Chapter 5 The Regent's Price

They tried to kill us with water.

By noon, fortress was locked down. Eastern cistern drained, pipes ripped from walls by Julian's claws, white powder bags lined in courtyard like bodies.

Treasurer gone. Escaped through laundry chute at dawn.

Julian stood in courtyard, muddy armor, holding my shoulders while Beta listed damage.

"Three guards drank from lower well before seal. Fever. Silver in blood. And My King — Rogue was not test. He carried this."

Beta held wax-sealed letter, Nightfang's black jaw stamp. Julian ripped open, read, body rigid.

He handed to me.

Silverthorne has 48 hours to cede Grey Mill and 30% of Q4 silver as security, or we poison every well from Grey River to capital. We have your treasurer. We have formula.

— Alpha Rorik

Not invasion. Extortion.

Julian crushed letter in bleeding fist. "He thinks I negotiate because men sick."

"He thinks you negotiate because you have no Regent," I said quietly.

Courtyard full — generals, captains, servants. Me, barefoot, ruined dress smeared with Rogue foam and King's mud.

Julian narrowed eyes. Understood instantly.

"Your council has no head. Beta leads armies, not law. Treasurer traitor. If you leave to fight Nightfang, fortress starves because no one can authorize food without treasury seal. Nightfang knows. That's why he poisoned water. To force you to stay managing city while he takes mill unopposed."

I stepped from his grip, turned to crowd.

"I am Evelyn Ashworth. Daughter of last true Treasurer of Eastern Packs. Father kept dying pack alive five years moving numbers. I smell poison before it kills. By Clause Three of pact signed in silver ink, I have full access to treasury logs and archive authority."

I looked at Julian. Biggest gamble.

"You need Regent, Julian. Not Luna. Regent who stays when King rides."

Silence. Then chaos.

"She is girl!"

"Not even marked!"

Julian lifted hand. Silence fell.

He stared at me long moment, gold eyes searching. Wolf wanted me locked safe. General wanted competent steward.

General won.

He walked to Law Stone — obsidian slab where every oath sworn — and drew bloody claw across it.

"I, Julian Thorne, Alpha King of Silverthorne, name Evelyn Ashworth as Acting Regent of Blackstone Fortress and Capital in my absence, with full seal of treasury and law, until return or thirty days."

Stone glowed white, accepting. It burned my silver pact on wrist, linking them.

Gasp through crowd. Girl — unmarked, barefoot, nineteen, dead pack — now second highest authority in continent's strongest pack.

Older general stepped forward red-faced. "My King, you cannot leave fortress in hands of—"

"Of only person who smelled assassination before it happened?" Julian cut off, lethal. "Of my Fated Mate, who by ancient law has right to act as my other soul? Challenge her again you challenge me."

General knelt.

Julian turned to me, and for first time before everyone, knelt too. On one knee, mud, armor clanking, head bowed. Alpha King kneeling to Regent.

He took my bare foot in massive bloody hand and slid soft leather boot onto it. Then other. Boots fit perfectly.

"Regent," he said loud, eyes up. "Keep my people alive."

My eyes stung.

Then stood, softness vanished. King again.

"Beta — you ride with me. Two hundred wolves. We leave now for Grey Mill. Regent holds city."

He turned to go, stopped. Leaned close, only I heard, lips brushing ear.

"If Nightfang breaches while I'm gone, go to my tower. Hidden door behind third bookshelf. Push wolf head. Leads to mountain. Take it. Don't wait. Promise me."

Not command. Plea.

"I promise to keep your city alive until you get back," I whispered. "So you better get back."

His eyes flared. Instead of kiss, pressed forehead hard to mine, scent flooding me, marking with scent not teeth.

Then gone, vaulting onto warhorse, army roaring, gates opening.

I stood in courtyard, new boots, three sick guards, no water, no silver, dead Rogue at feet, ten thousand wolves looking at me for orders.

Young captain stepped up. "Regent... orders? No clean water. Cistern destroyed. River blockaded."

Grandmother's words burned in tower. Trust nose before eyes.

I looked at dead Rogue. Silver veins. Almond smell.

"Silver-bane made with mine silver," I said slowly, numbers clicking. "Needs heat to dissolve. Made at mill. Means they not blockading to stop silver. Blockading to hide mill already converted to lab."

I turned to captain.

"Order One: Children and elders to western spring under guard. Order Two: Bring every healer and every bag of white powder. We unmake it. Order Three: Open vault. Not buying water. Buying every empty wine barrel in capital. Fill with rain."

Captain stared. "Rain? Forecast clear."

"It will rain tonight," I said, smelling wet iron. Storm coming. "Mother smelled rain two days before."

He ran.

Behind me, Law Stone glowed brighter.

I touched wrist where pact burned. Thirty days. Now Regent of pack that destroyed mine.

Somewhere on road to Grey Mill, Alpha King who bled himself to not touch me rode to kill men who tried to poison his mate.

Bond pulled, anxious, stretching.

For first time, I pulled back.

Come back alive, I thought.

Miles away, jolt of heat answered.

Always, came thought not mine, gold and fierce. For you, Regent.

That was the moment I understood what my father meant. Power is not claws. Power is when hungry people look at you and decide to believe.

I opened vault logs. Treasury seal was heavy, cold, real silver. I stamped first order — requisition for barrels — and scribe stared like seal burned paper.

By evening, children were moved. Healers boiled white powder, gagging at almond stench. Western spring guarded by eight wolves. And barrels lined courtyard, empty, waiting for sky.

General who challenged me earlier watched from wall. "You think rain will save us, girl Regent?"

"I think preparation saves us. Rain helps," I said, not looking up from ledger calculating water per person, per pup. Numbers steadied hands.

He grunted but stayed.

At dusk, wind shifted. Wet iron sharpened. Clouds blackened over Blackstone ridge.

First drop hit my cheek. Then sky broke. Rain poured, hard, clean. Drumming on barrels, on stone, washing blood away. People ran out with buckets, laughing, crying, wolves howling.

I stood in it, boots filling, dress soaked, face to sky, smelling nothing but clean water and ozone.

Law Stone pulsed white, as if approving.

Regent. Not Luna. Regent who would hold till her King returned.