Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
The weight of realization settled in Casteel's heart as he watched Nero comfort the traumatized child.
He felt his mate's fierce protectiveness—not just for him now, but for River as well.
But that protection had become a chain that would drag them all to destruction.
Doran would never stop hunting them. The High Priest had seen the truth now, knew that Nero carried the wolf-soul, and his obsession would burn kingdoms to ash before he accepted defeat.
Every moment they remained together, every second Nero spent protecting him instead of fulfilling the prophecy, innocent people died.
The mathematics of sacrifice were brutally simple. One life to save thousands. One heartbreak to prevent a kingdom's fall.
And Casteel knew now, thanks to the blood magic, that his death wouldn't destroy the wolf-soul. If anything, Nero should flourish free of the constant weight around his neck.
Or was that fair?
He knew Nero loved him, just doubted it wasn't mixed in with responsibility and duty, which in turn made their love a burden Nero could never set down.
He never wanted to be a burden. He'd dreamed of the Skellarae again.
He'd imagined a future where Nero and he could live with their family and visit the horses, but that would never happen.
There would always be an enemy. Even if they defeated Doran, the Silver Wolf would always be something others wanted to control and he would always be a weakness to exploit.
Could he live like that?
Was it fair to make Nero live like that?
Martha cleared her throat softly. "The rendezvous point is two miles north," she said, her practical voice cutting through. "Lord Morven's people will be waiting with horses and supplies."
Casteel nodded, but his mind was already racing ahead to darker calculations.
The gathering of nobles would reassemble elsewhere, and they would look to the Silver Wolf for leadership.
They needed Nero focused, not divided. And his death would divide Nero.
Maybe instead of a burden, Casteel could be an asset?
He just didn't know how.
Nero had lost his first family, his son Romash, his wife and unborn child. He'd carried that guilt for years, let it shape him into the rebellion’s perfect weapon. Now fate was offering him a chance at redemption—a new family, a child who needed him, a cause worth dying for.
"We should move," Nero said, reluctantly releasing River but keeping one hand on the boy's shoulder. "We need to join Morven as soon as we can."
They walked through the orchard in silence, the burning manor casting dancing shadows between the apple trees.
At the forest's edge, they found the rendezvous point—a clearing where Lord Morven waited with a handful of surviving nobles and their retainers.
His own force of guards and servants had joined them.
Horses stamped nervously in the moonlight, their riders' faces grim with the knowledge of how close they'd come to complete disaster.
"The Silver Wolf," Morven said, relief evident in his voice as Nero emerged from the tree line. "We feared the worst when the manor went up in flames."
"Doran knows the truth now," Nero replied, his arm still around River's shoulders. "The pursuit will intensify. We need to move farther into the mountains tonight."
Morven nodded grimly. "The southern passes are already impossible. We'll head north toward my old fortress at Ravenscar. Doran's forces won't expect us to move deeper into contested territory, he would expect us to flee."
Casteel felt Nero's exhaustion. The wolf's healing abilities had closed his wounds, but the strain of continuous fighting had drained even his reserves.
Yet Nero stood tall, his voice steady as he discussed strategy with the surviving nobles, never revealing the pain that Casteel could feel throbbing through their connection.
"River needs rest," Casteel said, drawing attention to River, who swayed on his feet beside Nero. "And food."
"Of course," Morven said, gesturing to a waiting servant. "We have emergency supplies always ready."
As the others scrambled with packs and horses, Casteel slipped like a ghost to the forest’s edge. A cold stream hissed in the dark, moonlight gouging silver veins across its surface. He dropped to his knees, thrusting his fingers into the icy torrent, swallowing a hiss as he steeled himself.
He clenched his teeth. He just needed a moment to clear his mind.
The wolf-soul belonged with Nero. It always had. The prophecy spoke of a Silver Wolf who would unite the kingdom, not a Silver Wolf distracted by love and haunted by the constant fear of losing his mate. Casteel's presence made Nero vulnerable, and it gave their enemies a weapon to use against him.
But wasn't that the same the world over?
Wasn't that what love was all about?
He didn't doubt Nero loved him, all his doubt came from not having a role, a purpose.
“You’re plotting,” came Eryken’s rasp from the shadows.
Casteel looked up. “Just scrubbing the ash from my face.”
Eryken settled by his shoulder, the moonlight unable to clear the shadows from the warrior’s face. “That’s the gaze of a man feeding his own funeral pyre,” he whispered. “I’ve stared into that fire before.”
His pulse thundered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he choked out.
Eryken’s glare cut him to the bone. “You think you endanger him, that he’d grow stronger, if you slipped away? Better off without you rather than a millstone around his neck?”
Casteel ground out each word between clenched teeth, the stream a roar in his ears. Because yes he had been thinking that, and to hear Eryken voice it made him sound childish, as if he had to justify his thoughts even as he knew they were wrong. “Nero almost bled out today trying to save me.”
Eryken studied him like a battlefield survivor. “Tell me,” he said at last, “why do you think your corpse would unlock his chains?”
The question struck him so hard he staggered, water sloshing over the bank.
He wrenched himself upright. “We are none of your damn business. My decisions are exactly that.” He wasn't a self-sacrificing fool.
He loved Nero, and knew Nero loved him. He was just sick of other people controlling his life, and Eryken had no right interfering.
He'd spent his life owing others, obeying orders, being controlled, and now this self-proclaimed rebellion leader thought he knew Nero's heart better than he did?
Eryken jabbed a finger at his chest, voice rising. “So, you’ll sentence him to a half-life? I believed in this bond you share, but perhaps it is one-sided?”
Rage flared behind Casteel’s eyes, but words died on his lips as he recognized Eryken’s trap for what it was. He turned to walk back to Nero. To tell him he was all in.
“He was hollow before, a half-man,” Eryken spat. “No laughter, no warmth—nothing but grief and rage. After the palace fell, he just left. With his family's land barren, he trudged to the docks at dawn to sign on as a laborer. Told me he was finished.”
Casteel rubbed his chest, but it didn’t ease the hurt.
“It took me a few days to find him. Thought he was dead,” Eryken admitted.
“Sometimes I wondered if wouldn’t have been better off if he was, but then after I left, he sent a bird telling me he was saving what coin he could to pay for passage on a ship to Cadmeera.
To start a new life. Told me it would take three years, but he would do it.
The last ship that could forge the straits before winter docked at the port two days before the choosing and sailed on the evening tide the night you shifted into your wolf.
What are you betting Nero should have been on that ship, but he missed it because of you? ”
Casteel couldn’t hold in the hiss of pain.
“And the bond?” Eryken dug the knife in. “True mates cannot live apart. You’re either condemning him to death, or if he lives, sending him back to the half-life he existed in before.”
“No,” Casteel rasped, shaking his head violently. “Not anymore. The blood magic altered the bond. She told me. My death wouldn't cause his.”
“Are you sure?” Eryken said and stood. "I've seen every sort of death imaginable in this war. Unimaginable injuries from sword, pike, rope, even crushed beneath horses or buildings." He paused. "But in ten years I've never seen a death from a broken heart. Don't let Nero be the first one."
Nero emerged from the trees, his silver-flecked eyes catching the moonlight as Eryken departed with a meaningful glance between them. The tension in Nero's shoulders and the tight line of his jaw told Casteel he'd heard everything.
"Planning your escape?" Nero's voice was deceptively soft, but through their bond came a storm of emotions—anger, betrayal, and beneath it all, a raw, aching hurt that made Casteel's breath catch.
"No," Casteel vowed, because he wasn't. "Eryken—"
"Is mistaken?" Nero finished, stepping closer, his eyes flashing silver. "Sounds to me you're admitting the burden of having someone love you when you clearly don't feel the same."
The accusation struck Casteel like a physical blow. "That's not true," he whispered.
"Isn't it?" Nero's laugh held no humor. "You were going to leave.
Disappear. Let me think you'd changed your mind.
" He shook his head, something terrible and wounded in his expression.
"Do you have any idea what that would do to me?" But before Casteel could respond he froze. “Except that wouldn’t work because of the bond,” he whispered, voice cracking. “You weren’t just going to leave me, were you? That first day you held a blade to your throat.”
"I changed my mind," Casteel admitted desperately, the words tasting like ash. "Doran nearly killed you today because of me. Of course I have doubts. I love you. But—"