Curse Of The BLOODMOON

The Shadow Of The crown

The transition from the freezing, howling wilderness into the deep underbelly of the Lycan Kingdom of Duskwood was a blur of feverish nightmares and agonizing warmth. When Nadia finally opened her heavy eyes, the blinding white of the snowdrifts had been replaced by the rough, dark stone of a heavily fortified holding cell within the royal barracks.

She was not dead.

She lay on a low wooden cot, wrapped in a thick, coarse wool blanket that smelled strongly of pine and iron. Her battered, frostbitten feet had been clean-shaved and treated with a pungent, soothing herbal salve that took the fiery sting out of her raw skin. On a small three-legged stool beside her bed sat a simple, clean tunic of dark grey cotton and a pair of sturdy leather trousers soldiers’ garments, meant to replace the tattered kitchen rags she had fled in. Beside the clothes was a wooden bowl filled with lukewarm mutton broth.

Nadia didn't hesitate. Her survival instincts overrode her fear. She scrambled off the cot, her muscles aching in protest, and practically dragged the bowl to her mouth, swallowing the rich broth in desperate, messy gulps. The warmth hit her empty stomach like a burst of life, clearing the thick fog from her brain. She quickly threw off the tattered rags and dressed in the sturdy soldier's gear, pulling the laces tight. She had to remain strong. She had to survive long enough to find the truth about her sister.

The heavy oak door of her cell swung open with a sharp click, and two massive royal guards stepped inside. They did not strike her or mock her as Torin's men used to do. Instead, they bound her wrists securely in front of her with thick leather restraints.

"Move," one guard ordered firmly. "The Commander is waiting."

Nadia expected to be dragged into the grand throne room, straight into the presence of the terrifying, cursed King Kaelen she had heard horrific campfire stories about. She braced herself to face a tyrant.

However, fortune or perhaps a strange twist of palace fate intervened. King Kaelen was completely unavailable. The entire palace was in an uproar over his personal affairs. Ever since the miraculous morning when a nameless, wolfless slave girl had walked out of his sacrificial chamber alive, the King had locked himself in the royal wing. He was spending every waking hour personally overseeing her safety, completely consumed by the mystery of her existence and the sudden, violent political backlash from the Prime Minister’s furious family. He had absolutely no time to waste on a half-dead refugee caught at the outer border gates. Because the King was occupied, the grim duty of overseeing the interrogation fell entirely to his right-hand man and the supreme leader of the internal palace security: Commander Jax.

Nadia was marched into a private, sunless strategy room deep within the military barracks. The walls were lined with heavy iron weapons, shields, and tactical maps of the shifter territories. Standing at the far end of the room, looking out a narrow arrow-slit window, was Jax.

He was a striking specimen of a Lycan warrior. Jax was tall, built like a mountain of lean muscle, with short-cropped silver-platinum hair that contrasted sharply against his bronzed skin. He wore the dark, intimidating leather and silver-plated armor of the Royal Elite. When he heard the guards enter, he turned slowly, revealing a face carved with sharp, rugged angles and a pair of piercing, brilliant ice-blue eyes that seemed to look straight through a person's skin.

"Leave us," Jax commanded, his voice a deep, smooth baritone that held the absolute weight of unquestioned authority.

The guards bowed and stepped out, slamming the heavy door shut. Nadia stood at the center of the room, her chin lifted proudly, her amber eyes burning with defiance despite the leather bindings cutting into her wrists. She refused to look weak. She carried the blood of an Alpha King, and she would rather die than beg.

Jax walked slowly around her, his heavy leather boots clicking rhythmically against the stone. His ice-blue eyes raked over her small frame, noting the defensive posture, the raw determination in her eyes, and the unique, undeniable scent of high-tier royal lineage that clung to her skin despite her starvation.

"You carry the scent of the Silver Ridge bloodline," Jax stated calmly, stopping directly in front of her, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Three weeks ago, that pack suffered a bloody coup. Torin slaughtered the royal family and seized the throne. Now, you appear at our gates, half-dead, dressed like a kitchen maid, but smelling like royalty. Who are you?"

"My name is Nadia," she replied, her voice remarkably steady, her eyes locking onto his without a single flinch. "I am the youngest daughter of Alpha King Logan. I fled because Torin turned my home into a slaughterhouse. I am no spy. I am a survivor looking for refuge.

"Jax remained silent for a long, agonizing moment. His inner wolf, usually aggressive and fiercely suspicious of border intruders, did something entirely unexpected. It stirred, growing strangely quiet, drawn to the fierce, unbroken spark of the young woman standing before him. He had interrogated hundreds of prisoners, but none had ever looked at him with such raw, unfiltered dignity while wrapped in chains. There was something magnetic about her spirit, something that made his chest tighten with a sudden, uncharacteristic protective instinct.

He reached down, his large, calloused fingers gently wrapping around her bound wrists. With a swift, smooth pull of his dagger, he sliced through her leather restraints, freeing her hands.

Nadia blinked in surprise, rubbing her chafed wrists as she stared up at him. "You're letting me go?"

"No," Jax said, his ice-blue eyes locking onto hers with an intense, unreadable gaze. "Your story makes sense, but the timing is dangerous. The kingdom is on the brink of a political war, and I cannot allow any unknown variables near the King until I verify every word you say. Under normal circumstances, you would be thrown into the deep dungeons until the King had time to decree your execution."

He stepped closer, his shadow completely enveloping her. "But I am not putting you in the dark. Something tells me you are telling the truth, Nadia."

Jax turned toward the side door of the strategy room and summoned his personal lieutenant. "Take her to the inner sector of the military barracks. Prepare a private room for her in the officers' quarters. She is to be given proper rations, medical care, and standard soldier's provisions."

The lieutenant blinked in shock. "The officers' quarters, Commander? For an unverified refugee? Is she a prisoner or a guest?"

"She is a high-value variable under my personal surveillance," Jax countered, his voice hardening into a lethal warning tone that brooked no argument. "Place two guards outside her door. She is to be strictly monitored. No one enters her room without my direct written permission, and she is not to leave the barracks under any circumstances."

He turned back to Nadia, his gaze softening just a fraction, though his face remained a mask of military discipline. "You will stay there, warm and fed, where you will not die of exposure. I will keep you hidden until I have the proper opportunity to speak with King Kaelen about your situation. Once his personal affairs settle, we will reach a final decision on your fate. Do not make me regret this mercy, little princess."

Nadia looked at the imposing Commander, sensing the heavy, protective aura radiating from him. For the first time in weeks, she felt a tiny spark of hope warm her chest. She nodded quietly, allowing the lieutenant to guide her out of the room. She was safe, she was warm, and she was finally inside the walls of the kingdom completely unaware of just how close she truly was to the sister she had risked everything to find.