Chapter 8
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Chapter 8
Arden sighed heavily and dropped her head. It was painfully clear to Kealan that Douglas was the last subject Arden wanted to discuss, but he also knew that he couldn’t keep what he knew to himself any longer.
“Is this important?” Arden questioned, her voice tight. “Because we’re on a clock, Kealan, and I really don't want to spend my few minutes of peace dissecting that man’s ego.”
“It is. You need to hear this,” Kealan answered,
“Ugh… Fine. Come in,” Arden moved out of the way and allowed Kealn into her quarters.
She closed the door behind him, the click of the latch sounding loud in the small room. She leaned against her desk, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Arden, you don’t get it. It’s not just about his ego anymore,” Kealan insisted, his voice dropping to a low, urgent whisper. “He’s desperate. Men like Douglas don’t handle rejection by moving on; they handle it by trying to destroy the thing that’s 'corrupting' what they think belongs to them. He told those recruits that your bond with the wolf is an 'infection' that needs to be cut out of the Guard before it spreads.”
Arden felt a ripple of inferno flare in her palms, though she kept her fists clenched so the Phoenix fire stayed hidden. The sheer audacity of Douglas to frame her love as a sickness was enough to make her want to scorch his wings right off his back.
“He can call it an infection all he wants,” Arden spat, her eyes flashing a dangerous shade of amber for a split second. “But the moment he tries to interfere with my duties in any way, is the moment he finds out exactly how much heat I carry. And I’m not talking about the guns in my belt. I appreciate the warning, Kealan; you’re a real one for that. But I can handle one lonely man with a purity complex he wears as a f*cking shield.”
Kealan sighed, looking slightly relieved but still wary. “Just... keep your head on a swivel. He’s looking for a slip-up. Any slip-up. And not just with you, with the princess's arrival as well.”
“What do Evelyn and Eileen have to do with his vendetta?” Arden’s glare could have sparked a brushfire.
“Because the Majesties’ grandchildren are more wolf than fairy,” Kealan explained grimly. “Douglas won’t hesitate to file a formal report, labeling them a ‘nuisance to the kingdom’s peace’ if they so much as step out of line.”
“You’re joking.” Arden stared at him in utter disbelief, but Kealan’s somber expression didn't waver. “They’re children, for f*ck's sake. Children are supposed to misbehave; it’s practically in their job description.”
“You know that, I know that, and every logical person in this kingdom knows that. But logic isn't going to stop Douglas on this makeshift witch hunt, or in this case, a wolf hunt.”
“You know what? Let him write his reports. Let him make a complete fool of himself in front of the King,” Arden said, spinning toward the door with a renewed, icy purpose. “I’m done catering to his fragile little fairy ego. I have a job to do, and unlike Douglas, I’m actually good at mine.” She paused at the threshold, glancing back over her shoulder. “I’m going to grab a snack before we have to head out. Now, Kealan, I am kindly asking you to vacate my room.”
Kealan nodded, trailing behind her as they stepped out into the corridor. “Look, you might not want to worry, but never dismiss a man on a mission. Even if he’s harmless now, that doesn’t mean he’ll stay that way, not when he’s being pushed to his breaking point.”
“And when exactly do you think he’ll finally snap?” Arden asked, her voice laced with mockery.
“The day you leave the Guard,” Kealan answered without hesitation. “Or worse... the day Warlord shows up to present himself to the King and ask for your hand.”
Arden’s pace didn't falter, but her expression softened just a fraction at the mention of her mate. “Well, luckily for everyone, I still have five months and six days left before that day comes. I’m sure I’ll have a plan to handle him by then.”
Arden had hoped for a peaceful five minutes with a protein bar, but the universe—or perhaps just Douglas’s impeccable talent for being a nuisance—had other plans.
As she stepped into the mess hall, she spotted him immediately. He was leaning against a high table, flanked by two fresh-faced recruits who looked like they hadn't even finished their first month of basic training. They were hanging on his every word, their expressions a mix of wide-eyed awe and growing suspicion as Douglas spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone.
“—It’s about the bloodline,” Douglas was saying, his voice carrying just enough to be heard. “If we allow the perimeter to be softened by beasts under the guise of family, we lose the very essence of what we are sworn to protect. It starts with one guard losing her way, and it ends with the palace smelling like a kennel.”
One of the recruits nodded slowly, his brow furrowed. “But the King—"
“The King is blinded by sentiment,” Douglas interrupted smoothly, his eyes snapping to Arden the moment she approached the counter. His smirk widened, oily and triumphant. “Ah, speaking of the 'softened perimeter.' Recovered from your... dizzy spell in the hallway, Arden? Or are you still running a fever?”
“Um, am I crazy, or are you whitewashing history, Douglas. I’m not the one who was tardy and complaining of not feeling well this morning,” Arden snapped back. She grabbed a crisp apple and a small wrap from the cooler, her movements deliberate and calm. The two recruits shifted uncomfortably, recognizing her rank but clearly influenced by the poison Douglas had been pouring into their ears. “If you’re not feeling well, Officer Douglas, then perhaps you should heed my advice and go see the kingdom’s healer.”
Douglas’s face tightened, the splotchy red from earlier threatening to return. “I’m exactly where I need to be: ensuring the next generation of the Guard knows how to spot a threat, whether it’s at the border or... standing right in front of them.”
Arden finally turned, taking a slow, crunchy bite of her apple. She looked the two recruits up and down, her gaze cold enough to frost the windows.
“Here’s a tip for the next generation,” Arden said, looking directly at the younger guards. “A good soldier listens to their Commander. A bad one spends his morning gossiping in the mess hall because he’s too insecure to handle the fact that the world is bigger than his backyard. Choose which one you want to be before you complete your basic training. You can soar as high as the sky, or you’ll be stuck on the ground like a common turtle.”
She tossed the apple core into the bin and offered Douglas a mockingly sweet smile.
Arden didn't look back as she exited the mess hall, her boots clicking rhythmically against the stone floor. She just wanted ten minutes of silence and a few bites of her wrap before the chaos of the royals' arrival began. She had made it halfway down the corridor leading to the transport bay when she heard the frantic footsteps of someone running to catch up.
"Officer! Officer Arden, wait!"
Arden stopped and turned, her expression unreadable. It was the younger of the two recruits. The boy looked like he’d barely seen the first two decades of life. He was out of breath, his face pale against the darkness of his dark-blue uniform—the color worn by recruits who were still in basic training.
“What can I do for you, recruit?”
“What you said in there, about fairy tales. What did you mean by that?”
“What do you think I meant?” Arden asked in return.
“Uh…” The recruit was dumbfounded.
“What’s your name, recruit?”
“Ramses, ma’am.”
“That’s an interesting name.”
“It’s Egyptian.”
“I see. Are you from Egypt?
“My father’s side.” Arden nodded.
“Ramses, what does the term ‘fairy tale’ mean to you?”
“Um… Uh… A fictional story.”
“Exactly. That’s what I meant back in the mess hall just now. Douglas is spewing fictional stories to you because of his own inability to accept change in the world.”
“But… But he sounds so certain,” Ramses whispered, his eyes searching hers for a crack in the logic. “He says the natural order is being disrupted. That mixing bloodlines weakens the Fae bloodline. He said the Princesses' children are… unpredictable. Dangerous.”
“Ramses, you’re what? 19? 20?”
“18, actually,” Ramses answered.
“You’re a child. You’re still young to be influenced, and that’s what Douglas is exploiting. He’s manipulating you with his own beliefs and opinions as if they’re facts when they’re not. If we were speaking biologically, yes, interspecies relationships do change the chemical makeup of one’s DNA. That doesn’t mean the resulting child in that relationship is diseased or infectious. You just said that your father’s side of your family is Egyptian. Yes?” Ramses nodded. “What about your mother?”
“She’s American.”
“Okay, so that makes you an Egyptian-American, right?” Ramses nodded. “Does that mean you’re a disease? Does your being of mixed nationalities disrupt the order of the world?”
“What? Of course not, my father and mother are true loves!”
“That’s precisely my point, Ramses. Your parents are considered an interracial couple. Many of the fae couples in the kingdom are. Does that make them stains on the kingdom?”
“No, ma’am, it doesn’t.”
“The same logic can be used when it comes to interspecies. Yes, my true love is a werewolf, and yes, I plan to be with him when I complete my duties, and Douglas isn’t happy about that. Douglas isn’t happy about a lot of things that aren’t even within his control, but rather than accept that fact, he twists information, forces his ideologies on others, and sabotages. Now tell me, recruit Ramses, is that someone you want to be associated with?”
“No, ma’am.”
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