The Midnight Prince

The Intruder Identify

Ashen



“Did he kill him?” my son asked.

My daughter gasped. “He wouldn’t.”

The fire between us cracked, sending sparks up the chimney like tiny fleeing stars.

I looked at my children for a long moment.

They were not as little as they had been when this story began.

Once, a wolf pup falling into a river had frightened them. Once, a lost ring and a midnight ball had been enough to make their eyes shine. Now they sat with straighter backs, sharper questions, and hearts old enough to understand that good people could do frightening things when fear got its claws into them.

“No,” I said quietly. “He did not kill him.”

My son exhaled like he had been holding his breath.

“But he could have,” my daughter whispered.

I turned the Frostveil ring once around my finger.

“Yes,” I said. “And that scared him more than it scared anyone else.”

“Ashen!”

Moon’s voice split the room.

I turned.

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, one hand gripping the railing, eyes wide with horror.

She had not listened.

Of course she had not listened.

Her gaze shot from me to the man hanging in the air.

Her face drained of color.

I did not understand why.

I only knew I felt it through the strange new thread between us.

Fear.

Sharp.

Sudden.

Painful.

For one breath, I thought it was fear of him.

Then her voice cracked.

“Ashen, stop. That’s my uncle.”

My hand opened.

The man dropped.

He hit the floor hard, one knee and one palm catching him before the rest of his body could follow. A rough, broken cough tore from his throat as he dragged air back into his lungs.

Moon rushed to him.

“Solan!”

Solan.

The name struck through me.

Prince Solan PentNova.

Moon’s uncle.

The man who had been searching for her.

The man I had just lifted off the ground and nearly crushed the breath out of.

I stepped back once, giving them space.

“I didn’t know,” I said quickly.

Moon glanced up at me, still pale, one hand pressed to Solan’s shoulder as he coughed again.

“I asked who you were,” I said, looking at Solan this time. “Twice. You didn’t answer.”

Solan’s hand went to his throat. Red marks were already forming there, though no fingers had touched him.

He looked up at me through watering eyes.

I bowed my head slightly, because he was royalty and because I had nearly strangled him in my mother’s kitchen.

“I apologize, Your Highness. I thought you were an enemy.”

A cough shook him again.

From the stairs, Nara’s voice came sharp and sleepy. “Ashen? Did you get him? Is it safe?”

I looked up.

Nara was halfway down the staircase, hair messy, eyes wide but not frightened of me. Frightened for me, maybe. For Moon. For herself. But not of what I had done.

Veyra stood behind her, one hand loosely holding Nara back.

“Of course he got him,” Veyra said, far too calmly. “Ashen always gets his target.”

I shot her a look.

“That was not helpful.”

“It was accurate.”

Moon helped Solan sit back against the wall. He was breathing now, though each breath sounded scraped raw.

I looked at him again. “Next time, Your Highness, you may want to knock louder. Or announce yourself. Or wear bells on your boots.”

Solan blinked at me.

Moon looked over her shoulder, startled.

Veyra snorted.

Nara’s mouth twitched.

I rubbed the back of my neck, the seriousness returning before the faint attempt at humor could settle.

“Or we need a code word,” I added. “Something less likely to end with me mistaking a royal prince for a threat.”

Solan coughed once more, then rasped, “I did knock.”

Veyra lifted a finger. “You crept.”

“I approached carefully.”

“Like a suspicious royal mouse.”

Solan’s eyes narrowed.

Despite herself, Moon let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

The tiny sound should have eased something in me.

It did not.

Because I could still feel the fear through the bond.

Not as clearly as words. Not enough to understand. Just enough to hurt.

Moon had been terrified when she saw Solan in the air.

That made sense.

He was her uncle.

She loved him.

But the old part of me, the part that knew how quickly people turned protection into accusation, whispered something colder.

She saw what you can do.

Now she knows.

My fingers curled at my sides.

No.

I had protected the cabin. Protected Nara. Protected Moon. I would not apologize for that.

But I had nearly killed someone she loved.

That mattered.

“I am sorry,” I said again, quieter now. “Not for stopping someone who entered without warning. But for hurting him before I knew who he was.”

Moon’s expression softened.

That made the ache worse.

“Ashen,” she said gently, “I know why you did it.”

I wanted to believe her.

I almost did.

Solan finally pushed himself upright with Moon’s help, his hand still resting against his throat. His eyes moved from me to the frozen basin, then to the trembling cup on the table, then to the frost crawling along the window frame.

He looked back at me.

Not afraid.

Not exactly.

Studying.

“You are not an omega,” he rasped.

The room went silent.

The words slid beneath my skin.

I had heard the opposite my entire life.

Omega.

Weak.

Defective.

Low.

But Solan said it like a conclusion he had reached with his own eyes.

Nara stepped down another stair.

Veyra’s face lost some of its humor.

Moon stood between Solan and me, her body angled as though she wanted to protect both of us from each other.

“I told you,” she said softly.

Solan did not look away from me.

“You told me he was different,” he said. “This is not different. This is dangerous.”

My jaw tightened.

Moon’s eyes flashed. “Careful.”

Solan lifted a hand, still hoarse. “I did not say evil, Moon. I said dangerous.”

Veyra leaned against the stair rail. “Those are often confused by people who have never been worth fearing.”

Solan glanced at her. “And you are?”

“Annoyed.”

“Her name is Veyra,” Nara said, coming to stand beside me now. “And she’s right.”

Something inside my chest eased at that.

Nara did not move away from me.

She moved closer.

Like she always had.

Like I was not something to fear.

Solan watched the gesture.

So did Moon.

I looked down at Nara. “You should still be upstairs.”

She gave me a flat look. “You almost choked a prince in our kitchen. I wasn’t missing the explanation.”

“Our kitchen?” Veyra echoed.

Nara lifted her chin. “For now.”

I almost smiled.

Almost.

Solan drew another careful breath.

“If we are done nearly murdering each other,” he said hoarsely, “we need to talk.”

The humor vanished.

Moon’s hand tightened on his arm. “What happened?”

Solan’s gaze darkened.

“Dorian returned to court.”

The name changed the room.

Moon went still.

Nara shifted closer to me.

Veyra stopped pretending to be relaxed.

I felt the air cool around my fingers.

Solan noticed.

His eyes flicked down.

Then back up.

“He is telling the court that Moon is his fated mate,” Solan said.

Moon’s voice sharpened. “He is lying.”

“Yes,” Solan said.

The immediate answer surprised me.

Solan looked at me as if he knew it had.

“I am many things,” he rasped. “Stupid is rarely one of them.”

Veyra smiled faintly. “Rarely is generous.”

He ignored her.

“He is also claiming he is the White Wolf.”

The ring on my finger pulsed cold.

Nara sucked in a breath.

Moon turned toward me.

I did not move.

Solan’s eyes followed her reaction, and something in his face shifted.

He was seeing too much again.

“A council member brought forward a prophecy,” Solan continued. “A convenient one. It claims the White Wolf will rise beside the Moon Princess, and that the wrong wolf crowned beside her will bring war, frost, blood, and death.”

My throat tightened.

Solan’s voice roughened. “Dorian says he is the true White Wolf. He says you are the false one.”

Nara’s eyes widened. “Ashen?”

I kept my gaze on Solan.

“What else?”

Moon said my name quietly, but I needed to hear it.

All of it.

Solan studied me for a moment before answering.

“He says you found out he was Moon’s fated mate. He says you became jealous. He says you kidnapped her, joined rogues, and plan to use hidden magic to claim the throne through her.”

The room went cold.

Not from my power this time.

From the shape of the lie.

It was too neat.

Too clever.

A story built for people who already wanted someone to fear.

Moon’s anger brushed against me through the bond, hot and silver.

“That is not true,” she said.

“I know,” Solan answered.

Again, the words hit harder than they should have.

I looked at him.

His throat was bruised because of me. His voice was barely holding because of me. And still, he did not sound uncertain.

“You believe that?” I asked.

Solan’s mouth curved faintly, though it looked painful.

“You just nearly killed me because you thought I was a threat to her. That does not make you innocent of everything, but it does make Dorian’s story less convincing.”

Veyra clapped once softly. “Look at that. The royal mouse reasons.”

Solan’s eyes narrowed. “Call me that again and I may let him choke me next time.”

Nara covered her mouth.

Moon did not laugh.

She was looking at me.

The bond between us pulled.

Gentle.

Careful.

I still felt the echo of her fear, but now something else moved beneath it.

Worry.

For me.

Not because of me.

I looked away first.

Because that was harder to face than Solan’s accusation.

Solan pushed himself fully to his feet.

Moon steadied him.

“The court is already turning,” he said. “Not all of it. Your mother is suspicious, Moon. So am I. But the council member backing Dorian is respected, and frightened people love a prophecy that gives them someone to blame.”

His gaze settled on me.

“If we do nothing, Ashen Drakewood becomes the monster before he ever gets the chance to speak.”