The Soul’s Chorus

Chapter 11

The summons came not by steward, but by a sharp, silent glance across the training yard. Corbin stood on a balcony above, watching the young warriors spar. His eyes found Kaelen, who was observing the drills, and held. A slight tilt of the head. Come.

Kaelen’s blood went still for a moment, then resumed pumping with a heavy, dull rhythm. He turned and walked inside, his boots leaving prints in the damp earth. The path to Corbin’s private study felt longer than usual. The air in the manor’s upper corridors was cooler, smelling of beeswax and old stone. His mind raced. The pressed wolfsbane flower, now safely hidden in the little box in his room, felt like a brand against his thoughts. Had she been seen? Had he?

He paused outside the carved oak door, took a steadying breath that did nothing to steady him, and knocked.

“Enter.”

Corbin’s study was a testament to controlled power. A massive desk of dark wood stood before a window overlooking the forest. Books lined shelves, their spines uniform. A fire crackled in the hearth, too warm for the season, giving the room a drowsy, deceptive comfort. Corbin stood by the fire, his back to the door, sipping from a crystal glass of amber liquid.

“Close the door, Kaelen.”

Kaelen did so. The click of the latch was final. He stood at attention in the center of the room, the plush rug swallowing any sound of his feet.

Corbin turned slowly. He was not wearing his formal jacket, just a dark shirt. It made him seem more approachable, which Kaelen knew was the most dangerous illusion of all.

“Your report,” Corbin said, his tone conversational. “On the Sunderling’s state of mind.”

Kaelen kept his gaze fixed on a point just over Corbin’s shoulder. “She is obedient, my lord. She follows the routines. She shows no outward defiance.”

“Outward.” Corbin tasted the word. He took a slow step closer. The firelight caught the grey in his eyes, turning them molten. “And inward? What does she do when she thinks no one sees? When you see?”

The question was a trap disguised as trust. Kaelen chose his words like stepping stones across a swift, dark river. “She is quiet. She spends time at the Weeping Sentinel. She seems contemplative. Perhaps preparing herself for the new life to come.”

“Contemplative.” Corbin swirled the liquid in his glass. “Does she write? Does she speak to herself? Does she cry?”

“I have not seen her write. She does not speak aloud. I have not witnessed tears.” Each answer was true, yet each felt like a betrayal not of Corbin, but of the fragile truth he was learning. He saw her finger tracing words in the dirt. He heard the suppressed sob in the willow’s cage. He said nothing.

“Good.” Corbin took another sip. “A bride should be serene. A blank canvas.” He moved to his desk and set the glass down. He leaned back against the desk’s edge, arms crossed, directly in Kaelen’s line of sight. “And you, Kaelen? How do you find your duty?”

The shift was subtle, but the ground beneath Kaelen’s feet felt less solid. “It is my duty, my lord. I serve as commanded.”

“Of course.” A thin smile. “But it is beneath your skills, is it not? A border keeper, a Lunarth of your lineage, playing nursemaid. There must be frustration. A longing for the simplicity of the mist. For the clear enemy.”

Kaelen’s instincts screamed. This was the true test. To agree would be to criticize the Alpha’s decree. To deny too strongly would be false. “The border had its own complexities. This duty requires a different kind of watchfulness. I am adapting.”

“Watchfulness.” Corbin pushed off the desk and began a slow pace around him, a predator circling. Kaelen fought the urge to turn his head, to follow him with his eyes. “Tell me, what do you watch for? What do you fear might… disturb her serenity?”

The silver chain you made her wear. The cage you built. Your own voice. The thoughts were acid in his throat. “I watch for external influences, my lord. For anyone who might seek to upset the balance before the wedding.”

“Balance.” Corbin stopped behind him. Kaelen could feel the Alpha’s gaze on the back of his neck. “A careful word. The Umbra, for instance. They are agents of imbalance. Have you seen any shadow of their presence near your charge?”

The air in the room grew thicker, hotter. The image of the pale face in the forest flashed behind Kaelen’s eyes. They smell blood in the water, Elder Orin had warned. He made his voice flat, confused. “The Umbra? No, my lord. They keep to their ruins. Why would they trouble with a Sunderling bride?”

A long silence. Then, Corbin’s footsteps resumed, bringing him back into view. His expression was unreadable. “Indeed. Why would they?” He picked up his glass again. “Your loyalty has always been noted, Kaelen. To the realm. To our traditions. To the sacred turn of the Moon.”

“It is everything, my lord.” This, at least, was a truth he could speak without bending.

“Is it?” Corbin’s voice dropped, becoming intimate, almost kindly. “The Moon is a distant goddess. She gives power, but she does not command armies. She does not make decrees. She does not reward service in this life.” He took a final step, closing the distance until only an arm’s length separated them. Kaelen could smell the sharp, peaty scent of the liquor on his breath. “I need to know, when the final moment comes, where your loyalty lies. Not to a rock in the sky. But to the wolf who holds the knife. To the hand that can raise you up or cast you into the dark.”

He let the words hang, their meaning coiling around the room like smoke.

“My loyalty is to Silvathorne,” Kaelen said, his throat tight. “To its strength. Its Alpha.”

Corbin’s eyes narrowed, searching his face for a crack. “Good. Remember this: the bond you are forging through this duty is not with her. It is a bond with me. You are proving your worth not as her protector, but as my enforcer. You are my eyes, my will. If she wavers, you must be the first to see it. If she falls, you must be the hand that pushes for the good of the realm. Do you understand the profound difference?”

Kaelen felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room. He was being asked to pledge himself not to a principle, but to a person. To Corbin’s own, personal power. This was the unmasking.

“I understand, my lord.” The words tasted like ash.

Corbin stared at him for a heartbeat longer, then the pressure suddenly vanished. The Alpha stepped back, his face smoothing into an approximation of warmth. “I know you do. You are one of our best. This task is a crucible. You are being tempered for greater things. After the Blood Moon, your service will be richly recognized.”

It was a bribe. A promotion dangled like a golden carrot. Greater things after he helped secure this political union. After he ensured Chloe was broken to the bit.

“Thank you, my lord.” Kaelen bowed his head, hiding the turmoil in his eyes.

“Dismissed. Continue your watch. Report anything that seems contemplative.”

Kaelen turned and walked to the door. Each step felt mechanical. He opened the door, stepped through, and closed it softly behind him.

He did not move. He stood in the cool, dim hallway, his back against the solid oak. He heard the rapid, panicked drum of his own heart. His palms were damp.

He had passed. He had deceived the Alpha Primus with half-truths and careful omissions. He had pledged a loyalty he no longer felt.

The wolfsbane flower’s message now glowed in his mind with a new, terrifying clarity. Danger. Poison. Beware.

The danger wasn’t just the wedding, or the cage. The danger was Corbin himself. And Kaelen had just promised to be his instrument.

He pushed away from the door and walked down the hall, his footsteps echoing in the silent corridor. He was not just a keeper of a flower now. He was a spy in his own land. And the weight of that deception was heavier than any weapon he had ever carried.