Chapter 25

The Night the Fortress Bowed

The assassination attempt happened during the Winter Ascension Festival.

Which, Lyra later realized, felt painfully appropriate.

Blackfang had spent weeks balancing itself on the edge of political disaster already. Adding murder to the evening almost seemed traditional at that point.

The festival transformed the fortress completely.

Lanterns lined every outer courtyard in silver and gold while massive bonfires burned against the snow-covered cliffs beyond the walls. Music echoed through the mountain halls late into the evening, louder and warmer than the formal political gatherings Lyra had suffered through earlier that winter.

For once, Blackfang actually looked alive instead of merely fortified.

Children ran through lower courtyards wrapped in heavy furs. Soldiers drank openly beside fire pits. Wolves sprawled lazily near the festival tables accepting scraps of roasted meat from laughing servants.

Even Kael looked less tense tonight.

Not relaxed.

That would have required divine intervention.

But lighter around the edges.

“You’re staring at him again,” Mirelle informed her while stealing candied fruit from a serving tray.

“I’m observing.”

“You need a new word.”

Unfortunately true.

Across the upper courtyard, Kael stood beside Fenrir near the main bonfire speaking with several commanders while snow drifted softly through the firelight around them.

He wore black formal leathers trimmed with dark fur instead of ceremonial court clothing tonight, and somehow that looked even more dangerous.

More real.

Every so often, his attention still drifted toward Lyra automatically through the crowd.

And every single time it happened—

the silver marks beneath her skin warmed faintly in response.

The moon fever had eased slightly after the war room incident.

Slightly being the important word.

She still felt too aware of him constantly.

Especially tonight.

Seraphine noticed too, naturally.

“Oh, you’re doomed,” she sighed dramatically beside Lyra while sipping wine.

Lyra nearly choked.

“What?”

Seraphine gestured vaguely toward Kael across the courtyard.

“That man looks at you like he’d burn kingdoms for stress relief.”

“That is not romantic.”

“It absolutely is in northern territories.”

Horrifying culture.

The music shifted louder as dancers filled the lower stone courtyard near the fires.

Someone handed Fenrir another drink he absolutely did not need.

Kael finally stepped away from the commanders after a while, crossing through the festival crowd toward Lyra with that same steady dangerous calm that made people unconsciously move aside for him without fully realizing why.

Lyra’s pulse reacted instantly.

Annoying.

Very annoying.

“You’re cold.”

That was the first thing Kael said after stopping beside her.

Not hello.

Not good evening.

Just immediate concern hidden badly beneath practicality.

“I’m standing beside three bonfires.”

“You’re still cold.”

Before Lyra could argue, Kael removed the heavy fur cloak draped over one shoulder and settled it carefully around her anyway.

The warmth hit instantly.

So did the scent of him clinging to the fabric.

Seraphine watched the interaction with open fascination now.

“This is genuinely insane to witness in person.”

Kael ignored her completely.

Professionally.

The festival carried on around them.

Music.

Laughter.

Snow falling softly against fortress walls glowing gold beneath firelight.

For a while, Lyra almost forgot how dangerous Blackfang could become.

Then the wolves reacted.

Every wolf in the courtyard lifted its head at once.

Not gradually.

Instantly.

The music faltered.

Several soldiers looked up sharply.

And Kael—

Kael turned before anyone else even understood why.

“Down.”

The command ripped through the courtyard hard enough that Lyra obeyed instinctively before fully processing it.

A crossbow bolt slammed into the stone pillar behind where her head had been half a second earlier.

Chaos exploded instantly.

People screamed.

Guards surged forward.

Another bolt flew from the upper balcony shadows aimed directly toward Kael—

who caught it midair.

Actually caught it.

“Assassins!” someone shouted.

Three masked figures dropped from the upper western archways simultaneously, moving through the panicked crowd with terrifying speed.

Not ordinary killers.

Pack-trained.

Kael shoved Lyra behind him immediately.

“Stay with Fenrir.”

The order came sharp enough to cut.

Fenrir had already drawn two blades.

“Oh, now everyone wants to murder us. Fantastic.”

The first assassin reached the courtyard floor and immediately lunged toward Kael.

Big mistake.

Kael moved like violence given human shape.

Fast enough that Lyra barely tracked the motion before the assassin crashed hard through one of the banquet tables.

Wolves exploded into snarling motion around the courtyard.

Soldiers drew steel.

The festival descended into blood and panic almost instantly.

And then—

someone grabbed Lyra from behind.

A gloved hand clamped hard across her mouth while another arm dragged her backward through the chaos toward the lower stairwell.

Lyra struggled violently, but the assassin only tightened his grip.

“Easy, little queen.”

The whisper against her ear froze her blood instantly.

Queen.

The assassin dragged a blade across her throat lightly enough not to cut.

Yet.

Around them, the courtyard chaos blurred into noise and firelight while Kael fought through two attackers near the central bonfire completely unaware she’d been taken.

“Interesting scent,” the assassin murmured near her ear. “No wonder the northern mutt lost control.”

Lyra’s pulse hammered painfully now.

Fear.

Real fear.

And suddenly—

the silver marks beneath her skin ignited.

Not glowed.

Ignited.

The assassin froze.

“What the—”

Something ancient broke loose inside her.

The world slowed violently.

Every sound in the courtyard sharpened all at once. Heartbeats. Snow hitting stone. Wolves growling through the smoke and firelight.

And beneath all of it—

power.

Cold.

Massive.

Awake.

The assassin tried tightening his grip.

Instead his body locked completely rigid.

Lyra turned slowly inside his hold.

Silver light blazed beneath her skin now bright enough to illuminate the snow around them.

The wolves stopped fighting immediately.

Every single one.

Then lowered themselves instinctively toward her.

Not only the wolves.

The horses.

The hunting hounds.

Even several nearby northern soldiers visibly faltered like their instincts suddenly no longer belonged entirely to them.

The assassin looked terrified now.

Good.

“What are you?” he whispered.

Lyra opened her mouth.

And something not entirely human answered through her voice.

“Kneel.”

The command shattered across the courtyard like thunder.

The assassin hit the ground instantly.

So did the other attackers.

So did the wolves.

Dozens of them lowering themselves beneath the falling snow without hesitation.

The entire festival went silent.

Kael stopped moving near the bonfire.

Fenrir stared openly.

Even Seraphine looked horrified now.

Silver light spiraled around Lyra’s body while the snowstorm itself seemed to shift violently around the courtyard walls.

The power flooding through her no longer felt merely alive.

It felt royal.

Ancient enough to remember kingdoms before wolves ruled them.

And every person in Blackfang fortress looked at her differently afterward.

Not cursed.

Not weak.

Not human either.

Terrified.