Chapter 2
Adelaide
The mud felt cold and gritty against my cheeks as Thalia applied another layer with trembling fingers. Three days had passed since we left the palace, and now we crouched in the shadow of an abandoned farmhouse at the kingdom's edge, transforming ourselves into what we hoped would pass for captured slaves.
"Hold still, Your Highness," Thalia whispered, her voice barely audible as she worked dirt into my shortened black hair. The golden locks that had once cascaded past my shoulders now lay discarded in a palace fireplace, along with my former life.
I caught her wrist gently. "We are no longer in Eldoria, dear friend. Call me Adelaide, nothing more. Our lives depend upon it."
She nodded, though I could see the fear she struggled to conceal. My own heart hammered against my ribs as the distant sound of approaching hoofbeats reached our ears—the werewolf patrol we had been tracking for hours, herding their latest harvest of human captives.
"The concealment spell?" I asked quietly.
Thalia's eyes closed in concentration, her fingers tracing ancient symbols in the air above my back. A warm sensation spread across my skin where the blood moon mark lay hidden. "It will hold for several days," she murmured. "But Adelaide... once we cross that border, we enter a realm where death might be the kindest fate awaiting us."
I squeezed her hand, drawing strength from her presence. "Then we shall ensure it does not come to that."
The thunder of wolf paws and heavy footfalls grew closer. Through a crack in the farmhouse wall, I glimpsed them—a procession of perhaps thirty humans, heads bowed in defeat, their clothes torn and spirits broken. Behind them rode the werewolf guards on massive wolves, their mounts' eyes gleaming like amber flames in the dying light.
Thalia and I slipped from our hiding place, joining the rear of the column as it passed. None of the other captives looked up; they had learned that drawing attention meant pain. The werewolf nearest us—a brute with scars crisscrossing his bare arms—barely glanced in our direction as we fell into step with the others.
The border checkpoint loomed ahead like a gateway to the underworld. Massive stone pillars carved with snarling wolf heads flanked the road, and between them hung an iron portcullis bearing the sigil of Silverhowl—a silver wolf's head against a field of midnight blue. Torches blazed in iron sconces, casting dancing shadows that made the carved wolves appear to writhe and leap.
A werewolf officer approached, his uniform of dark leather and silver buckles marking him as someone of authority. His nostrils flared as he surveyed the captives, and for a terrifying moment, his gaze lingered on Thalia and me. I forced myself to remain perfectly still, eyes downcast, every muscle tensed for discovery.
"Fresh stock from the eastern settlements," growled one of our escorts. "The usual tribute for the Legion Commanders."
The officer nodded curtly. "Pass through. The quota has not yet been met this moon cycle."
Relief flooded through me as the column lurched forward again. We shuffled between the stone pillars, and with each step, I felt the weight of my homeland falling away behind us. The very air seemed different here—thicker, charged with an otherworldly energy that made my skin prickle.
As we moved deeper into werewolf territory, the landscape itself seemed to proclaim our entry into an alien realm. The trees grew taller and more twisted, their branches forming grotesque shapes against the darkening sky. Strange howls echoed from the forests on either side of the road, answered by others more distant still, until the very air thrummed with their haunting chorus.
What struck me most forcefully was the shocking disparity among the human slaves. Men vastly outnumbered women—perhaps ten to one—and those males who remained showed the toll of backbreaking labor. They bent beneath loads that would challenge oxen, their backs permanently stooped, their hands raw and bleeding from hauling stones and timber under the scorching sun.
Werewolf overseers prowled among them like predators stalking wounded prey, silver-studded whips coiled at their sides. I watched in horror as one guard lashed a boy who could not have seen fifteen summers, the leather biting deep enough to draw blood, simply because the child had stumbled beneath his burden.
My hands clenched into fists within my torn sleeves, nails digging crescents into my palms as fury burned in my chest. These were my father's subjects—my people—reduced to beasts of burden for their captors' amusement.
"Such beauty," a rough voice suddenly cut through my dark thoughts. "It has been far too long since we acquired such a lovely specimen."
A massive werewolf had separated from the guards and now stood directly before Thalia, his yellow eyes raking over her with undisguised hunger. Even beneath the mud and grime we had applied, her ethereal features could not be entirely concealed.
"This one I shall keep for my personal enjoyment," he announced, reaching out with one clawed hand to grasp Thalia's arm. "I have not tasted such sweet human flesh in many moons."
Terror flashed across Thalia's face as the brute began dragging her from the column. Without thought, I threw myself between them, meeting the guard's surprised gaze with all the defiance I could muster.
"She is my sister," I declared, praying my voice would not betray my fear. "We cannot be separated."
The werewolf's response was swift and brutal. His open palm struck my cheek with enough force to send me sprawling into the dirt, stars exploding across my vision. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard his cruel laughter.
"Your sister will serve a far greater purpose than hauling stones, little whelp. And you—"
"Enough." The voice that cut through the air carried such authority that even the guard fell silent. A werewolf in military uniform cantered up on a black destrier, his bearing marking him as a soldier of rank. Silver insignia gleamed on his dark blue coat, and his pale eyes surveyed the scene with cold calculation.
"I serve under orders from First Legion Commander Draven," he announced, his words causing several of the guards to straighten with obvious respect. "I require a young female for immediate transport to the royal court. You will not interfere."
The guard's grip on Thalia loosened slightly. "But Commander, I claimed her first—"
"Are you questioning the authority of Legion Commander Draven?" The officer's voice dropped to a deadly whisper that made every werewolf in earshot take an unconscious step backward.
"Of course not, Sergeant. Forgive me." The guard released Thalia immediately, bowing his head in submission.
I struggled to my feet, tasting blood where my teeth had cut my lip. "Please," I said, adopting the desperate tone of a frightened sister. "We are all each other has left in this world. Do not tear us apart."
The sergeant studied us both for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. Two will serve our purposes adequately. Mount up behind my men—we ride for Lycandor Keep immediately."
As rough hands hauled us onto the backs of the soldiers' mounts, I caught Thalia's eye and saw my own mixture of terror and determination reflected there. We had succeeded in our first objective—gaining entry to the werewolf stronghold—but what awaited us in the depths of Lycandor Keep remained shrouded in shadow and dread.
The horses began to move, carrying us deeper into enemy territory, toward an unknown fate.