The Messenger’s Return
1306 Words
“You again,” Kaelin said without turning as the wind shifted behind her.
The scent gave him away before the sound did. Dust. Sweat. Too clean to be a rogue. Too young to know better.
The messenger cleared his throat, but wisely didn’t move closer.
“I brought something,” he said.
“I didn’t ask for anything,” Kaelin replied, still crouched by the fire pit where she was sharpening her dagger.
“I thought you might want to see it.”
“You thought wrong.”
She stood slowly, turned, and faced him. The canyon light made her silhouette seem carved from iron tight braids falling down her back, scar cutting clean across her jawline, gold-ringed eyes unreadable.
The boy hesitated but stepped forward, drawing a small black pouch from his cloak. “It’s not a message. It’s a mark.”
“A threat?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “A request.”
She arched a brow.
He placed the pouch on a flat stone and stepped back. “From him.”
Kaelin didn’t move. Her eyes narrowed.
“What is it?”
“A medallion,” he said. “His. Worn only by the Lycan King himself. No one else is allowed to carry it.”
“You brought me the King’s brand?”
“He didn’t brand you,” the boy said quickly. “He sent it as a symbol. An invitation.”
She stared at the pouch.
“Why would he send me anything?”
“Because,” the boy said, carefully, “he saw you.”
Kaelin’s laugh was low and bitter. “He doesn’t know me.”
“He said he dreamed you. Same way you dreamt him.”
Her smile disappeared.
“I didn’t dream him,” she lied.
The messenger looked at her hands. “Then why are you shaking?”
Kaelin’s fingers twitched before she tucked them behind her back.
“You should go.”
“Did you want me to give him an answer?”
“You’re lucky I’m not giving you a knife through your chest.”
He nodded quickly and stepped back.
She watched him go until he was nothing more than a blur down the mountain ridge.
Then she turned to the pouch.
The medallion inside was cold and heavy. Black iron, etched with a crescent moon split by a blade. The royal sigil.
She closed her fingers around it slowly.
Her wolf stirred beneath her skin.
Not angry.
Not afraid.
Something else.
Kaelin clenched her jaw and dropped the medallion to the ground.
She stepped on it.
But she didn’t crush it.
“He’ll come,” Kaelin muttered, staring down the trail as the sun climbed higher in the sky. “Of course he will.”
She hadn’t left her post all morning.
The medallion still lay beneath the edge of her bedroll. Untouched since yesterday. But she could feel it. Like it pulsed every time she thought too hard.
Like it wanted to be worn.
“No,” she muttered to it. “That’s not how this works.”
Her wolf said nothing.
Not even she believed herself anymore.
The wind shifted.
This time, the scent that hit her wasn’t the boy.
It was steel.
Magic.
And power.
A lot of it.
She stood.
Then they came.
Not a messenger. Not a courier.
An entire squad of soldiers. Silent and perfectly aligned, dressed in black and silver, their insignias bearing Thorne Alaric’s crest. But it wasn’t them that caught her breath.
It was the man walking between them.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Cold.
Thorne.
He wore no armor. Just a dark coat over a crisp black tunic, sleeves rolled back to reveal forearms dusted with old scars. His jawline was sharp, his skin a pale contrast to the desert light, and his eyes silver and still never left hers.
“Kaelin Dorne,” he said, voice deep and smooth.
She didn’t blink. “That’s me. Unfortunately.”
“You received my medallion?”
“I didn’t keep it.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“I didn’t wear it.”
“I didn’t ask for that either.”
She folded her arms. “Then what did you come for?”
Thorne took two steps forward. “To meet the wolf the Moon promised me.”
She laughed.
It wasn’t warm.
“You don’t know me,” she said.
“I know your bond,” he replied. “I know the prophecy.”
“You think that makes me yours?”
“No,” he said. “I think it makes me yours.”
Her heart skipped, and she hated herself for it.
“Don’t,” she warned.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t come here quoting prophecy. I’ve heard them all.”
“Not this one.”
“You don’t want me,” she said.
He didn’t reply immediately. When he did, it was with quiet force.
“I do.”
Kaelin looked down at her boots, then back up. “I’ll come. But not because of you.”
“Then for what?”
“To prove the Moon wrong.”
Thorne gave a single nod.
“Let’s go, then.”
And so she walked with the King.
Not beside him.
Not behind him.
Not yet.
But forward.
“Are you sure about this?” Varek asked quietly from Thorne’s right.
“No,” the King said. “But it’s already begun.”
Kaelin didn’t speak. She sat across from both of them in the enchanted transport that hummed over desert rock like a beast guided by will alone. Her hands rested on her thighs, eyes fixed on the endless sand.
She hadn't looked at Thorne once since boarding.
“I didn’t expect silence,” he said finally.
“I didn’t come to entertain you.”
“No,” he agreed. “But I thought you might ask questions.”
Kaelin turned her head slightly. “Why?”
“Because your name is on every tongue in the capital.”
“And?”
“Don’t you want to know what they’re saying?”
She turned fully now, eyes lit with challenge. “Let me guess. The cursed mate. The Eighth. The one who got rejected more than anyone else in recorded pack history.”
He didn’t deny it.
“Sounds accurate,” she said. “Why should I care?”
Thorne studied her. “Because they’re afraid of you.”
“They should be.”
“And so they’ll test you.”
She shrugged. “Let them.”
“I won’t protect you.”
Kaelin nodded once. “Good. I don’t need it.”
The wind screamed outside the transport as the cliffs approached.
“What do you need?” he asked.
Kaelin looked at him.
“Truth.”
They didn’t speak again until the palace gates came into view.
The Lycan Palace wasn’t just large it was alive.
Magic thrummed through the stone, vibrated in the walls. When Kaelin stepped inside, it was like walking into a mouth that had swallowed gods.
Servants bowed.
Guards shifted.
Whispers rose.
“She’s here.”
“Is that her?”
“She doesn’t look like a Queen.”
“She looks like a killer.”
Kaelin smiled.
She turned to Thorne.
“Where do I sleep?”
“Anywhere you want.”
“Where’s your room?”
He held her gaze. “Three halls down.”
“Then I’ll take the furthest one.”
He nodded once. “It’s yours.”
She stepped closer.
“You try to bind me without asking,” she whispered, “I’ll bleed you where you stand.”
“You don’t scare me.”
“You should.”
They didn’t speak again until she disappeared into the north wing.
And her wolf whispered.
- Writer
