Chapter 4: Adrian POV

Stupidity. The entire South, from the air down to the mud, reeked of weakness.

I leaned back against the carriage seat, listening with disgust to the patter of rain outside.

The Silver Crown capital was a stinking swamp. The thought that I was to marry Princess Annie in this mire—a woman who could barely hold a sword—had the wolf inside me pacing, restless and eager to tear something apart.

"Your Highness, we're about to enter the Black Pine Forest," my vice-captain reported in a low voice from outside.

"Heighten the alert. The capital's sewers are crawling with rats looking for a bite of fat meat." I answered coldly, closing my eyes, trying to quell the frenzy rising in my chest.

Right then—

Boom!

Two dull explosions detonated ahead. Immediately after, the screams of horses tore through the night sky.

A pungent odor pierced the cabin in an instant, sharp as if someone had struck a match inside my nasal passages.

"Ambush! Protect the Prince—!"

Shouts rang out, chaotic and desperate. But I could hear it in their voices—an abnormal tremor, a disorientation. A chemical trap targeting a werewolf's sense of smell.

"Useless trash."

My eyes snapped open. I kicked the carriage door off its hinges.

Cold rain slammed into my face, accompanied by the pressure I unleashed. The scent of freezing pine needles and ice swept the official road, instantly freezing and suppressing the hallucinogenic powder hanging in the air.

My gaze swept over the disordered guards and locked precisely on the culprit.

A slight figure in an oversized, tattered linen jacket, a newsboy cap pulled low. He moved like a panther through the fallen knights and horses.

In the blink of an eye, he'd cleanly severed the rope securing a heavy strongbox to the rear of the carriage.

"Put it down." My voice cut through the rainy night.

The thief's movements stiffened. He turned his head; though shadow hid most of his face, I felt a brazen gaze raking over me.

"Sorry, young master. But I've got urgent need for this coin."

A boy's voice. Cocky.

Suicide.

He clearly didn't know who he'd crossed—probably took me for some soft noble. I'd make him regret crossing Adrian Vale.

Mud and water exploded beneath my feet. With terrifying explosive force, the few meters between us ceased to exist. I moved like lightning wrapped in a blizzard, appearing before the boy in an instant, my hand shooting for his throat.

The moment my fingertips grazed his neck, he bent backward with impossible flexibility—boneless, snake-like—narrowly evading the killing blow.

"Some skill." A cold smirk. I shifted palm to claw, catching his wrist instead.

Thin. My first impression.

And he reeked—cheap tobacco from the slums mixed with harsh medicinal herbs. Yet when I touched his wrist, the wolf in me didn't react with the instinctive revulsion it reserved for lesser werewolves. Instead... a subtle thrill. A shiver.

That fraction of a second of distraction was all he needed.

Thud!

He drove a kick into my knee—barely a cat's scratch to me—but he used the recoil to twist midair, his dagger slicing through my cloak.

I released him, stepping back half a pace.

"Thanks!"

He landed with a cheeky laugh. Only then did I notice: that slash hadn't been aimed at me. It had severed the hidden clasp at my waist.

The black velvet box containing the Moonstone Bracelet landed securely in his hand.

The heirloom of the Northvale consorts. The "sincerity" my father forced me to bring for the royal betrothal.

"Put the box down," my voice iced over, killing intent surging, "or I swear, every sewer in this capital won't hide you."

"Ooh, scary doggy." The boy whistled, utterly unafraid, shoving the priceless Moonstone Bracelet into his pocket.

"But the chain's mine. Payment for crushing my wrist."

He flung the remaining hallucinogenic powder at my face.

I blocked instinctively. When the dust cleared, the road held only fallen guards and a carriage stripped of its cargo. The ghost of a thief had vanished into the endless night of the Black Pines.

"Your Highness..." The vice-captain knelt in the mud, pressing a bleeding forehead. "This subordinate deserves death. That bastard took the gold and... and the Princess's betrothal gift!"

"Shut up."

I stared into the depths of the Black Pines, fingers brushing the torn edge of my cloak.

Losing that damned bracelet meant I couldn't answer to the royal court—would spark a massive diplomatic crisis. Yet strangely, I felt none of the rage I should have.

Instead, in this mind-numbingly boring southern capital, my blood boiled with excitement for the first time.

Those eyes hidden beneath the brim. That stunning reflex speed. The arrogance to provoke an Alpha.

My lips curled coldly: "Good. Pray you're never caught, little rat."

Because once I catch you, I'll shatter your bones one by one. And you'll learn the price of provoking the Wolf King of the North.