Page 42

CHAPTER 42

POV: Cadeyrn

The forest above is different from the tunnels—wilder, less predictable, but somehow more familiar to what I've become. Seven centuries of court protocol feel like a distant memory as I track a deer through the underbrush, my senses sharper than they've ever been. The transformation that began with my first rut continues to reshape me from the inside out.

The deer pauses, ears twitching. I remain perfectly still, not even breathing. It's been three hours since I left Briar and The Hound in the underground chamber. Three hours of hunting to provide for a mate who can barely look at me without remembering the atrocities I authorized. Three hours away from the four tiny heartbeats growing impossibly fast within her.

I still can't fully comprehend it. Quadruplets. In all my centuries overseeing the Hunt, I've never witnessed an omega survive carrying even twins with fae blood. Yet something in our combined Wild Magic has made the impossible not just possible but inevitable.

The deer moves on, and I follow, silent as shadow. We need meat—protein and iron for Briar's rapidly changing body. The accelerated pregnancy will drain her strength quickly, and I refuse to lose her to the biological demands of carrying my children. Not after everything she's survived. Not after I've only just begun to understand what it means to care for someone beyond duty or possession.

I'm so focused on the hunt that I nearly miss the subtle shift in the air—a faint trace of Winter Court magic, precise and clinical. I freeze, letting the deer bound away, all thoughts of food forgotten as I catalog the intrusion.

Not just any Winter Court magic. A signature I know intimately.

Dr. Cassius Frost, Master Physician of the Winter Court. My physician for seven centuries. The man who warned me endlessly that entering rut would diminish my power, shorten my life, reduce me to a slave of biological imperatives.

How spectacularly wrong he was.

I circle back, using the wind to mask my scent. Wild Magic has changed my hunting tactics—no longer the methodical, disciplined approach of a Winter Prince, but something more primal and effective. I move with the forest rather than against it, blending with shadow and dappled light until I have a clear view of the small clearing where Cassius has established his position.

He isn't alone. Six elite Winter Court guards form a perimeter around him, their armor the pale blue-white of glacier ice, their expressions blank with magical compliance. I recognize the spell—one that suppresses individual thought in service to the collective mission. I authorized its use myself, centuries ago, for "specialized extractions."

"The prince's scent trail ends here," one guard reports, kneeling before Cassius. "But these tunnels make tracking him nearly impossible."

Cassius nods, his platinum hair arranged in the precise style that hasn't changed in the three centuries I've known him. "Doesn't matter. The omega's magic grows stronger by the hour. Her womb quickens the wild power in her blood."

My hands clench involuntarily, cold power gathering at my fingertips. How does he know about the pregnancy already?

"What do we do with the prince when we find him?" another guard asks, voice flat with enchantment.

Cassius adjusts his immaculate sleeve with delicate fingers. "Bring him back alive. The Council thinks they can still salvage him once we get rid of the omega and her influence."

"And the omega?" The guard's tone doesn't change, but something in me shifts dangerously at the question.

"Kill her and the abominations she carries," Cassius says with casual disdain. "My readings show multiple babes growing in her womb—a grave threat to everything we've built if they're born."

My vision narrows, the edges tinting blue-white with killing cold. Yet I force myself to remain hidden, to learn more before I act.

"How do we dispose of her?" The guard asks with the detachment of someone discussing waste removal.

"Take what magic we can use first," Cassius replies, opening a leather case of surgical instruments that gleam with enchantment. "Then dump what's left at the usual place in the vale."

The vale. The Vale of Culling, where generations of "unsuitable" omegas and their unborn children were dumped to slowly die, their magical essence seeping into the groundwater that eventually reached Thornwick. The source of the wasting sickness that killed Briar's mother. That nearly killed Willow.

That I authorized with my signature for centuries without once witnessing the consequences.

"What if she's already birthed the babes?" Another guard, this one slightly less affected by the compliance spell, judging by the faint question in his tone.

Cassius looks up sharply. "Impossible. Even growing this fast, she'd need at least another week. But if it happens..." He pauses, considering. "Bring the whelps to the High Council. They'll want to take them apart and see what makes them tick."

Take them apart. The casual cruelty of it, the complete disregard for life—life that I helped create—ignites something primal within me.

I've heard enough.

The first guard dies before he registers my presence, his throat opened by claws I didn't possess a month ago. I move through their formation like winter wind, precise and merciless. Two more fall in the space between heartbeats, their wounds sealing with ice before they can cry out.

The fourth manages to draw his sword, enchanted steel that should cut through any magical defense. It shatters against my skin like thin ice, the fragments turning to powder as Wild Magic surges through me.

"Cadeyrn!" Cassius doesn't flee, but stands his ground, hands raised in what looks like surrender but is actually preparation for defensive spellcasting. "You've betrayed all four courts!"

"No," I say, my voice carrying the sound of breaking ice. "I've finally seen what they truly are."

The fifth guard rushes me from behind. I don't bother turning. Magic spirals from my body in deadly tendrils, piercing him through multiple organs simultaneously. He drops without a sound.

The sixth makes the wisest choice—he runs. I let him go. Let him carry the message back to the courts. Let them know exactly what awaits any who threaten what's mine.

Cassius gathers power between his palms, the air around him crystallizing. "The rut has driven you mad," he says, falling back on the diagnosis he's been predicting for centuries. "That omega's bewitched you. Let me help you, my prince."

"I see more clearly now than I have in seven centuries," I reply, circling him slowly. "I see what the courts really are. What I helped them become."

"You don't understand what's at stake," Cassius insists, a note of panic breaking through his clinical tone. "The babes she carries—they hold magic from all four courts mixed together. We haven't seen such a thing since?—"

"Since before the courts split the Wild Magic," I finish for him. "Since the original Hunt, when magic flowed freely between worlds."

The shock on his face confirms what I've suspected since I first scented Briar in the Gathering Circle—there is more to her lineage than a simple village omega. Some dormant bloodline from the first days, awakened by our claiming bond.

"Then you know why we can't let this happen," Cassius lowers his hands slightly. "You know why she must die. The courts keep the balance. Wild Magic brings only chaos."

"That's exactly why you fear it," I reply, still circling. "Because the courts are built on lies. On keeping power through blood sacrifice and breeding schemes."

"Necessary evils," he counters. "For the good of all."

"Is that what we told ourselves?" I ask, genuinely curious now. "When we approved the cullings? When we dumped dying omegas in that pit where their blood would poison human villages for generations? When we used Hunt omegas as toys for our experiments?"

Cassius's expression hardens. "Your name is on every order, my prince. Don't act so righteous now that you've finally rutted like a common beast."

The accusation doesn't sting as he intends. "You're right," I acknowledge, stopping my circling. "I signed it all. I am as guilty as any. More guilty, perhaps, for looking away while others did the bloody work."

For a moment, something like hope flickers in Cassius's eyes. He thinks he's reaching me, finding the rational prince beneath the rut-driven alpha.

"Then you understand why the pregnant omega must die," he presses, lowering his hands further. "For everyone's sake."

"I understand perfectly," I say, my voice soft with deadly promise. "I understand that you will never touch her. That none of the courts will ever touch her, or the children she carries."

His hands come up again, desperation fueling a blast of Winter Court magic meant to subdue rather than kill. I catch it in my palm, the once-familiar power feeling strangely limited now, like a single note in a symphony I've only just begun to hear.

"The courts will hunt you to the ends of both realms," Cassius warns, backing away as I absorb his magic without effect. "No matter how strong you've grown, you can't fight all four courts together."

"Perhaps not," I concede, advancing on him. "But I'll tear apart anyone who threatens what's mine. Starting with you."

"Please," he abandons formality, real fear replacing clinical detachment. "I've served you for centuries. I only want what's best for the Winter Court. For you."

For an instant, I see him clearly—not just the court physician enforcing brutal policies, but a creature bound by the same rigid system that constrained me for so long. In another life, had I not met Briar, I might have continued approving his reports without question, believing in the necessity of our calculated cruelty.

But I have seen the Vale of Culling. I have felt Briar's grief for her mother, for Willow, for all those sacrificed to maintain our illusion of control. And now I carry the knowledge of four small heartbeats that represent everything the courts fear—unpredictable, uncontrollable new life that defies all their careful breeding programs.

"You care for the system," I correct him. "Not for me. And certainly not for her."

His hands shape one final spell—a distress signal that will bring more court forces. I don't allow him to complete it.

The killing is quick, efficient. Clinical, even. Perhaps the last act of the Winter Prince I once was. Cold magic spreads from my fingers through his heart, stopping it instantly. He crumples without another word, his immaculate appearance marred at last by the disorder of death.

I stand alone in the clearing surrounded by the bodies of my former subjects. The Winter Court crown feels suddenly heavy on my brow—a symbol of authority I've irrevocably rejected. With deliberate movements, I remove it and place it on Cassius's chest. Let the courts find it there, a clear message that the Winter Prince they knew is gone.

From his medical supplies, I take what will help Briar—herbs to ease pregnancy symptoms, enchanted bandages that speed healing, tinctures that replenish magical reserves. The deer I was tracking is long gone, but I quickly find and kill a wild boar instead, the meat richer and more nourishing for Briar's needs.

As I gather my supplies, I spot the guard who fled, watching from the treeline. Our eyes meet across the distance, and I make no move to pursue. Instead, I nod once—acknowledgment of the message he will carry back to the courts.

The Winter Prince is dead. What remains is something new, something the courts have no protocol to contain. A creature of Wild Magic bound by neither court tradition nor the biological imperatives they feared.

By the time I return to the underground chamber, I've composed myself. The blood has been cleaned from my hands, the meat prepared for cooking. Nothing in my appearance betrays the six lives I've just ended or the centuries of allegiance I've severed.

Briar looks up as I enter, one hand resting protectively on her already more swollen abdomen. Her copper hair shines with silver streaks in the blue-green light of the cavern fungi, and the magical patterns across her skin pulse with renewed strength. Despite everything between us—the betrayal, the hurt, the broken trust—something in me aches with fierce need to protect her and the impossible lives growing within her.

"You were gone a long time," she says, her tone carefully neutral.

"Hunting took longer than expected," I reply, setting down the meat and medicines. "But I found what we needed."

Her gaze sharpens as she notices the medical supplies. "Those are court-made. Where did you get them?"

For a moment, I consider lying to protect her from additional stress. But I've caused enough harm through silence and distance. "Winter Court physician," I say simply. "He won't be a problem anymore."

Understanding darkens her eyes. "They know about the pregnancy."

"Yes."

"And they sent someone to..." She doesn't finish the sentence, her hand tightening protectively over her abdomen.

"They tried," I acknowledge. "They failed. They will continue to fail."

She studies me with those amber eyes now flecked with ice-blue, seeing more than I intend to reveal. "You've crossed a line you can't uncross."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "I crossed it the moment I claimed you in the forest. Everything since has merely been consequence."

The Hound stirs from where he's been keeping watch. "We should move deeper," he says, gesturing toward the tunnel that leads toward the nexus. "Court forces will be searching more aggressively now."

Briar struggles to rise, her center of balance already shifting with the rapidly advancing pregnancy. I move to help her, then stop myself, respecting the boundaries she's established.

To my surprise, she reaches for my arm, accepting the assistance while maintaining emotional distance. "I haven't forgiven you," she says quietly, for my ears alone. "I don't know if I can."

"I'm not asking for forgiveness," I reply, supporting her weight as she stands. "Only the chance to protect what we've created."

Something flickers in her expression—not softening, exactly, but recognition of the truth in my words. She nods once, sharply, and we turn toward the deeper tunnels, leaving behind the last vestiges of the life I once knew.

The Winter Prince is dead. What I am becoming—what we are becoming together—remains to be seen.