Chapter 5

Seren's POV

I carried the basket of washed fruit toward the front hall. This kind of task never fell to me.

I usually only did the most menial work hidden in the deepest parts of the mansion. Today the servant women sent me to deliver fruit, and I knew exactly what they were scheming.

Countless distinguished guests had arrived today. The front hall was filled with the most prestigious people from across the northern territories, and I was to carry a tray past all of them, let them see Caius's "trophy," let them gossip, let them mock—the servants thought this would humiliate me.

But in truth, I no longer cared.

Two years ago, I would have minded those stares, would have wanted to lower my head or walk around them.

Now those sensitivities had been worn dull. When others' gazes fell on me, I only felt something distant, muffled as if through cotton—not sharp, not enough to pierce anything.

The guards at the front hall all knew about Caius's treatment of me—everyone in the entire mansion knew, and precisely because of this, they despised me but dared not touch me. Caius tormenting me was his business; others interfering was another matter entirely.

They just rolled their eyes and pushed open the doors.

Creak—

The massive doors swung open, and a gust of wind rushed toward me.

Today all the windows had been opened wide for the ceremony, letting outside air pour in, carrying scents of grass, wood, and cold stone.

I stepped across the threshold, feeling that breeze sweep through my body from head to toe...

Then—

I finally understood why my wolf had returned!

"MINE!"

This uncontrolled roar burst from me, and the basket slipped completely from my hands.

Fruit scattered across the floor, bouncing against stone slabs with a series of crisp sounds. Every gaze in the front hall swept toward me in that moment, landing on the wretched servant who had fumbled at the doorway.

I paid them no attention.

I only saw him.

In the center of the great hall, right in the middle of the guest seating—that man.

Even just a silhouette, I could recognize him. He was the figure from two years ago, in that open area by the border, the shadow who had turned and walked away, ignoring my desperate pleas.

The one Caius had described—that madman!

My wolf was crashing against my ribcage so violently, so urgently, so desperately—MINE, MINE, MINE, one cry after another, as if trying to shatter my ribs from within.

I froze at the doorway, unmoving.

I didn't want to go through it again, to be subdued and rejected in front of all these people.

I didn't want to.

But it seemed beyond my control. The air around me had already changed, several familiar-clad warriors closing in from all sides, iron hooks drawn from their belts. I saw the gleam, saw those cold, curved edges.

I closed my eyes, preparing to endure those things embedding in my shoulder blades again, pinning me in place once more.

But something seemed to crash into me from my left—unfamiliar warmth, a comforting scent washing over me.

"HOW DARE YOU!" A deep roar exploded beside my ear.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw Thorne leap from his seat, overturn the two people blocking his path, cross half the great hall, and tackle me.

Thud!

We fell to the ground together, his hand protecting my back as he crouched over me, forcing back the warriors advancing with iron hooks. His movements were clean, carrying no excess force, like clearing away insignificant obstacles.

After the same "MINE," he lowered his head, burying his face in the side of my neck.

In an instant, pain exploded—that searing, bone-deep agony spreading from my neck, traveling along every nerve line to my limbs, shattering my consciousness piece by piece.

I knew he had marked me.

That bonding brand fell simultaneously into my flesh and soul, complete and irrevocable.

The pain made me open my eyes wide. Over his shoulder, I witnessed the great hall descend into chaos.

Guests scattered to both sides, chairs overturned, people shouting and calling out. Only Caius remained—he stood on the far side of the hall, surrounded and locked in place by a circle of warriors in unfamiliar uniforms.

How strange. I had never seen him like this. His eyes were blood red, his mouth moving, lips constantly colliding as he shouted something. I could see the shape of his mouth but could no longer hear anything.

The sounds in the great hall grew more and more distant, more and more blurred, like a receding tide, like a falling curtain, like some very long story finally reaching its period on some page.

I had always thought periods were gray, heavy, carrying the exhaustion of depletion.

But now, as those noisy voices retreated layer by layer—those terrible words, those two years of contempt and roars and commands pressed against my ears—all of it became unreachable in that moment.

Finally.

Finally, I could no longer hear them.