Chapter 71

Evelyn

Warmth.

That’s the first thing I was conscious of feeling. It curled around me like a second skin and was amplified by the soft blankets tucked to my chin. Then, I breathed in a lungful and noticed that the air was scented faintly of pine and clean linen.

For a few perfect seconds, I let myself believe it was all just a dream. That the rogue camp, the drugs, Jesse’s eyes watching me through the darkness, had all been terrible figments of my imagination. That I had always been in this warm cocoon in the palace.

But when I blinked open my eyes, the truth found me like it always did.

I was home. The high ceiling above me was carved with the familiar arching patterns of the Alpha King’s palace. The bed beneath me was plush, too luxurious for a camp cot. The light streaming through the open windows was unfiltered by a tent’s canvas.

And sitting beside me, hunched forward with dark circles under his eyes and tension clenching his jaw, was Logan.

He looked like he had just walked through hell. His hair was in complete disarray, and his shoulders were slumped. Despite his obvious fatigue, he seemed deep in thought, but the second he noticed I was awake, his face softened.

“You’re okay,” he breathed, voice cracking.

I sat up slowly, blinking back into reality and moving to dispel the heaviness in my limbs. My body ached in strange places as the poison worked its way out of me again.

“What… happened?” My voice was strained from disuse and dehydration. I noticed a pitcher beside my bed, and Logan followed my gaze. Without asking, he began to pour me a glass.

He handed it to me before he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling like he’d been holding his breath for days.

“We launched an attack on the rogues. It was a diversion. Just enough chaos to pull rogue forces away from their camp, so it was empty enough to search for you. I went in and found you in his tent. You were unconscious, Evelyn. Drugged. I didn’t—”

He cut himself off like he couldn’t put words to it.

The memory rushed back like a slap to the face. Jesse’s smile, the bitter wine, the world slipping sideways for a second time. I swallowed hard, guilt and nausea threatening to rise like bile. I had been a fool to trust him and get comfortable in that camp.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I should’ve known.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said sharply, then paused. “You were trying to stop a war.”

I looked at him—really looked—and my heart squeezed. He was visibly exhausted, his shirt stained near the collar, his knuckles scraped raw. I wondered who he had fought to get these injuries before deciding it was probably best not to know.

But it was his eyes that undid me. They were glassy, rimmed red.

He’d been worried.

My wolf stirred inside me, her awareness pulling toward him like a tide to the moon. In my sore chest, this ache was the most prominent.

“Thank you,” I whispered, meaning it more than I could say.

There was a softness to him I had never seen in him before, juxtaposing the harsh appearance he had donned post-battle. But before he could reply, the door opened, and in walked my father.

The Alpha King.

His usually rigid posture faltered the moment he saw me. For the first time in my life, I saw him slip in public. He was always so careful to maintain the appearance of his status, always poised and calm. But in that moment, the mask of regality faltered, and he was simply my father.

He crossed the room in three long strides and sat on the other side of the bed, brushing the back of his hand across my forehead like he wasn’t sure I was real.

“You’re safe,” he murmured. It sounded like he was trying to reassure himself of it.

I couldn’t speak. My throat closed as his eyes scanned me for any other visible injuries. His hand trembled, and his jaw was tightly set.

When he pulled back, he cleared his throat and said to Logan, “You’ve done your part, Alpha. Good work. You’re dismissed. We must discuss something with Evelyn in private.”

Logan looked like he wanted to protest, but instead, he met my eyes one last time before nodding once. This simple gesture was a promise that he would return and that we would continue this reunion shortly. He slipped out of the room, leaving only the scent of pine behind.

My father sat in silence for a moment longer, then looked at me again. “You gave me quite the scare.”

“I didn’t mean to. I only wanted to do what was best for the people. I thought I could save them and stop the war.”

“I know,” he said gently. “I should’ve listened to you more, it’s true. I let pride get in the way of what mattered. But you should have listened to me as well. It would have saved us all a whole lot of trouble if you had.”

We were quiet after that. It was the kind of quiet that only comes after surviving something that almost destroyed you both.

A servant arrived not long after, balancing a tray of food and water. My stomach rumbled embarrassingly loud. My father gave me a look that was somewhere between amused and worried.

“You need to eat,” he said. “And to hydrate. The Mal Root is still working itself out of your system. I only wanted to make sure you were alright now that you’re awake.” He smiled sadly. “We’ll talk more later.”

He stood and left with a final squeeze of my hand, and the door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone once more.

I stared at the food for a long time before reaching for the bread. It was warm and soft, like everything else in this room. I should have embraced the overall comfort, like the tangle of the soft sheets around me, the cold water down my throat, and Logan’s lingering scent.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about Jesse.

About the way he looked down at me like I was a possession, not a person. About the way he knew my secret, knew exactly who I was, and had still drugged me twice without care. And the fact that he had smiled through every violation.

My fingers clenched the glass in front of me. No more excuses. No more peace offerings. I’d tried to play by his rules, but it was clear to me now more than ever that he was not someone who would be receptive to diplomacy. His intentions were clear-cut revenge. Scorched earth.

And now that I knew this?

Now I’d make him pay. For the raw, rope-burned wrists in front of me. For every moment I lost myself trying to survive in that camp. For drugging me and lording my identity over my head.

He thought I was weak, a little doll he could prop and pose as he pleased. But he was overlooking something very important.

I wasn’t just a healer. I was the daughter of the Alpha King.

And I was done playing nice.