Rosari’e

Chapter 9:the hooded witch

Kieran’s POV

The birds chirped merrily above me, their songs cutting through the hush of dawn as if mocking the heaviness that lingered in my chest. The forest surrounding my father’s castle was alive—damp with morning dew, fragrant with moss and pine. Shafts of golden sunlight pierced through the canopy, painting streaks of fire on the forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of earth and rain, a beauty that never failed to disarm outsiders.

But this forest was not just a sanctuary. It was the King’s hunting and training ground, where blood mixed with soil and where men either rose to power or were broken beneath it.

The winding path led to the King’s mansion—no, the Alpha’s throne in stone and iron.

At first glance, the massive metallic doors seemed almost… alive. Vines coiled around them like serpents, their thick green threads draping the entrance as if trying to shield mortals from the darkness within. When I drew closer, the doors themselves stirred. Ancient runes glowed faintly, and with a low hiss they shifted open, triggered not by touch but by the silent recognition of motion.

The castle grounds unfolded beyond the threshold like a kingdom ripped out of a gothic fairytale. Paved stone paths gleamed from the morning damp, bordered with gardens too perfect to be natural. Rows of black roses, blood-red lilies, and pale white blooms lined either side, their scents mingling in an intoxicating blend.

Gargoyles loomed at the center courtyard—twisted creatures carved from obsidian, their eyes gleaming as if they watched every move. Water spewed from their fanged mouths, splashing into a vast marble fountain where dragonflies skimmed the surface and butterflies floated lazily, oblivious to the shadows of power that lived here.

The mansion itself towered above it all, a fortress of dark stone veined with ivy. The windows were tall and arched, stained glass depicting wolves mid-shift, their bodies half-man, half-beast. Spires clawed into the sky, and even in the sunlight the castle carried an air of menace, a reminder that beauty here was only a mask.

This was my home.

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Chapter 9 – Kieran’s POV (continued)

The clang of steel filled the training grounds. Swords clashed, bodies collided, and the air was thick with the growls of men mid-shift. Mud splattered beneath our boots as we sparred under the pale sunlight filtering through the canopy. My muscles burned, my wolf clawing just beneath my skin, eager to be unleashed—but I forced him down, forced him silent. He’d already gotten me into enough trouble.

Around me, my father’s warriors fought with calculated brutality, the kind of precision drilled into them since childhood. No mercy. No hesitation. Only power. Always power.

A horn bellowed, deep and commanding, and then the iron bells rang across the grounds. Clang. Clang. Clang. Training was over. The men groaned, some laughing, some spitting blood, while others limped toward the bathhouses.

I sheathed my blade, my chest still heaving from exertion, sweat cooling against my skin in the damp morning air. I needed space. Air that wasn’t thick with blood and pride.

So I slipped away, past the throngs of warriors, out toward the garden path. The gargoyles stared down at me as if mocking, their stony mouths dripping water into the fountain. I inhaled the mingled scents of roses, wet stone, and something sweeter—something unfamiliar.

And that’s when I saw her.

A hooded woman walked gracefully across the courtyard, her head slightly bowed, her steps too measured, too deliberate. Brown hair spilled out beneath the hood, brushing against a cloak the color of ash. She was petite, her figure slender, but there was no fragility in the way she moved. Every step carried a warrior’s balance, a readiness no maid could fake.

Two castle maids flanked her, escorting her as if she belonged here. As if they already knew her.

My brow furrowed. Who is she?

I angled my body casually, as though stretching after training, but my eyes never left her. My wolf stirred, ears pricking, nostrils flaring. I caught her scent.

Steel. Fire. Blood.

A warrior’s scent.

My gut twisted. What is she doing here? No outsider warriors were ever allowed into the King’s castle, let alone escorted so freely by the staff.

And then something else caught my eye—a flicker of color as her sleeve shifted.

On her wrist, etched into pale skin, was a tattoo.

A bluebird. Small, delicate, yet unmistakable.

The hairs on my neck rose. My wolf pressed harder against my chest, restless, growling low.

Something about that woman was wrong.