CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AUbrEY
I watch Knox's retreating figure until he disappears around a bend in the garden path, his broad shoulders stiff with tension beneath his blood-spattered uniform.
The evening breeze rustles through the cherry trees surrounding the pavilion, sending a shower of pale pink petals swirling around me like snow.
My fingers trace the cool marble of the bench where we sat just moments ago, the ghost of his touch still lingering on my skin.
Relief washes over me as I release a long-held breath.
Thank the Moon Goddess for that timely interruption.
Another minute of his intense green eyes searching mine, and I might have forgotten why I'm really here.
I smooth down the front of my silk dress—a deep burgundy gown that Queen Grace insisted befits my station as future crown princess—and steel my resolve.
"Focus, Aubrey," I whisper to myself, the sound barely audible over the gentle burbling of the nearby fountain. Water cascades over carved stone wolves, the moonlight turning each droplet to liquid silver. "Remember your mission."
I need to gather intelligence about the castle's border defenses and patrol schedules for Jax.
That's what matters—not Knox's confession about never touching a woman before me, not the vulnerable look in his eyes as he admitted it, and certainly not the way my heart raced when he took my hand in his.
Sir Kirill's accusations echo in my mind, made all the more believable by the damning evidence of blood splashed across Knox's uniform.
The crimson stains seemed to glow in the dying light, vivid proof of violence.
Could Knox really be capable of hurting innocent people as Sir Kirill claimed?
The thought seems impossible when I remember his gentle touch, yet the blood tells a different story.
I make my way from the pavilion back toward the castle, my slippers silent on the stone path.
Stars emerge overhead, pinpricks of light in the indigo sky, as the sweet scent of moonflowers fills the air.
My chambers await me, a sanctuary where I can sort through these tangled thoughts without interruption.
But first, I need to plan tomorrow's approach.
The training grounds will provide the perfect opportunity to continue building trust with the royal guards—and extract the information Jax needs.
"Again!" I call out, circling my opponent on the packed dirt of the training grounds. Morning sunlight glints off weapons racks and practice dummies, casting long shadows across the arena. The air smells of leather, metal, and fresh sweat, a scent I've come to associate with purpose and freedom.
Henry, a burly wolf-warrior with a scar bisecting his right eyebrow, lunges at me with a roar.
His massive frame towers over mine, muscles straining beneath his training leathers as he swings a practice sword toward my midsection.
I sidestep smoothly, my own body moving with practiced precision, the result of years spent training when other she-wolves were learning needlepoint and proper tea service.
I'm dressed simply today—fitted leather pants that allow free movement, a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to my elbows, and sturdy boots that grip the ground as I pivot. My dark hair is pulled back in a practical braid that swings between my shoulder blades as I duck beneath Henry's next swing.
Finding an opening in his defense, I dart forward, feint left, then sweep his legs from under him. He crashes to the ground with a satisfying thud that sends dust billowing around us, his practice sword clattering away.
"Yield," he grunts, a reluctant smile spreading across his face as I place my wooden training sword at his throat.
A cheer erupts from the gathered warriors, their applause echoing across the training yard. Many wear expressions of open admiration where once there had been skepticism. The sun beats down on our heads, the morning already warming as it climbs higher in the cloudless blue sky.
"That was incredible, Your Highness!" Henry's training partner, Theo, approaches with a waterskin. His sandy hair is damp with exertion, and genuine respect shines in his eyes. "Where did you learn that feint? It was flawless."
I accept the waterskin with a grateful nod, allowing myself a small smile. "Years of practice. When you're smaller than most opponents, you learn to use their size against them."
"Would you teach us?" another warrior asks, stepping forward. Soon I'm surrounded by eager faces—all male, all looking at me not as some delicate royal consort but as a fighter worthy of their respect.
"Of course," I agree, seeing the perfect opportunity unfold. As we move through various defensive stances, I casually steer the conversation where I need it to go. "I imagine these techniques would be useful during border patrols."
Theo nods enthusiastically as he mimics my stance. "Absolutely. Especially on the eastern perimeter where the terrain is rougher. Rogues tend to attack from the higher ground there."
"Really? How many guards are usually stationed along that section?" I ask, adjusting his arm position to improve his balance.
"Typically eight per shift, rotating every six hours," he answers readily, concentration etched on his face as he perfects the move. "Though lately it's been increased to twelve."
"Smart," I comment, moving to the next warrior. "Has that been effective?"
The conversation flows naturally as we train, each warrior eager to impress me with their knowledge of defense protocols and patrol schedules.
By the time the sun reaches its zenith, casting short shadows across the packed earth of the training yard, I've gathered more intelligence than weeks of formal questioning could have yielded.
Yet as I wipe sweat from my brow with a damp cloth, guilt gnaws at me.
These men trust me. They see me as one of them now—their future queen, a warrior worthy of their loyalty.
Their open faces show none of the cruelty Sir Kirill described.
Could they really be the same wolves who terrorize innocent villagers?
I shake away the thought as warriors disperse for the midday meal, leather and metal clinking as they return practice weapons to the racks. The training yard gradually empties, leaving me alone with my conflicted thoughts.
"You're betraying your mate," Aria's voice emerges from within, both accusatory and concerned. "Have you forgotten he's bound to you by the Moon Goddess herself?"
"I'm doing what I promised Jax," I insist, though the conviction in my voice wavers. "He saved us when we had nothing."
"Did he?" My wolf's tone shifts, becoming more insistent. "Have you ever questioned why you can never fully remember that night? Why every time you try to recall the face of who attacked our family, your head feels like it's being split open?"
A sharp pain lances through my temple at her words, my vision blurring momentarily. It happens every time I try to recall the details of my pack's massacre, as if some barrier exists between me and the complete memory.
"What are you suggesting?" I ask, clutching the edge of the bench as the world tilts around me.
"I'm suggesting that Jax isn't who you think he is," Aria presses. "Why is a dark witch always at his side? Avery—known for memory manipulation. Why did he appear so conveniently that night? Why send you here if he truly cared for your safety?"
Her questions burrow into my mind like splinters, impossible to ignore. A cold sensation spreads through my chest as I consider possibilities I've never dared entertain before. "You can't be saying..."
"I'm saying question everything, Aubrey, "Aria urges.
"And think about these people at the castle.
Queen Grace with her patient lessons. Iris and her genuine friendship.
The maids who look at you with respect instead of scorn.
Are these the monsters Jax describes? Are they worthy of whatever fate he plans for them? "
I think of the innocent lives that would be caught in the crossfire if I help Jax move against the royal family. Children, servants, warriors who've shown me nothing but respect. My stomach twists with the weight of it all.
"Enough!" I sever our connection abruptly, cutting off Aria's protest.
The sudden silence in my mind is both a relief and a loss. Rising swiftly from the bench, I stride toward the forest that borders the training grounds. I need to run, to clear my head, to escape the impossible choices closing in around me.
Finding a secluded clearing among ancient oak trees, I strip off my training clothes and shift into my wolf form.
The transformation ripples through me like a cool wave, bones and muscles rearranging themselves until I stand on four legs instead of two.
My senses sharpen—the rich tapestry of forest scents unfurling around me, the distant heartbeats of small creatures, the whispering of leaves overhead.
I take off at a sprint, my paws nearly silent on the carpet of fallen leaves and soft moss. Wind rushes through my fur as I run, each powerful stride carrying me deeper into the woods. The physical exertion helps clear my mind, but the questions remain, circling like ravens.
Lost in my thoughts and the joy of running, I don't realize how far I've traveled until the forest around me changes subtly.
The trees grow older here, their massive trunks stretching skyward, branches intertwining to create a cathedral-like canopy.
Sunlight filters through in dappled patterns, illuminating patches of unusual blue-glowing fungi that cling to ancient bark.
The air feels different—heavier, charged with something I can't identify.
I slow my pace, instinctively moving more cautiously. A peculiar silence blankets this part of the forest; even the birds have ceased their chatter. Something tells me I shouldn't be here, that this place is forbidden to someone like me.
Then I catch it—the faintest trace of a familiar scent. Cedar and storm rain. Knox.
Despite every warning bell ringing in my mind, I move forward, drawn by that scent.
My paws carry me closer to the source, each step taking me deeper into territory I know instinctively is forbidden to outsiders like me.
Yet I can't stop myself from following his scent, my curiosity overwhelming my better judgment as I carefully advance through the grounds.