ALPHA’S MATE: SWORN ENEMIES

Chapter Four: Borrowed Names

Rowan didn’t move. The knife stayed in her hand, though she couldn’t remember raising it.

Alder’s gaze flicked to the blade, then to her face. He lifted his empty hands slowly, the way someone might approach a skittish animal.

“Put that down before you cut yourself,” he said. “You were always better at holding a grudge than a blade.”

“Stay where you are.”

“I am. Look at me.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. They were darker than Dorian’s, the color of wet slate. His plain brown coat was travel-stained, and a hunter’s knife hung from his hip. There was no crest on his clothes. “Three years, Rowan. You’re going to make me stand in a cellar while you decide whether I’m a ghost?”

Kaelen stood on the far side of the slab, one hand near his sword. “Name yourself.”

“Alder Crane. Dorian’s brother, in case Ironridge has forgotten.” He glanced at Kaelen. “And you’re the Blackthorn Alpha who’s been hunting my brother’s killers. Good. That saves me the introduction.”

“Your brother is dead,” Kaelen said.

“Yes. He is.” Grief flickered across Alder’s face before he buried it. “I’d like to know who killed him more than anyone else here.”

Rowan lowered the knife an inch. “The Ironridge council buried you three years ago. Garrick lit the pyre himself.”

“Garrick lit a pyre for a body he’d dressed in my cloak.” Alder’s mouth tightened. “When a pack wants you gone, they don’t check very carefully when you’re already dead to them.”

Three years ago, Alder had disappeared during a winter hunt along the northern ridge. Search parties found his bloodied cloak in a ravine, and Dorian had wept at the pyre until the elders led him away. Rowan had stood beside him and promised it wasn’t his fault, though she’d never understood what he blamed himself for.

“Why would Garrick fake your death?” she asked.

“Because I discovered what he was doing with the grain stores. And because I refused to sign the letter that sent you to the border.”

“What letter?”

“The one that named you the thief.”

Alder reached inside his coat. Kaelen’s hand moved to his sword hilt.

“Relax, Alpha. I’m only getting this.”

He drew out a folded parchment and placed it beside Dorian’s body. Dark wax sealed it, stamped with a split oak leaf—the same mark Rowan had seen on the pin and the dead bowman’s weapon.

“That’s the Ironridge war seal,” Rowan whispered.

“Only the Alpha’s inner circle has one,” Alder said. “This was never meant for a beta’s eyes.”

Rowan broke the seal. The handwriting was neat, the ink still dark.

The ledger will be found in Vale’s quarters. Name her before the council. Blackthorn will break the treaty in the eastern valley, and we will have the pretext we need. The Crane boy stays quiet or follows his brother.

She read it twice.

“The Crane boy. Dorian.”

Alder nodded. “He discovered something in the grain records. He was supposed to stay quiet. He didn’t.”

Kaelen took the parchment. “Who signed it?”

“No one. The council prefers to keep its hands clean.”

“How do you know they wrote it?”

“I was in the room when Garrick dictated it. I heard my name come out of his mouth.”

Rowan turned to him. “You said you refused to sign.”

“I refused to sign the letter accusing you. I didn’t refuse to listen.” Alder’s expression darkened. “I ran that night. Took a horse, a little silver, and my brother’s name. I’ve spent three years in the northern hills waiting for someone in Ironridge to get careless.”

“And Dorian?”

“His message reached me two weeks ago. He’d found discrepancies in the grain records and wanted to meet me at the treaty stones. He thought we could expose the people behind it.”

“Why should I believe you?” Kaelen asked.

“You shouldn’t. Check the grain logs yourself. Garrick’s steward keeps the originals in the eastern granary, behind a false wall. Dorian found them. That’s why he’s dead.”

“And you didn’t come to the stones,” Kaelen said.

“I came. I was late.” Alder looked down at Dorian. “By the time I reached the valley, your men had already found him. I watched them carry him past the ridge. I couldn’t go to him without being seen.”

Rowan looked at the silver pin in Dorian’s hand. The split oak leaf bore an A scratched into its back.

“Then the pin was yours.”

“I gave it to him before I left. I told him to keep it so he’d know who to trust.” Alder swallowed. “He must have torn it from my cloak when they fought. Someone else was there when he did.”

“Who?” Kaelen asked.

“Whoever sent the bowman.” Alder’s eyes settled on Rowan. “The one who said you always come back to the border.”

Her stomach turned. She had believed exile was the worst punishment waiting for her. She had never considered that someone in Ironridge might have planned for her to return to this border—in chains or in a grave.

“Why would they want me here?” she asked.

“Because a disgraced beta with a stolen ledger makes a better story than a living woman who was never proven guilty,” Alder said. “And because the treaty breaks faster when Blackthorn’s Alpha is caught with the woman Ironridge accused of betraying it.”

Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “Then they’re counting on me to kill you.”

“Or on you to kill her.” Alder gave a tired smile. “Either way, we share an enemy.”

Rowan looked at the letter again. Something about the handwriting troubled her. The crossbar on the t in Vale sat unusually high. She had seen that mark in the ledger’s margins and in a warning Dorian had once scrawled on the back of a grain tally.

Don’t trust the stewards.

Her fingers tightened around the parchment. “This isn’t Garrick’s handwriting.”

Alder’s eyes narrowed. “No. It’s his.”

Kaelen looked up. “Whose?”

Alder turned the parchment towards the lantern light. “Dorian’s.”

Rowan stared at him. “That makes no sense. Dorian wouldn’t write a letter accusing me.”

“He wasn’t accusing you,” Alder said. “The handwriting is his, but the orders aren’t. Someone copied his writing—or forced him to leave evidence behind.”

Kaelen studied the page again. “Why would Dorian write it?”

“Because he knew his name was involved. He may have wanted someone to find it.” Alder pointed to the final line. “He was trying to warn us.”

Rowan read the words again. The letter wasn’t proof that Dorian had betrayed her. It was proof that someone had known what would happen to both of them.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Kaelen moved in front of Rowan as Bran descended with two Blackthorn warriors.

“Alpha,” Bran said. “Two Ironridge escorts have been found outside the eastern path. They’re alive and asking to speak with Rowan.”

“The men who brought me here?” Rowan asked.

“That’s what they claim.”

“Bring them in.”

Tobin and Edric entered under guard. Rowan recognized them immediately: the escorts ordered to take her towards the border.

“Who gave you the order?” she asked.

“An officer,” Tobin answered. “We were told to take you to the border and leave you there.”

“Which officer?”

“We didn’t see his face. He wore an Ironridge cloak and paid us in silver.”

“Did he say why?”

Edric swallowed. “We were told you’d be dead before morning.”

The cellar fell silent.

“They didn’t just want me exiled,” Rowan said. “They wanted to make sure I never returned.”

A Blackthorn guard appeared at the stairs carrying a sealed message.

“Alpha. A rider came from Ironridge.”

Kaelen broke the seal and read. His expression became unreadable.

“What is it?” Rowan asked.

“The council demands Dorian’s body and the return of its traitor. They’ve given us until dusk. If we refuse, they’ll consider it an act of war.”

Alder let out a bitter laugh. “Convenient.”

“They know Dorian is dead,” Rowan said. “But they don’t know what he found.”

“Which means they want the evidence buried with him,” Kaelen replied.

He folded the message. “We’re not surrendering either of you.”

“If you refuse, Blackthorn could go to war,” Rowan said.

“If I surrender you, the people who arranged this get what they wanted.” His eyes met hers. “I’m not giving them that satisfaction.”

Alder stepped closer. “Dorian was supposed to meet me at the treaty stones at sunset. If we reach Ironridge and find the original grain records, we can prove the ledger was planted.”

“I’ll return under a truce,” Rowan said. “I’ll demand answers before the council.”

Kaelen studied her. “And if they refuse?”

“Then they’ll have to explain why they’re afraid of hearing me speak.”

After a moment, he nodded. “You’ll enter Ironridge under my protection. We’ll take an escort, and we won’t cross the boundary until the terms are clear.”

“And me?” Alder asked.

“You come too. If you’re telling the truth, your testimony matters. If you’re lying, I’d rather have you where I can see you.”

Alder nodded. “Fair enough.”

Above them, a horn sounded. Once. Twice.

Bran turned towards the stairs. “That isn’t ours.”

Kaelen went up first. Rowan followed, with Alder close behind.

Outside, evening light stretched across the eastern valley. On the ridge beyond the treaty stones, riders gathered in a dark line, their banners snapping in the wind.

Ironridge.

There were dozens of them. They had arrived before dusk, before Kaelen could arrange a truce and before Rowan could demand answers.

“They weren’t planning to negotiate,” she said.

Kaelen stood beside her, his shoulder almost touching hers. “No. They were making sure we had no choice.”

Across the valley, the Ironridge riders began their descent.

Somewhere among them was the person who had stolen Rowan’s name, buried Dorian’s truth, and sent a dead man back to haunt them all.

This time, Rowan would not run.