Chapter 38
As they stepped out of Selene’s shop, Alaric caught the way Evelyne’s fingers drifted along the worn edges of The Lantern’s Keeper, her eyes distant and unfocused.
The strain of their conversation still clung to her, quiet but heavy, like something she hadn’t quite shaken off.
He knew she needed time to sort through it all—but there was something he needed to take care of first.
He cleared his throat. “Ev.”
She blinked and turned to him. “Hmm?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I need to check something. The trading post, just outside town.” He tapped his temple with two fingers. “I haven’t been there before, but know the routes well enough to navigate it.”
“You think something’s wrong with trade up here too?”
“Probably.” Alaric exhaled. “If the southern trade routes are shifting, it wouldn’t be surprising if things are off here too.
Everything’s already a mess, and I have no idea how we’re supposed to fix it.
” His jaw tightened. “But there are still people back home who have no idea what’s coming.
If something’s wrong, I must try to set it right at least.”
Evelyne studied his face. He sighed.
“Can I walk you back to the lodge? I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone.”
She waved him off. “Please. Don’t worry about me. Do what you need to do. Go get your answers.” A flicker of a smirk touched her lips. “Although, let’s be honest—you got plenty today.”
Alaric let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Not enough. I’ll regret it if I don’t check in at the outpost before we move on. I think one of my father’s men is stationed there for the season.”
Evelyne hugged the book to her chest and glanced toward the market street. “I’ll be fine. I was planning to see more of the market anyway.”
“I won’t be gone long,” he promised.
“Go, Alaric,” she replied gently.
And with that, he left.
***
Derran Ashby was one of the youngest men to serve under Alaric’s father’s trade group, just a year younger than Alaric.
But unlike many in their circle, Derran preferred the outskirts of society to the polished halls of nobility.
Alaric couldn’t blame him. Navigating Caltheris’ rigid hierarchy must have been difficult without a family name to offer protection, but Derran likely never had to endure arranged courtships or the constant pressure of noble expectations.
Seeing him stationed out here in the eastern lands of Centaro wasn’t a surprise.
If anything, he looked like he belonged in Cindermoor.
The pair had never been particularly close, but their paths had crossed often during Alaric’s travels to nearby outposts. Derran had always struck him as sharp, someone with a dry sense of humor and the rare ability to know exactly when to speak and when to stay silent.
He greeted Alaric with a firm handshake. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Alaric clasped his hand. “Thought I’d stop by, make sure things are running smoothly.” His voice lowered slightly. “I’d like to keep my presence quiet, if you don’t mind.”
Derran nodded once—a man who knew how to keep things discreet.
Alaric did not doubt that both his father and Lord Duskwood had expected he’d pass through this trading post eventually.
But what unsettled him was the silence—why hadn’t there been word of Lord Duskwood tracking them?
Surely, by now, he had men searching for Evelyne.
“No delays?” Alaric asked.
Derran scratched his jaw, eyes narrowing in thought. “A few things here and there, but nothing out of the ordinary. One shipment from the Southern Isles came in a day late, and there have been some reports of missing cargo, but nothing serious.”
Alaric gave a slow nod. That was still far better than the unrest near Mokkvyrn Forest. And the fact that goods from the Southern Isles were arriving was promising.
If the delay happened further north near the northeastern stretch, the south and the seas would likely still be untouched by the Noskari.
His gaze drifted, landing on a worker a few feet away. Alaric wasn’t familiar with most of the men stationed at this outpost besides Derran and a few of his father’s trusted men, yet this one stood out. Something about him held Alaric’s attention.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, carrying himself with an unsettling stillness.
His dark tunic looked far too heavy for the day’s warmth, the sleeves pushed up just enough to expose tanned forearms. Even Alaric was sweating beneath the sun, his linen shirt clinging to his back, but the man appeared untouched by the heat.
As the stranger shifted to lift a crate, something caught Alaric’s eye.
A scar. Not just any scar, but a deep mark burned into his skin, raised like it had been branded.
Its shape struck a chord of recognition. It was disturbingly familiar.
“Something wrong?”
Derran’s voice pulled him back. Alaric masked his unease. “Is he new?” He tilted his head toward the man.
“Yeah. Arrived yesterday. Quiet type. Doesn’t leave that spot much.”
Something gnawed at the back of Alaric’s mind, an instinct he couldn’t shake urging him to look closer. Without hesitation, he crossed the distance to the worker. The man seemed to sense his approach and turned, offering a faint smile.
Alaric extended a hand. “Alaric Stonebridge.”
The man took it, his grip unexpectedly strong, far stronger than it should have been. Alaric withdrew his hand a moment later, a frown forming as a quiet tension stirred beneath his thoughts. Strangely, the man didn’t give his name.
Forcing an easy smile, Alaric tried again. “They’ve got you on unloading duty? That’s no fun in this heat.”
“I’m fine.” The response was clipped and dismissive. The man turned back toward the gravel road, staring into the distance as if the conversation had ended. Quiet type, indeed.
Alaric glanced toward Derran with a look that said, Alright then. Derran merely shrugged, clearly just as aware of the awkwardness.
“I’ll be in town until tomorrow,” Alaric told Derran before leaving. “You know where to find me if there’s anything worth reporting.”
Derran gave him a nod. “Good seeing you, Alaric.”
But Alaric’s mind wasn’t on the farewell. It was still on the scar.
***
Evelyne stood before the mirror in the quiet room she shared with Heidara, studying the face that stared back at her.
It no longer belonged to the girl who had once stumbled into the forest, aching, uncertain, and afraid.
That girl was gone. In her place stood someone stronger, steadier.
A woman shaped by survival. A warrior in her own right.
The slit skirt she wore shifted with each step, soft leather brushing one thigh while the longer panel draped low on the other side, offering a teasing glimpse of newly sun-kissed skin.
This time, Evelyne didn’t shy away from the cropped leathers.
The dark brown top hugged her frame, wrapping neatly around her ribs and ending just above her navel.
It highlighted the strength she’d earned, the faint lines of her stomach visible beneath the candlelight. For once, she reveled in the sight.
“You look perfect,” Heidara said, stepping up behind her.
Evelyne turned, lips parting slightly as she caught sight of her.
Heidara had outdone herself. Dark lashes framed her green eyes, the smoky kohl expertly blended at the edges, making them appear almost otherworldly.
A soft touch of rouge warmed her cheekbones, and her lips, painted a deep red, stood in striking contrast against her skin. She looked fierce. Beautiful.
Heidara grinned at her reaction, then stepped closer, raising something over Evelyne’s head before gently settling it in place. “For you,” she said softly.
A crown made of flowers.
The delicate white blossoms wove together, resting just above the small braids Heidara had threaded through Evelyne’s hair, the rest cascading down her back in loose, effortless curls.
Evelyne swallowed past the unexpected tightness in her throat. “When did you—?”
“When I left you and Alaric in the market,” Heidara admitted with a smirk, adjusting the crown slightly.
“I wanted to find something special. A proper gift for the birthday girl.” She stepped back to admire her work.
“Oh, wait—just a touch of color on your lips.” Heidara leaned in, then let out a satisfied hum.
“There. Now you look like the goddess of the moon herself.”
A light, unrestrained laugh slipped from Evelyne’s lips.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so entirely herself.
Not the noblewoman paraded in silk and lace, forced to plaster on a smile and endure dull exchanges.
No… tonight, she felt free. And perhaps, like a woman who might catch the eye of an alpha.
Heidara must have noticed the glint of mischief in her expression, because she raised a brow and grinned. “Oh, you are turning heads tonight.” Leaning in with a teasing whisper, she added, “Maybe even a certain brooding, insufferable one.”
Evelyne rolled her eyes, but couldn’t fight the warmth that spread through her.
“Come on.” Heidara tugged her hand. “The moon is high, and the ritual is about to begin.”
Evelyne exhaled, her heart thrumming with anticipation. She had spent weeks fighting to survive. Tonight, she would celebrate.
***
Evelyne had nearly forgotten how striking the men looked on ritual nights.
Their bare chests and broad torsos were adorned with swirling paint, and their leather or loose-fitting pants hung low on their hips.
The usual intensity in their expressions had softened into easy smiles, their tousled hair catching the firelight.
It was beautiful—intoxicating, even. And if Heidara hadn’t been tugging her forward, Evelyne might have been content to linger at the edge, simply watching it all unfold.