind growing stronger as they reached the top. Meera skipped ahead along the parapet, arms outstretched like she was balancing on a beam, then doubled back to slip her small hand into Scarlet's. "Don't go away too soon, okay, Miss Scarlet," she whispered, braids bouncing in the breeze. "The king smiles different when you're here. And so do I."
Scarlet swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. "I'm still deciding."
Meera nodded wisely, braids bouncing. By the time they made it back inside, Meera was yawning so widely her whole face scrunched up. Scarlet brushed a stray braid out of the girl's eyes. "I think someone needs a nap."
"I'm not tired," Meera protested, even as her eyelids drooped. Scarlet smiled softly. "How about I walk you back to your room? You can guard it from your favorite cushion until I come find you later." Meera's face brightened at the idea of an important mission. "Okay. But promise you'll come back for me, Miss Scarlet."
"I promise." Scarlet walked her there, watching as Meera climbed onto a pile of colorful cushions. The little girl curled up like a sleepy pup, humming an off-key patrol song under her breath. Only then did Scarlet head back to her own rooms, the warmth of the day and Meera's easy trust still lingering in her chest.
That evening, Scarlet slipped away from her rooms and climbed back to the outer battlements. The wind tugged at her cloak as the sky bled orange and rose. She needed the height, the open air, the illusion that she could still choose to disappear if she wanted. She rounded the corner and stopped short. Sawyer was already there, leaning against the stone parapet. He straightened when he saw her, surprise flickering across his face before something warmer took its place.
"Couldn't stay away either?" he asked.
"I needed to think." She moved closer, stopping a few feet from him. The sunset painted gold across his sharp jaw and the molten flecks in his eyes. "You come up here often."
"Only when the walls feel too close." He turned slightly toward her, the space between them shrinking. "It's better with you here."
Scarlet felt that familiar tug low in her chest again, stronger now, impossible to ignore. She could smell his scent on the wind. Could feel the steady heat radiating from his body, even with the chill in the air. Before she could answer, a faint whistle sliced through the dusk. Sawyer's head snapped toward the sound, instincts lightning-fast. In the same instant, Scarlet saw the glint of an arrowhead cutting through the fading light, aimed straight for her.
He moved first. With a low, guttural growl, he lunged, shoving her behind him and twisting his body to shield her completely. The first arrow slammed into his shoulder with a sickening thud. Pain exploded across Scarlet's left arm as a second arrow grazed her, tearing through cloth and skin. They crashed to the stone together. Sawyer rolled midfall, taking the full impact against the parapet, so she landed on top of him instead of the unforgiving rock. His arms locked around her like iron bands, shielding her even as blood bloomed hot and fast across his tunic and down her sleeve.
"Scarlet." His roar was raw, terrified. For one suspended second, his hands frantically searched her for injury, trembling with barely leashed panic. Then fury overtook fear. "Guards!" he bellowed, the command carrying the full thunder of Alpha power. Shouts erupted along the battlements. Sawyer didn't wait for them. Ignoring the arrow still lodged in his shoulder, he scooped her up against his chest with one arm. The other pressed hard over the bleeding graze on her arm and strode toward the healer's wing like the palace itself was burning down around them. His heart hammered violently against her cheek. She could feel him shaking, not just from pain, but from a deeper, more personal terror.
In the quiet infirmary, he set her on the examination table first, his movements careful despite the blood soaking his own tunic. "Her first," he ordered, voice rough and strained. "She's bleeding. Help her first." The healer hesitated, eyes flicking to the arrow protruding from Sawyer's shoulder. "Your majesty."
"Now," Sawyer growled, the word carrying every ounce of Alpha Command, even as pain etched deep lines around his mouth. He refused to sit, refusing to let anyone touch him until the healer had cleaned and bandaged the graze on Scarlet's arm. Only then did he allow himself to be guided to the second table, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped. His gaze never left her.
When the healer finally stepped out for fresh supplies, Sawyer crossed the short distance and dropped to one knee in front of her. His large hands framed her waist with great care, as though she might shatter. "I have never wanted to keep anyone safe the way I want to keep you," he said, voice rough and fractured. "And I failed. That arrow was meant for me. You're hurt because of me. I should have sensed it sooner. I should have." His words broke. He pressed his forehead to her uninjured shoulder, breathing hard, the sheer weight of his regret cracking something deep inside her chest.
Scarlet lifted her good hand and threaded her fingers into his dark hair. "Hey," she whispered. "It takes a lot more than one stray arrow to kill me. I've survived worse than this on bad tavern stew alone."
He lifted his head. Their faces were barely an inch apart. His breath ghosted warm across her lips, and she could feel the heat rolling off his body in waves, fierce and unsteady. That deep pine and wild scent filled every inhale, making her pulse stutter. Sawyer's gaze dropped to her mouth, dark and hungry. His thumb traced the edge of her lower lip, slow, deliberate. She felt the tremor running through him, the raw effort it took not to close the last sliver of space between them.
"Scarlet," he breathed.
Just then the door opened. Lady Vivia stepped in with a tray of fresh salves and clean linen. She paused just inside the threshold, one elegant brow arching as she took in the charged silence, the way Sawyer still knelt between Scarlet's knees, and the unmistakable heat thickening the air.
"Well," she said lightly, a knowing smile curving her lips. "I see the arrows weren't the only thing flying tonight. I'll be quick."
Sawyer pulled back slowly, jaw tight, though his hand lingered on Scarlet's knee a moment longer, fingers flexing like he couldn't quite let go. Vivia moved with graceful efficiency, setting the tray down and gently easing Sawyer aside so she could inspect Scarlet's wound. Her movements were calm and practiced, but Scarlet caught the subtle glance she sent toward the king, equal parts amusement and quiet understanding.
"You were both very brave," Vivia murmured as she cleaned the graze with careful hands. "Though I suspect bravery isn't the only thing making the air so warm in here."
Scarlet let out a soft, breathless laugh despite the sting. Her eyes kept drifting to Sawyer across the small space. He stood now, arms crossed tightly over his chest as if physically holding himself back, his gaze never leaving her. The look he gave her was raw, unguarded, and full of quiet, fierce promise. She was falling for him. And this time, she wasn't sure she wanted to stop.
The next day, Sawyer threw himself into the investigation with a single-minded intensity that made even the most hardened guards uneasy. He doubled the patrols, recalled every scout from the border, and personally interrogated every servant. His voice stayed calm in the council chamber, but Scarlet saw the wolf pacing behind his eyes, restless, protective, and growing more desperate with every unanswered question. He never left her unguarded. When she moved through the palace, he was never far. When she worked in the herb garden, he appeared with excuses and stayed until the sun dipped low.
On the fourth evening, after another fruitless council meeting, Sawyer found her in the stables checking on the horses that had survived the first blast. The animals still shied at sudden noises, but they calmed under her hands.
"You should be resting," he said from the doorway, voice low.
"I rest better when my hands are busy." She stroked the neck of a dappled mare. "Besides, these two still wake up thrashing at night."
"I know the feeling." He stepped closer, the scent of pine and warm leather preceding him. "I have an idea that might help you heal faster and show you something I've been wanting you to see."
She raised an eyebrow. "Does this idea involve leaving the palace walls?"
"It does." A faint, almost boyish smile touched his mouth. "My wolf form can share strength through proximity. It's an old pack trick. Nothing forced, nothing binding. Will you ride with me at dusk?"
Scarlet's pulse quickened. She knew what this meant. Not flowers or courtly promises, but something far more primal.
"One ride. If I don't like it, we turn back."
His eyes flashed with quiet relief. "Deal."
They left the palace as the sun began its slow descent, riding out through the eastern gate with only a small, trusted escort that kept a respectful distance. The countryside opened around them in rolling hills and ancient pine forests. When they reached a secluded meadow ringed by trees, Sawyer dismounted and helped her down, his hands lingering at her waist. He took a step back, rolling his shoulders. "If it feels wrong, tell me and I'll stop."
Scarlet nodded, heart hammering. The shift rolled over him like dark water, bones reshaped with fluid grace, fur rippling across skin until a massive black wolf stood where the man had been. He was enormous, taller at the shoulder than most horses, with sleek midnight fur and those same burning amber eyes. Power and wildness rolled off him in waves. Yet when he looked at her, the gaze was unmistakably Sawyer's, steady, protective, and achingly gentle. He moved first, circling her slowly, nose brushing her hip in a careful pass. Then he pressed his huge head against her stomach, the weight warm and solid, a low rumble vibrating through his chest like a contented growl. The sound sank into her bones, easing the lingering ache in her wounded arm and the deeper bruise in her chest she hadn't acknowledged. Scarlet's breath caught. She sank her fingers into the thick fur at his neck, feeling the steady thunder of his heartbeat. The wolf leaned into her touch, eyes half-closed in pure trust. Human courtship had never felt like this. It had never wrapped around her like a living thing, promising to stand between her and every shadow in the world. His wolf gave one last gentle nudge against her, then trotted a few paces away, disappearing behind a thick stand of pines. She heard the low, fluid sounds of shifting, bones reshaping, fur receding. When Sawyer stepped back into view, he was gloriously, unapologetically naked. For one stunned second, Scarlet forgot how to breathe. He was all hard, sculpted muscle, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, powerful thighs corded from years of riding and fighting. Even the way he kept one large hand cupped over himself couldn't hide how sizable he was. Heat flooded her face and low in her belly as she forced her eyes upward. He moved quickly behind another tree trunk. "Give me a second," he called, voice muffled and slightly embarrassed. "I swear I usually plan these things better." He emerged a moment later with his trousers hastily pulled on, tunic still hanging open at the collar, dark hair wildly tousled, residual gold still flickering in his amber eyes as he approached, looking equal parts powerful and endearingly self-conscious.
"Does your arm feel better?" he asked, voice rough. "Much?"
She couldn't quite meet his eyes. "Your wolf. He doesn't hold back, does he?"
"No." Sawyer took one step closer, then stopped himself, fists clenched like he was physically holding the wolf in check. "Neither do I when it comes to you, but I'm trying for you." The admission landed like a spark on dry tinder. Scarlet felt herself leaning forward before she caught herself. But Meera, who had somehow convinced the escort to let her ride along on her pony, chose that exact moment to come galloping into the meadow, braids flying.
"Miss Scarlet, did you see the big wolf? Was he scary? Did he lick your face? He licks mine when I have nightmares."
Sawyer let out a low laugh and ruffled the girl's hair as she slid off the pony. "No licking today, little one."
Meera grinned mischievously. "Not yet."
The ride back was lighter, filled with Meera's endless questions and Sawyer's quiet smiles every time Scarlet answered. But the heat from the meadow lingered between them like smoke. Unspoken, undeniable.
The following morning, the investigation finally bore fruit. A ledger surfaced with nightshade purchases traced directly to Lord Spez's personal accounts. The court erupted in celebration when Sawyer ordered the arrest. Spez was dragged away shouting denials, red-faced and sputtering. Banners were raised, toasts drunk in the great hall. Scarlet stood at the edge of the celebration, half hidden in the shadow of a marble pillar, while laughter and raised goblets filled the hall. Between her fingers, she turned a small silver wolf charm no larger than a coin. She had pried it free from the fletching of the arrow that had struck Sawyer on the battlements. The charm was delicate work, finely etched fur, tiny amber eyes set with chips of polished stone, nothing like Lord Spez's heavy, gaudy signets. She closed her fist around it, the silver warming against her palm. Her gaze drifted across the room to where Sawyer stood surrounded by congratulatory nobles, his shoulder still bandaged beneath his formal tunic. He caught her eye and the corner of his mouth lifted in that small, private smile reserved only for her. Scarlet forced herself to smile back, but the wolf charm burned against her skin like a warning she couldn't yet read.
That night, after the feasting died down, a soft knock sounded at her door. Lady Vivia stood in the corridor, a small tray of fragrant tea in her hands.
"May I come in? I thought you might need something to help you sleep after such a long day."
Scarlet stepped aside. They settled by the window, the steam from the tea curling between them.
"I had a mate once," Vivia said softly, eyes distant. "A human mate. His name was Elias. Kind, thoughtful, the sort of soul that made you believe the world could be softer than it is." She gave a small, wistful smile. "We met during the early days of the Northern Wars. The bond snapped into place so fiercely, I thought it would consume us both. But he was too fragile for our world. He tried so hard to stand beside me, and it broke him." Vivia reached over and squeezed Scarlet's hand. "Wolves mate for life, my dear. But humans break so easily under that kind of weight. I don't want to see you shattered the way I was. Be careful with your heart. Some bonds ask for more than you can give."
The words settled uneasily in Scarlet's chest. Vivia studied her for a long moment, then lowered her voice to a near whisper. "The investigation is over. Lord Spez is in chains. The court is celebrating. And the king is distracted tonight. If you wish to slip away, midnight would be the perfect opening. No one would notice until morning. You could be miles from here before anyone raised the alarm."
Scarlet's pulse stuttered. The offer hung between them, tempting in its simplicity. Freedom, safety, the life she had always chosen for herself. She swallowed.
"I... I'll consider it."
Vivia gave her a gentle, understanding smile and rose to leave. "Think carefully, my dear. Some doors once closed are very difficult to open again."
Alone again, she sat on the edge
of the bed, turning the silver wolf charm slowly between her fingers. In the moonlight, it glinted softly, its tiny wolf eyes seeming to watch her with quiet, unblinking intensity. She closed her fist around it, but the feeling lingered.
By midnight, the celebrations had long since faded into distant laughter and the occasional burst of song, but the corridors below remained alive, with wine loosened guards and servants carrying empty trays. Vivia's words echoed in Scarlet's head. Midnight would be the perfect opening. Freedom waited on the other side of that thought. She could slip out the side gate, lose herself in the dark, become invisible again. It was what she had always done.
But her body remembered the heat of Sawyer's chest against her cheek as he carried her bleeding through the halls. It remembered the low, broken sound of his voice when he knelt in front of her. It remembered the way his wolf had pressed its head to her like she was already home. She closed her fist around the charm until the tiny wolf eyes bit into her skin.
A soft knock sounded. She opened the door expecting mirror or a servant. Instead, Sawyer stood there still dressed in the formal tunic from the celebration. "I couldn't sleep," he said simply. "I needed to see that you were all right." He entered, closing the door behind him with quiet care. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker. The single lantern painted warm light across the sharp lines of his jaw and the golden flecks that still lingered in his eyes.
"You're leaving," he said. She looked down at the charm in her hand. I was considering it. Silence stretched between them, heavy with everything they hadn't named. Sawyer took one slow step closer, then stopped himself as if the effort cost him. "I won't stop you. I promised you that. But before you go, I need you to know something." His voice dropped, rough and vulnerable. "My wolf chose you the moment you grabbed my arm in that square. Not because you saved my life, because you called to something in me that I thought the wars had burned out. I've spent every day since trying to be worthy of that call." He lifted his hand, then let it fall. "If you walk out that door tonight, I'll make sure you have safe passage and coin and anything else you need. But I will miss you with every breath I take. and my wolf, he will never stop looking for you."
Scarlet felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She had spent her whole life running from powerful men who took what they wanted. Sawyer was offering her the one thing none of them ever gave, a choice. She took a shaky step toward him. "I'm terrified," she whispered. "of how much I want to stay, of what it might cost me to belong to someone the way your wolf wants to belong to me."
Sawyer's breath hitched. He closed the last distance between them, but didn't touch her. "Then let me prove that my strength can protect you without ever caging you." Their foreheads nearly touched. She could feel the heat of his body, the rapid beat of his heart, the way his hands trembled with the effort of holding back. The pull between them was no longer a tug. It was a living current humming under her skin, urging her closer. She rose onto her toes, their lips brushed, soft, tentative, full of every unsaid promise. Sawyer made a low, desperate sound in his throat and kissed her properly, one hand sliding into her hair, the other settling at the small of her back. The kiss was slow and deep. Years of loneliness and longing poured into every brush of lips and tongue.
When they finally broke apart, Sawyer's voice was wrecked. "Stay! Not because I command it, but because you want to." Scarlet closed her eyes. I'm still deciding," she said, but her voice shook with something that sounded a lot like Yes. Sawyer studied her for a long moment, then brushed his thumb across her cheek. "I'll be just down the hall if you need me." He gave her one last longing look before he turned to leave. At the door, he paused, brow furrowing. "Are you all right, Scarlet? You look a little winded." "I'm okay," she managed, forcing a small smile. "I guess your kiss has that effect on me. I'll sleep it off." He nodded, though reluctance lingered in every line of his body. "Sweet dreams, Scarlet."
Scarlet sank onto the edge of the bed, mind spinning. An hour later, Vivia slipped inside, carrying a fresh pot of tea. "You didn't leave," she said quietly, closing the door behind her. "I hoped you would. Midnight was your best chance." Scarlet's stomach tightened. "What are you talking about?" Vivia set the tray down and poured a cup with steady hands. "Drink this. It will help you sleep." She offered the cup, her eyes sad but resolute. "I orchestrated everything, Scarlet. The carriage bomb, the arrows, the explosion in the stables. Not because I hate Sawyer, because I love him too much to watch him repeat my mistakes." Her voice remained calm, laced with tragic conviction. "I've watched Sawyer softening peace treaties, mercy for enemies, now a human mate who would only weaken the pack the same way Elias weakened me. I plan to remove him, frame Lord Spez, and rule as regent for a stronger successor, one who would keep our people safe." She held the cup out again. "You're kind, Scarlet. That's why this will be gentle. Drink the rest. It will only hurt for a moment."
Scarlet's vision blurred at the edges. The room tilted. She realized with dread what Vivia had done. the tea from earlier now reinforced. Her limbs grew heavy, heart racing erratically as fire spread beneath her skin. She knocked the cup away with a clumsy swipe. It shattered on the floor. "No!" Vivia stroked her hair almost tenderly as Scarlet collapsed, gasping, struggling to breathe. "I'm sorry, my dear. You would have been his weakness. I can't allow it." Vivia slipped out, taking the silver wolf charm with her, then locked the door behind her with a soft click.
Sawyer jolted awake in his bed, hearts slamming against his ribs like a war drum. Something was wrong, violently wrong. The mate bond, still raw and new between them, twisted in his chest like a blade. He could feel her fading, her breath shallow and panicked. A distant echo of pain and fear that wasn't his own. He was moving before conscious thought caught up, bare feet hitting cold stone as he sprinted down the corridor. When he reached her door, the wolf inside him tore free. The wood exploded inward under his shoulder. He burst into the room, eyes wild, claws already pricking at his fingertips. The sight of Scarlet crumpled on the floor, lips blue, chest heaving in shallow, desperate gasps, ripped a guttural sound from his throat that was more animal than man. "Scarlet." Terror clawed up his spine, sharper than any battlefield wound. Not her. Not like this. He dropped to his knees, scooping her up against his chest with shaking hands. Her skin burned against his. Her body convulsed once, and he tightened his hold as if sheer will could keep her anchored to him. "Healers!" he roared down the corridor, voice cracking with raw fear. He ran with her through the halls, cradling her through every spasm, murmuring frantic promises against her hair. "Stay with me. Please stay with me. I can't lose you."
In the healer's wing, the staff swarmed. Sawyer refused to release her until they gently pried her from his arms. Even then, he stayed within arm's reach, blood from his reopened shoulder wound dripping onto the floor as he paced like a caged beast, eyes never leaving her pale face. While the healers worked feverishly, forcing antidotes down her throat, cooling her burning skin with damp cloths, Sawyer stormed the throne hall. Every step fueled by a fear so deep it felt like it could swallow the palace whole. Vivia waited there, flanked by a small group of loyalists. When they drew blades, Sawyer's fury detonated. He moved like the wolf he was born to be. Brutal, precise, unstoppable. Claws flashed, bones cracked. In minutes, the loyalists were disarmed or unconscious on the marble floor. He advanced on Vivia, eyes blazing molten gold, a low, continuous growl vibrating in his chest. His hand shot out and closed around her throat, slamming her back against the throne with enough force to splinter the wood behind her. "Why?" The word tore out of him, raw and ragged. Viva didn't struggle. She met his gaze with exhausted, grief-carved eyes. "Because I loved you too much to watch you destroy yourself the way I did." Sawyer's grip tightened, claws pricking skin. "You poisoned her. You tried to take her from me." "I watched you softening," she rasped, voice steady, despite the pressure on her throat. "Peace treaties, mercy. A human mate who would only weaken the pack the same way Elias weakened me. I orchestrated everything. I needed to remove you before you bound yourself to her and doomed us forever." Sawyer's free hand trembled with the need to crush her windpipe. The wolf howled inside him to end her, to tear out the threat to his mate. His claws dug deeper. A thin line of blood trickled down her neck. "You would have killed the woman I love," he snarled. Vivia's eyes flickered with something close to relief. "I thought I was saving you."
For one terrifying heartbeat, Sawyer almost did it. His muscles coiled, ready to snap her neck and silence the threat forever. Then Scarlet's face flashed behind his eyes, pale, weak, but still breathing on that healer's cot. The way she had looked at him in the infirmary, whispering that it took more than one arrow to kill her. the way she had chosen to stay, even when she was terrified. Froze, his hand loosened, not out of mercy for Vivia, but because he knew Scarlet would never want him to become the monster the wars had tried to make him. He released her throat and stepped back, breathing hard. The entire court watched in stunned silence. "You will never rule again," he said, voice low and final. "I strip you of every title, every privilege, every drop of authority you ever held, and I take your wolf." Viva's eyes widened in genuine horror for the first time. Sawyer placed his palm against her chest, right over her heart. Power surged through him. Ancient, pack-born, merciless. He reached for the wolf inside her and severed the bond with a single brutal twist of will. Vivia gasped, body jerking as if struck. The golden light in her eyes flickered and died, leaving them dull and human. "You will live out what remains of your life as you made my mate suffer," he said coldly. "Without the strength you prize so highly, you will be taken to a remote northern outpost with healers who will ease your final days. But you will never see this pack again." Vivia sagged, the fight draining out of her.
The moment the last guard dragged Vivia away, Sawyer turned and ran back through the corridors toward the healer's wing, heart still pounding with lingering terror. When he burst through the doors, Scarlet was sitting up on the cot, pale but conscious, their eyes locked. Relief crashed over him so hard his knees nearly buckled. He crossed the room and dropped to his knees beside her cot. His hands framed her face with infinite care, thumbs brushing away the last traces of tears and sweat. "You stayed," he murmured. "I stayed," she whispered back, reaching up to touch the fresh bandage on his shoulder. "What happened with Vivia?" Sawyer's jaw tightened. He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing her in like she was the only air left in the world. "She confessed everything. She thought she was protecting the pack, protecting me the same way no one protected her human mate." His voice cracked. "I almost killed her. My wolf wanted blood, but I stopped because I knew you wouldn't want that." Scarlet's breath hitched. She searched his face, seeing the exhaustion, the guilt, the fierce love still burning beneath it all. "You chose mercy," she said softly. "I chose you." His laugh was shaky. He rested his forehead against hers again, eyes closed. They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing each other in while the bond between them hummed brighter and steadier than it ever had.
Later, when the palace had finally quieted and the healers had declared both of them stable, Sawyer walked her back to her rooms. This time, he didn't stop at the door. He followed her inside and pulled her into his arms and held her, one hand stroking slowly down her back as if reassuring himself she was real and alive. "I meant what I said earlier," he murmured against her hair. "You don't have to decide everything tonight. Just stay with me a little longer. Let me show you what it can be like when someone chooses you every single day." Scarlet tilted her head back to look at him. The lantern light caught the gold in his eyes and the quiet vulnerability in his expression. She reached up and traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips. "I think I'm more terrified now of walking away than I am of staying." Sawyer leaned down and kissed her. "Then stay," he whispered. "And we'll face every shadow together." Outside the window, the moon hung full and bright over Yria. Inside, Scarlet let herself lean into the solid warmth of the man who had chosen to protect instead of possess, to wait instead of demand. For the first time in her life, the locked doors felt like safety instead of a cage.
3 months later, Scarlet still woke some mornings, reaching for the small dagger she used to keep beneath her pillow. But instead of a cold blade, her fingers now found warm skin, Sawyer's arm draped possessively across her waist, his breath steady against the back of her neck. The mate bond hummed between them like a living thing, quiet and content, no longer a desperate tug, but a steady pulse she had learned to trust. She had not become queen in the way the court expected. She had refused the crown's heavy jewels and formal title, choosing instead to remain the palace's master herbalist. She taught young healers how to read danger in a scent or a tremor. The guarded survivor in her had not vanished. She had simply found a place where her edges were no longer weapons, but tools.
Mera had become her constant shadow. The little girl appeared every morning with slightly neater braids and a lopsided basket of flowers bursting into the herb garden like a small sunbeam. "Good morning, Aunt Scarlet. I brought you the prettiest ones again. They even have dew on them. See, like tiny diamonds." Today was no different. Meera skipped straight to Scarlet's side in the herb gardens, braids swinging. "Mr. King is watching you from the balcony again." She cupped both hands around her mouth like she was sharing the biggest secret. "I think his wolf likes the way you smell when you work with the herbs. It makes his tail wag inside." Scarlet glanced up, catching Sawyer's silhouette against the morning light. He leaned on the railing, arms crossed, a small private smile playing at his lips as he watched them. When their eyes met, the smile deepened into something warmer. "He's not the only one watching," Scarlet said softly, handing Meera a small bunch of feverfew. "Here, sort these for me, Meera. And try not to crush them into fairy dust this time." Meera's eyes went wide with delight at the important job. "Yes, Aunt Scarlet." She took the herbs with both hands as if they were made of glass, then immediately started arranging them in neat little rows while humming an offkey tune.
Pack life was louder and more communal than anything Scarlet had ever known. Yet she had carved out space for herself within it. She answered to no one but her own conscience, and Sawyer never asked her to change. He simply showed up like now. Sawyer descended the garden steps with two mugs of steaming tea and a small plate of honey cakes shaped like little moons, Meera's favorite. The girl let out a delighted squeal and abandoned her careful sorting to claim one immediately. "Thank you, Mr. King," she chirped, already halfway through the first bite, crumbs dusting her cheeks. "These are the best ones yet. You remembered the extra honey." Sawyer's gaze found Scarlet's over Meera's head. The look in his eyes was the same one he gave her every morning, protective, romantic, and full of the kind of devotion that didn't need grand gestures. He set the second mug beside her and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the touch lingering just long enough to send warmth curling down her spine. "You're smiling," he murmured. "Am I?" She took a sip of tea, hiding her own grin behind the rim. "Must be the honey cakes." He leaned in closer, voice dropping for her ears alone. "Or the fact that you're still here, choosing us every day." Scarlet felt the familiar heat bloom low in her belly. She reached up and traced the faint scar on his shoulder where the arrow had struck him. The same night everything had nearly ended. "I'm still getting used to the idea that choosing doesn't mean losing myself." Sawyer caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. "You never have to. I fell in love with the woman who yanked a king out of fire. I don't want her any different."
Meera, mouthful of cake, suddenly piped up. "Aunt Scarlet, can we go to the clearing later? I want to show you how I can almost shift my ears now. Mr. King says, 'I'm getting better, but I think he's just being nice because he likes you.'" Sawyer coughed, ears turning faintly pink. Scarlet laughed, a sound that still felt new on her tongue.
The afternoon found them in the clearing behind the castle, the same meadow where Sawyer had first shifted for her. Sunlight dappled through the pines. Meera ran in circles, arms outstretched, occasionally producing a pair of fluffy dark ears that twitched with excitement before vanishing again. "See? Almost," she crowed, collapsing into the grass beside Scarlet. Scarlet ruffled the girl's hair. "You're getting there, but remember, shifting isn't about being fastest. It's about knowing when to hold back." Meera nodded solemnly, then tilted her head with a mischievous grin. "Like how you hold back when Mr. King looks at you. He gets all soft and you pretend you don't notice." Sawyer, who had been leaning against a tree watching them, let out a low laugh and joined them on the grass. He dropped down beside Scarlet. "She's not wrong," he murmured, voice warm with amusement. "You still notice everything dangerous?" "I sure do," she whispered. Sawyer smiled against her hair, one arm wrapping around her waist with that careful strength she had come to crave. "Good, because the most dangerous thing in my life now is how much I love you." The words settled over her like sunlight. She turned her face into his chest and breathed him in. pine and warm skin and the wild steady promise that had started with an explosion and ended with a choice. Meera, never one to be left out for long, crawled into the space between them, declaring herself the official pack pillow. When the light began to fade, Sawyer helped Scarlet to her feet. Meera skipped ahead, already planning tomorrow's adventures. They walked into the garden together. The explosion that started it all now just a scar they both carried.
Where are you listening from? If you need more Scarlet, Sawyer and Meera, I have extended bonus chapters on Patreon, including a very spicy chapter capturing their first night together, Sawyer's POV of all of it, and a mirror chapter that I genuinely could not stop writing. Link is in the pinned comment. I'll see you there.