Chapter 2 · TheCost of a Lie

The word 'heir' doesn't land the way I picturedit.

I thought it would hit the room like a stone into a still lake. A gasp. Hisface changing. Instead, forty wolves decide at the same time I’m a liar, and the whole place goes deadsilent.

"Get her out," Valerius says.

That’s it. That’s his answer to the blood test. To every night I’ve spent in his bed.

I’m not leaving yet. Not until I see the look in his eyes when he realizes he’s making a mistake.

"Alpha," the oldest councilwoman says, her hand trembling on her chain of office. "The blood is hers. The labwork is stamped. If there’s a—"

"The medics bled her twice last month," Valerius cutsher off. He doesn't even look at her. He’s staring right at me. "And found nothing."

The medics belong to Vane. Every wolf in this room knows it. I could scream it, but it wouldn't matter. The story’s already written, and in this version, the rejected mate is always the liar.

I keepmy mouth shut. I fold the paper.

It’s still warm from my grip. Corner to corner. Islide it into the pocket sewn inside my dress. It sits against my hip like a second, frantic heartbeat.

Laughter ripples from the gallery. Vane. Of course. He’s leaning on the rail, his rings catching the torchlight.

"Let her keep it," he calls down. "She can dry her eyes with it onthe way out."

Half the room laughs.

The girl who brings my tea at dawn coversher mouth to hide a smirk. The stable master, the one I’ve known for years, stares hard at his boots.

My wolf doesn’t howl.

She’s been in my chest since I was a pup, and now? She’s gone silent. Not dead. Just curled up. When I reach for her, she slipsaway like a dog that’s decided she’s had enough.

"Seraphina," Valerius says, stepping off the dais. "Your hand."

"No."

"Your hand."

"You don't get to ask nicely anymore. Not after this."

He doesn't care. He takes it anyway.

His palm is burning hot. It kills me—even after all this, his touchstill feels like home. He uncurls my fingers one by one. Slow. Deliberate. He turns me around.

The collar of my dress drops an inch. Cold air hits the mark between my shoulder blades, followed by his thumb. My spine lights up like a struck wire.

"Don't," I whisper. My voice is thin. Pathetic. "If you’re going to do it, say the words. Don't hide behind the ritual."

"I, Valerius of Iron-Crag, break what the moon gave me." His voice is flat. Dead. "I take back the bond. I take back the name. I take back the blood."

He grabs the silver knife. It’s been waiting on that dais for a hundred years for someone just like me.

I don't close my eyes. I’m not giving him that satisfaction.

It doesn't feellike a cut. It feels like a hook buried behind my sternum, and then someone dragging it out through my spine. A wet, sickening *pop* echoes through the hall. Everyone hears it.

The mark on my back goes cold. A dead patch of skin, numb as a gravestone.

I taste my own copper-sharp blood in theback of my throat. I drop to one knee. My vision blips at the edges, but I force myself to stayupright.

Then, the pack tethers start to snap.

One by one. Forty of them. Like buttons popping off a coat. Every time one breaks, a face in that gallery goes blank. It’s notcruelty anymore. It’s emptiness. Like I never existed.

The oldest councilwoman turns away. That’s themoment that breaks me. Not the knife. Her looking away.

"It is ended," Valerius says.

I get to my feet. The room tilts, but I don't sway. Blood is soaking into the wool of my dress,cooling against my skin.

"You’ll want it back one day," I tell him, my voice barely abreath. "And I’ll make sure you have to ask me in front of them."

A musclejumps in his jaw. Then, nothing.

"The border by moonrise," he commands. "Take the northroad. Don't come back."

I turn and walk.

I count the steps.Forty, just like the pack members. My heels click against the obsidian, the only sound in the room. My wolf stays inthe dark, nose tucked under her tail.

I’m halfway to the doors when I make myself look back.

He’s staring at his own palm. His blood is running black down to his wrist. It isn't closing. An Alpha’s flesh should knit together in heartbeats, but this wound stays open.

Everywolf in the room flinches. Vane’s smirk vanishes.

Whatever he just did, the pack feltit. I watch the great Alpha of Iron-Crag standing on his own dais, and for the first time,he looks terrified.

"Seraphina."

He sounds small. Desperate.

Istep across the threshold into the night—and the dead patch of skin between my shoulder blades suddenly sears with heat.

Something inthere hasn't let go yet.