CHAPTER 5 : FOUR HEIRS , FOUR MISSION
873 Words
The command stayed with them, pulsing in their minds long after that crimson glow died away.
“Bring me the Blood Sovereign.”
No name. No reason. Just a single order that none of them could ignore.
—
The Crown Prince
Darian Voss stood on the highest balcony of the Ashen Fang palace with the wind biting through his cloak. His shoulders stayed firm, not giving an inch to the cold.
Down in the snow-lit courtyard, thousands of warriors pressed their faces to the ground, still rattled by the way their wolves had forced them to kneel. Darian hadn’t moved, not once. He wouldn’t kneel again. No matter how hard his silver wolf snarled inside him—Find her—he ignored it.
He heard footsteps behind him.
King Aldric stepped into the open, silent and set-faced as ever.
“You heard the command.”
“I did.”
“The Blood Sovereign has returned.”
Darian’s jaw tightened. He put a hand on the sword across his back. “If that’s true… she belongs to the Crown.”
His father studied him. “What will you do?”
No hesitation. “I’ll find her.”
“And?”
Darian’s voice was ice. “I’ll bring her back.”
It wouldn’t matter if she came willingly… or chained.
—
The Exiled Warrior
Far north, Cassian Thorn reined in his horse at the edge of Frostclaw’s cliffs. The wind clawed at his cloak, flapping red against endless white.
He stared up at the black moon, a bitter smile playing over his scarred mouth. “So it starts again.”
That command wouldn’t leave him alone. Bring me the Blood Sovereign.
With a grunt, Cassian unsheathed his sword. Old runes flickered in the half-light along its blade. “I should’ve finished it twenty years ago.”
His wolf growled in his skull. Cassian shut him out.
“If she’s alive…” His eyes went cold. “People will die.”
He shoved the sword away, voice flat. “I’ll kill her before the world burns like it did last time.”
—
The Charming Prince
On the other side of the kingdom, lanterns glittered in Mooncrest’s royal halls. Laughter floated around jeweled nobles twirling under crystal chandeliers. Nobody saw Prince Lucien Vale slip out onto the moon-splashed terrace.
He dropped the practiced smile. His blue eyes followed the black moon.
He swirled wine in his glass and let slip a low laugh. “The Blood Sovereign. Thought she was some old ghost story.”
His advisor sidled beside him. “Should we ready the army?”
Lucien shook his head, not looking up. “No.”
The advisor frowned. “No?”
“If every kingdom charges in, tripping over each other to get to her,”—now there was the spark of mischief in Lucien’s voice—“we’ll have a war on our hands.”
“So what will you do, Your Highness?”
Lucien tipped back the last of his wine. “I want to ask her a question.”
The adviser blinked. “A question?”
Lucien smiled, sly and secret. “Why did the Moon Goddess lie?”
—
The Silent Guardian
Rain started to fall in Black Hollow Forest.
Hidden up in a gnarled oak, Ronan Blackmoor watched the tiny cottage lights flickering through the branches. He had waited for hours, making sure Kaelira got home safe. Nobody had followed her. He stayed hidden, lost in the shadows—only his silver eyes slipped through that dark curtain.
Again, the command pressed in. Bring me the Blood Sovereign.
Ronan exhaled. “I know.”
But he wasn’t searching anymore. He’d already found her.
His fingers brushed his chest, remembering the missing silver pendant. A faint smile touched his lips. She’d picked it up, and the pendant had accepted her.
That said everything.
Behind him, a big black wolf stepped out of the gloom, golden eyes bright against the dark. His oldest friend.
“We should go,” the wolf said inside his mind. “Others are coming for her.”
“I know.”
“So why are we still here?”
Ronan glanced one last time at the golden light glowing behind Kaelira’s window. She sat there alone, not knowing the fate of every Lycan kingdom now rested on her shoulders.
He remembered a little girl, coated in ash, sobbing in a ruined palace. Silver eyes. Tiny hands reaching out. “Don’t leave me…”
He’d failed her once. He wouldn’t let it happen again.
The wolf lowered its head. “You still blame yourself.”
“I do.”
“She doesn’t remember you.”
“One day,” Ronan whispered, “she will.”
A cold wind swept through the trees. Ronan’s face changed.
New scents rode on the storm. Four—moving fast. Too fast. The heirs were already coming.
He stood. Rain slid from his hooded cloak. He looked back at the small cottage one last time.
Then he said something so soft even his wolf went quiet.
“She’s not supposed to be alive.”
Far away, four wolves thundered toward Black Hollow—too late to stop what had already begun.
- Writer
