Melva moved quietly through the palace corridors as soon as she was transported back. Chaos was everywhere, even spilling into Zander’s domain, where everyone had lost control of their inner wolves and turned on one another.
She didn’t know how it had started. All she knew was that Zander’s men had done everything they could to keep them from killing each other. Her memories after that were fragmented.
At some point, she felt her connection to her inner wolf snap, and then she lost consciousness along with the rest of the werewolves in Zander’s place.
When she finally woke, Arlan explained what had happened—how darkness had twisted their inner wolves against them, and how a white light from heaven had descended and stopped it.
Every werewolf who had lost control of their inner wolf had fallen unconscious. Not long after, Arlan opened a flickering portal—barely stable—and transported them back to the palace.
Like in Zander’s place, the palace was in a state of controlled chaos, servants hurrying past with bundles of supplies, guards exchanging sharp commands, and healers moving in and out of rooms with grim expressions.
The air itself felt tense, heavy with unspoken fear and urgency, as the Alpha King announced his journey to Velmora with Althea and a few selected warriors.
Melva continued to move quietly through the corridors, her steps light but steady despite the tension pressing down on the palace. Everywhere she looked, there was movement. Guards hurried past with drawn weapons. Servants whispered as they carried bundles of supplies.
Healers rushed in and out of chambers, their faces drawn with worry. At her heels padded Ash. The small wolf stayed close, his silver-gray fur brushing against her boots as if afraid to let her out of his sight. His ears flicked constantly, alert to every sound, every shift in the air.
Though he was smaller than most wolves, there was nothing weak about him. His eyes were sharp, glowing faintly as he sensed the lingering traces of energy that still clung to the palace walls.
“It’s all right,” Melva whispered to him, crouching briefly to run her fingers through the fur behind his ears. “We’re going with her. I won’t leave her alone.”
Ash let out a low sound, somewhere between a growl and a whine, then leaned into her touch. He understood more than most gave him credit for.
Melva straightened and continued toward the eastern wing where preparations were being made. She carried a satchel slung across her shoulder, filled with herbs, and clothes. None of it felt like enough, but she brought everything she could think of. Althea’s condition was too fragile to risk oversight.
When she reached the chamber where Althea rested, she stopped at the doorway.
Inside, the chamber was quiet. Too quiet.
Althea lay motionless on the bed, her skin pale, her breathing shallow but steady. Melva’s chest tightened painfully at the sight.
Ash padded forward and sat near the foot of the bed, his tail curling around his paws. He lowered his head, eyes never leaving Althea, as if standing vigil.
“She’s still holding on,” one of the healers murmured softly when she noticed Melva. “But her spirit is... far. As if she’s listening to something we cannot hear.”
Melva nodded. She already knew.
“I’ll be traveling with her,” Melva said gently. “To Velmora. To the Tree of Life.”
The healer’s expression darkened. “Then may the heavens guide you.”
Melva turned away before her resolve could waver. She could not afford doubt now.
Outside, the palace courtyard buzzed with activity. Crates of supplies were stacked near the gates. Warriors adjusted their armor, their faces grim. The air smelled of steel, magic, and fear.
Ash stayed close as Melva oversaw the final preparations. Every now and then, Ash would growl softly, sensing something unseen, and Melva would pause until the feeling passed.
It was while she was securing the last important things to ake sure Althea kept warm that she noticed movement near the western corridor.
Simon.
He was moving quickly, his stride long and urgent. His expression was tight, focused. A guard spoke hurriedly at his side, and Melva caught fragments of their words as they passed.
“...Princess Riela... returned... fully healed...”
Melva froze.
Her hand tightened around the strap of her satchel as she watched Simon change direction and head straight for the West Wing of the palace. He didn’t look her way. He didn’t slow down.
For a moment, she simply stood there.
Ash sensed the shift in her mood immediately. He pressed against her leg, looking up at her with quiet concern.
“I know,” Melva whispered, more to herself than to him. “I know.”
She forced herself to breathe.
Princess Riela had been Simon’s first love long before she came into his life. They had grown up together. Fought together. Trusted each other with their lives. Melva had always known that bond existed, and she had never tried to compete with it.
Still, knowing something did not stop it from hurting.
She lowered her gaze, frustration and doubt twisting in her chest. Was she being unreasonable? Selfish? This was not the time for personal feelings. The world itself was on the brink of war.
And yet...
Her emotions slipped.
She felt it the instant the bond reacted.
[Melva?]
Simon’s voice echoed in her mind, sharp with concern.
She closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself.
[I’m fine,] she answered, careful to keep her tone even. [I’m in the courtyard. Preparing to leave with Althea.]
There was a pause, heavy and unmistakable.
[I felt your emotions,] Simon said. [Where exactly are you?]
She hesitated, then answered honestly. [Near the eastern gate.]
[I’m coming.]
The bond went silent.
Melva opened her eyes just as Ash lifted his head, ears perking. Seconds later, Simon emerged from between two rows of guards, his gaze sweeping the courtyard until it locked onto her.
Relief flashed across his face, followed quickly by worry.
He crossed the distance between them in long strides, stopping just in front of her. His eyes dropped briefly to Ash, then back to her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.