Chapter 7
2009 คำ
Chapter 7
The sudden, rhythmic thundering against the wood of her door sent Arden bolt upright, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. For a split second, the glamour flickered, a spark of Phoenix heat radiating from her skin before she slammed her mental walls back into place.
"Arden! Open up! You’re five minutes late for the dawn briefing!"
She recognized the voice instantly. It wasn't Magnus. It was Douglas, sounding entirely too pleased with himself for catching her off guard.
She scrambled out of bed, her feet hitting the cold floor. She glanced at her clock—he was right. The exhaustion from her late-night flight had caused her to sleep through her internal alarm, a mistake she never made.
"I'm coming, Douglas! Back off the door!" she snapped, grabbing her uniform tunic and throwing it on with practiced speed. She smoothed her hair, ensuring every strand was tucked back into its tight, severe bun, hiding any trace of the wild, wind-blown look from the night before.
When she swung the door open, Douglas was leaning against the opposite wall, a smug, oily grin plastered across his face. He took a deliberate look at her slightly flushed face and the way she was still adjusting her belt.
"Rough night?" he asked, his voice dripping with false concern. "I suppose long-distance calls with your... pet can be quite draining. It’s a shame, really. A member of the Royal Guard should have more discipline. But I suppose when you start associating with animals, you start picking up their lazy habits."
Arden felt a familiar surge of heat in her chest—not the warmth of the Phoenix, but the slow burn of genuine irritation. She stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her with a sharp click.
"My discipline is just fine, Douglas," she said, her voice icy and level. "And last I checked, being five minutes late for a briefing is a minor infraction. Being a harassing nuisance, however, is a personality trait. One you seem to be mastering."
Douglas’s grin faltered, but his attitude didn’t. His eyes narrowed. "Magnus is waiting. And he doesn't like to be kept waiting by someone who's already halfway out the door to go live in a doghouse."
Arden didn't break her stride as she started down the hallway toward the assembly hall, but she let a small, sharp smile play on her lips. She wasn't going to punch him—that would be too easy, and far too much paperwork. But a Phoenix had other ways of making a point.
"You know, Douglas," she said, her voice airy and conversational as he hurried to keep pace with her, "you're always so concerned about my 'associations.' It’s almost like you’re obsessed."
"I'm concerned about the integrity of the Guard—"
"Right, the integrity," she interrupted. She leaned in just a fraction closer as they turned a corner, focusing her intent. She didn't let her wings out or manifest a single flame, but she let the core temperature of her glamour rise in a localized burst.
To anyone else in the hall, it was just a chilly morning. But to Douglas, the air within two inches of Arden suddenly felt like the inside of a furnace.
Douglas let out a choked gasp, his skin instantly flushing a deep, mottled red. Sweat beaded on his forehead in just a few seconds. He stumbled back a step, tugging at his high collar as if it were suddenly made of molten lead.
"Is it... is it hot in here?" he wheezed, his smug expression melting into one of pure physical distress. Arden stopped and looked at him, her expression the picture of innocent confusion. She felt perfectly cool, the heat circulating harmlessly within her own aura.
"Hot? I don't feel anything. Maybe it’s your blood pressure, Douglas. After all, bitterness can't be good for the heart." She reached out and patted his shoulder. Through his uniform, the brief contact felt like a hot iron pressing against his skin. He jumped nearly a foot in the air, a small yelp escaping his throat.
"You're... you're burning!" he hissed, clutching his arm and looking at her with wide, terrified eyes.
"Are you okay? I think you’re seeing things," Arden replied smoothly, pulling the heat back into her core as quickly as she'd released it. The air around them returned to a crisp, morning cool. "Or maybe it’s a fever. You should probably see a healer after the briefing. You wouldn't want to be undisciplined and pass out during drills, would you?"
She turned away and headed for the briefing room. She walked into the assembly hall with her head held high, her secret tucked safely behind her fairy mask. She had rattled Douglas, but she knew she had to be more careful. If she kept burning people, even Magnus would start asking questions she wasn't ready to answer.
Magnus stood at the front of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture as rigid as the kingdom’s foundations. When Arden slipped into her seat, he barely offered her a sidelong glance. He knew her record; a few minutes for a soldier of her caliber was a non-issue, likely written off as a late-night gear check or extra meditation.
However, three minutes into the briefing, the heavy oak doors creaked open again.
Douglas stumbled in, looking like he’d just run a marathon in a sauna. His uniform was rumpled, his face was still a splotchy shade of pink, and he was intermittently fanning himself with his mission clipboard. The entire room shifted its gaze toward him.
Magnus stopped mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing into frosty slits. "Officer Douglas. So nice of you to join us.”
A few of the younger guards stifled snickers. Arden kept her gaze fixed forward, her expression a mask of perfect, military neutrality, though her heart was singing.
"My apologies, Commander," Douglas wheezed, sliding into a seat as far away from Arden as possible. "I... I felt a bit faint. A sudden spike in temperature."
"The King has informed me that his daughters and grandchildren will be visiting for the solstice celebrations," Magnus continued, his voice echoing off the stone rafters. "This means security will be tightened, and hospitality protocols are to be strictly enforced."
At the mention of the grandchildren, Arden noticed Douglas’s face contort into a mask of pure distaste. If he had been red from the heat before, he was pale with displeasure now.
To the rest of the kingdom, the return of the princesses was a time of celebration, a rare occasion when the palace felt full of life. But for Douglas and the "Purity Faction," it was a bitter reminder of the changing times. It was bad enough that the princesses were half-werewolf, but they had also married into a werewolf pack and produced more hybrids who were more werewolf than they were fairy.
“Commander, what’s their mode of transport?” Kealan inquired.
“The Alpha’s private jet,” Magnus replied.
“Will the Triplet Alphas be accompanying them?” Jace asked, unable to hide his curiosity.
“I don’t believe so. Alpha Deacon is tied up with pack business alongside his brothers. Consequently, only Princess Evelyn, Princess Eileen, and their children will be making the trip.” A murmur of understanding rippled through the ranks. “They land later this afternoon and have requested three escorts to lead them from the airport back to the kingdom. Any volunteers?”
Arden’s hand shot up instantly. Kealan and another guard, Hennessey, followed suit.
“Very well. You three stay behind with me; the rest of you are dismissed to your posts,” Magnus commanded.
As the room cleared and the guards filed out, Douglas made a move to slip away, but Magnus’s voice cut through the air like a blade.
“Douglas!”
The guard stiffened. “Yes, Commander?”
“In this unit, tardiness is only permissible if you are bleeding out or already dead. Am I making myself clear?” Magnus’s gaze was unwavering. Douglas gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw bulging. “I didn't hear an answer!”
“Yes, Commander. Crystal,” Douglas spat out.
“Good. Dismissed.”
The briefing was efficient, stripped of the usual military fluff. Magnus laid out the timeline for the sisters’ arrival at the private airfield tucked just outside the kingdom’s magical veil. The logistics were straightforward: meet the jet, secure the perimeter, and provide a seamless transition for the Princesses and their half-wolf pups back to the palace.
With their orders solidified, Arden, Kealan, and Hennesey were cut loose. Since escorting royalty was a high-priority assignment, they were officially off the standard rotation for the rest of the day.
The trio made their way back to the barracks, the atmosphere significantly lighter than it was during the morning briefing. Kealan and Hennesey were already debating whether to hit the mess hall early or squeeze in a nap, but Arden had other plans. She was practically vibrating with the need to check her phone.
Back in the quiet of her quarters, she shed her heavy gear and flopped onto her beanbag chair. She pulled her phone out and saw a notification waiting for her.
Warlord: Good morning, beautiful. I just got back from morning training and will be in the shower by the time you get up. I found out why Fury went out so late, and I’ll explain during our nightly call later. Have a good day. And remember what I said about Doucherman Doug.
Arden smiled and typed out a reply.
Arden: Good morning. I just got back from the morning briefing, which I almost overslept for. Ironically enough, Douglas is the one who woke me up. He made a few more snide comments, so I gave him a quick taste of his own medicine. He was tardy, and Magnus gave him a verbal warning.
Arden hit send, and in just a few seconds, she saw the three dots blinking on her screen, indicating that Warlord was already typing out a response.
Warlord: That’s my girl. I’m surprised you can text me back so quickly after the morning brief.
Arden: Well, we learned that the Princesses and their children will be coming for the annual solstice celebration ball. They haven’t come since they left the Kingdom, so it’s a big deal.
Warlord: Are you saying Luna Evelyn and her sister will be there?
Arden: Yes.
Warlord: I’m sure a certain someone was too happy to hear that.
Arden: No. No, he was not. But it’s not like he can say or do anything to them. They’re the King's daughters and grandchildren. He’d be signing his own death warrant if he even remotely said anything negative to them.
Warlord: One would assume he’s smart enough not to do that.
Arden: Yeah, you’re telling me.
Warlord: Anything else worth sharing?
Arden: Nope. You?
Arden: You said you found out why Fury went out so late?
Warlord: Yeah. So, Margot, his mate who rejected him, showed up to talk.
Arden: Really?
Arden’s eyes widened in genuine surprise as she read the message from Warlord. She was about to respond with another question, but before she could, a knock came at her door.
“Who is it!?” Arden called out, annoyed at the interruption.
“It’s Kealan. Do you have a second?” Kealan responded. Arden’s shoulders dropped in aggravation. She only had a few minutes to talk to Warlord before being ultimately pulled away. She didn’t even take the time to respond to Warlord’s message before she got up and answered the door.
“What is it?” Arden asked, her tone filled with slight, yet obvious annoyance.
“Damn, who spat in your cereal this morning?” Kealan was shocked to see Arden’s expression.
“What do you want, Kealan? The Commander gave us time off. Why are you here at my quarters?”
“It’s about Douglas.”
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