Chapter 11
Perock
As the body of the rogue werewolf was dragged out of the palace, I didn’t linger to look.
My arms were tightly wrapped around the unconscious Sophia as I hurried toward the medical wing.
Her face was pale, her long hair disheveled, and her dress stained with dust, making her look frail and helpless.
However, I found my thoughts incessantly drifting to the woman I had left behind.
That scene still played vividly in my mind—the rogue werewolf swiping at her with a claw, sending her delicate frame arcing through the air, her skirt fluttering like the wings of a butterfly.
In that split second of crisis, my heart nearly stopped, but I couldn’t rush to her side. Instead, I chose to protect Sophia.
It was Orin, my most trusted deputy, who shielded my princess.
The thought ignited a flare of anger in my chest, irrational and fierce. That should have been me—catching her, shielding her. Not another man stepping into my place, fulfilling a duty that was mine alone.
“Your highness, please lay Lady Sophia here,” the healer said, gesturing to a bed. She began examining her, her voice calm. “She’s merely shaken. A night’s rest should restore her.”
I nodded, sinking into the chair beside her bed, my gaze straying to the door. My fingers tapped the armrest, restless, barely registering the healer’s instructions.
“Is Her Highness unharmed?” the healer asked cautiously.
The question snapped me back. “I’m not certain,” I said, my voice taut. “Send someone to confirm the princess’s safety at once.”
The healer bowed and hurried out, leaving me by Sophia’s side, though my thoughts were already racing across the palace to Viossi.
This attack was no accident. Rogue werewolves rarely acted alone, and never dared breach a fortified castle. This bores Jackson’s mark—a calculated strike to sow chaos, undermine the fragile trust I’d built among the nobles, and target Viossi, knowing her importance to me.
Her importance?
The thought tightened my chest. Was she important to me?
As a tool to break my curse, to play the role of devoted wife and bolster my reputation, she was undeniably vital. That’s how I’d always seen her, how I’d justified my distance.
But why, then, did the image of Orin holding her—clutching her so tightly—burn in my mind, stirring a possessiveness I couldn’t explain?
I stood abruptly, turning to the maid tending Sophia’s brow. “Take care of her.”
“Where are you going, Perock?” Sophia’s voice, weak but alert, stopped me. Her eyes fluttered open, her hand reaching for me, pleading. “Please, don’t leave me.”
I frowned slightly. “You’re awake.”
“I was so frightened,” she whispered, tears tracing her cheeks. “That monster… its eyes… I thought I was going to die.”
“You’re safe now,” I said evenly. “The maids will look after you, and your husband will be summoned to escort you home.”
A flicker of hurt crossed her face. “Where are you going?”
“I need to ensure the princess’s safety.”
Her fingers gripped my sleeve, trembling. “Please, Perock, stay with me, just for a moment. You’ve never treated me like this before. Could you offer me some comfort?”
I gently freed my arm. “Sophia, our past is over. You have your husband, and I have my wife. She is the one I should care about most at this moment.”
Her expression froze, then twisted into a blend of anger and sorrow. “You’ve changed, Perock. You were never so cold to me.”
“People change,” I replied simply, turning toward the door. “Rest well.”
Leaving the infirmary, I strode through the corridors, a growing unease gnawing at me.
Protecting Sophia had been instinctive—not just for old promises, but because a noble’s injury in my palace would fuel Jackson’s campaign to discredit me.
Yet, the rogue’s attack was too precise, its massive form and glowing red eyes unnatural, its movements deliberate.
It had torn through the palace but targeted Viossi, as if drawn to her.
This was Jackson’s doing, I was certain.
The healer soon reported that Viossi was unharmed, only shaken, and resting in her chambers.
Relief washed over me, but it was fleeting, replaced by the persistent image of Orin cradling her, his arms a shield where mine should have been.
My wolf stirred, a low growl rumbling in my chest, bristling at the thought of another man claiming her protection.
Carrying this tangled knot of emotions, I returned to my study, only to freeze at the sight before me.
Viossi stood by my bookshelf, holding the crescent pendant Sophia had given me, her fingers tracing its surface with a quiet intensity.
The door’s creak startled her, and the pendant slipped from her grasp, shattering on the floor with a crystalline snap, a crack splitting the crescent.
“Why did you touch my things?” My voice was low, dangerous, each word forced through clenched teeth. Anger surged, a molten tide threatening to consume my reason.
“I-I didn’t mean to…” she stammered, rising, reaching for me, her voice trembling. But her approach only fueled my fury, each step a spark to the blaze.
“What is this?” My face must have been ghostly, twisted with rage and grief. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
The anger overwhelmed me. I surged forward, shoving her back. “Get out! Now!”
The force was too much—she stumbled, crashing to the floor.
A flicker of regret pierced me, but the rage smothered it.
I knelt, gathering the pendant’s fragments, heedless of the sharp edges cutting my fingers, blood welling as I tried to salvage what she’d broken.
This pendant held my past with Sophia, a vow of forever, now ruined.
Yet, beneath the fury, a quieter voice whispered - I don’t want her to know too much about Sophia and me.
“Perock, please, let me explain…” she sobbed, reaching out, tears blurring her green eyes.
Her tears stirred a storm of conflicting emotions, but I refused to yield. “Get out!” I roared, my voice raw with an anger even I didn’t recognize. “Don’t make me say it again.”
Her eyes filled with tears, her lips quivering, but she didn’t argue. With a small nod, she rose and fled, her footsteps fading as the door slammed shut.
Only then did I realize how far I’d lost control. I’d never lashed out like this, not at servants, not at nobles. Why did she provoke such a reaction? My wolf growled, restless, as if she’d touched something deeper than a pendant, something I wasn’t ready to face.
I stared at the broken pendant, its once-smooth surface marred with scratches, the crescent’s crack a mockery of my past.
Sophia had said that as long as the moonlight endures, the promise between me and her will never break. Now, both pendant and promise lay in ruins.
Strangely, the anger subsided, leaving not the expected grief but a hollow calm.
The pendant had been my obsession, a tether to a past I couldn’t release, yet now my thoughts were consumed by something else—worry and guilt.
Had I been too harsh? She’d acted out of curiosity, and I’d cast her out with a cruelty I didn’t recognize.
Her tears, those green eyes shimmering with hurt, cut deeper than I’d expected, echoing the fear I’d seen in them during the rogue’s attack—not of the beast, but of my indifference.
The next morning, I sat in my study, poring over reports, but my mind wandered to the night before. Should I apologize? Explain my outburst? The idea unsettled me—I never explained myself, never apologized. Yet her wounded expression haunted me, disrupting my focus.
Glancing out the window, I considered Jackson’s schemes. His attacks were escalating, aimed at destabilizing my rule, and targeting those closest to me was his sharpest weapon. I needed to bolster the palace’s defenses, especially around Viossi.
To me, she was…what? A tool, a necessity? I wasn’t sure anymore, and that uncertainty gnawed at me.
A message arrived—Sophia requested an audience. She’d rested in the palace overnight and was now recovered. Courtesy demanded I agree, so I arranged to meet her in the small parlor, a quiet corner where sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the stone floor.
Sophia awaited me, radiant in a pale lavender gown, her dark hair elegantly pinned, a stark contrast to her disheveled state last night. Her beauty was undeniable, yet it stirred nothing in me—no warmth, no longing anymore.
“Perock,” she said, smiling as she approached, “thank you for saving me last night.”
I nodded politely. “It was my duty.”
“I was surprised you reached me so quickly,” she said, her eyes glinting with an emotion I couldn’t place, “even if it meant leaving your wife behind.”
Her words struck a nerve, but I kept my face neutral. “The palace guards were sufficient to protect her.”
Even as I spoke, the image of Viossi airborne, helpless, flashed in my mind. My wolf growled low in my chest, discontent with my choice.
Sophia smiled, drifting to the window. “I’ve seen her at the banquet, but we haven’t truly spoken. I’m curious—I’m curious, what kind of woman is she that you chose her as your wife?”
The question stung, because the truth was cold: I’d chosen Viossi not for love, but for her role in breaking my curse. At least, that’s how it began. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
“A political alliance,” I said curtly, unwilling to delve deeper.
Sophia stepped closer, her hand brushing my arm. “We made promises once, Perock. Do you remember? Our vows beneath the moonlight?”
My mind drifted to that distant night, two young lovers by a garden fountain, pledging eternity. We’d been naive, believing love could conquer all. But life had taught me that promises were as fragile as morning dew.
“That was long ago, Sophia,” I said softly, easing my arm away. “We’ve both moved on.”
She leaned closer, her fingers grazing my sleeve. “We used to walk under the full moon, remember? Those were such happy times…”