Chapter 6 – Conditions
576 Words
The royal legal office sat two floors below the ballroom. Same palace. Different kind of trap.
“Just paperwork,” El muttered as we crossed the courtyard.
“Paperwork supervised by the people who tried to erase me,” I said. “Very soothing.”
Mara’s rules echoed in my head:
No private meetings.
No closed rooms without a human.
No wolf signatures.
A human clerk led us through corridors that smelled like ink and old coffee, not blood. Point in their favor.
“Ms. Rowan?” he said at a glass door marked LEGAL AFFAIRS – EXTERNAL ESTATES. “They’re expecting you.”
They. My wolf shifted uneasily.
Inside: polished wood, sunlit table, shelves of thick files. Behind the laptop sat a human woman with neat braids. Beside her, leaning against a cabinet, arms folded—Riven.
Of course.
“I’m Lydia Keene,” the woman said. “Senior counsel. I spoke with your aunt.”
We sat. El dropped her bag on the table like a shield.
“Lord Maren Rowan left his will with us ten years ago,” Lydia said. “Your aunt is primary beneficiary, you’re contingent. There are… unusual clauses about pack land.”
“Unusual how?” I asked.
Riven answered. “Your uncle held forest that overlaps royal ritual grounds. He granted you and your direct bloodline permanent right of passage.”
Direct bloodline. My stomach knotted.
“So the palace needs to know who exactly that includes,” El said. “From a ‘security standpoint’.”
Lydia winced. “We do need a list of any dependents who might claim estate rights. To avoid conflicts.”
“And to know which small, suspiciously gold‑eyed people can legally walk into your woods,” I said.
Silence.
“Is this a condition?” I asked. “No disclosure, no estate?”
Lydia hesitated. Riven didn’t.
“The Crown will honor your uncle’s will,” he said. “But if we discover unregistered heirs later, the Council will treat it as deception.”
Threat received.
Lydia slid a form over. “Name, address, and date of birth for any children or dependent minors. That’s all.”
The pen felt heavy.
If I wrote his name, he went on their map. If I didn’t, they’d still find him—just with more excuses to tear us apart.
“One,” I said. “One dependent.”
My hand shook once over the NAME line, then steadied. I wrote my son’s name. The letters looked too small for the weight they carried.
Lydia took the form. “We’ll process this today. Your aunt’s rights will be confirmed by week’s end.”
“And that list?” I asked. “Who sees it?”
“Me. Lord Halmar. The King.” A beat. “The Council, if needed.”
Outside, when we finally cleared the gates into human noise and exhaust, El blew out a breath.
“So,” she said. “We just handed the Crown your son’s name.”
“Yes.”
“And the king still wants you where he can see you.”
“Yes.”
She looked back at the palace spires. “You still think the plan is ‘run in twenty‑seven days’?”
My wolf stared at the same horizon, very, very awake.
“I’m starting to think,” I said, “the real plan never involved running at all.”
- Writer
