Chapter 6

The corridors feel colder when I walk them with purpose. I should not be here. Kade’s orders this morning were clear—stay out of the nursery. Stay away from my own children.

But after what I heard last night, I’m not going to let anything stop me. Kade wants to claim Izel as his mate, right? That’s fine. He can do that. He has cast me away as the lady of the house. He can cast me away as his wife, too, but I’ll be damned before I let him separate me from my children.

I push open the carved door. The smell of milk and lavender clings to the air. A small fire glows in the hearth. Finn sits cross-legged on his bed, a wooden wolf in his hands. He looks up at the sound of the door.

“Finn,” I whisper, stepping closer. My hands tremble against meey skirts.

His golden eyes widen. For one perfect heartbeat, recognition flashes across his face. He scrambles to his feet, the toy falling from his grasp.

“Mama?” His voice is small, uncertain.

Tears sting my eyes. “Yes, my love. It’s me.”

He takes one step toward me—then freezes. His gaze clouds over, like a veil slipping between us. His little body stiffens. The confusion on his face changes into fear.

“No…” He shakes his head hard. “You’re not—”

“Finn, it’s me,” I say quickly, reaching out. “I held you first. I—”

He recoils, clutching the edge of the bed as if it can shield him. “You smell wrong. You’re not my mama! You’re not safe! Mama Izel says you’re not safe!”

I catch it then—a faint, choking sweetness of roses and almond oil, mixed with the stench of blood. The hearth dims momentarily, cold swirling around us before burning bright again.

What in the world…? With a gasp, it dawns on me. Glamour. Izel’s glamour.

That means… Rowan was right. Izel is… a witch. And she’s using glamour to keep my children away from me.

A nurse rushes in, drawn by his raised voice. “My lady—you shouldn’t be here!” she gasps, pulling Finn into her arms.

The hearth dims again, the stench of blood hitting my senses once more.

Finn buries his face against her shoulder, trembling and sobbing.

I stagger back, throat tight, hands useless at my sides. “I am his mother,” I whisper, but the words sound thin, swallowed by the crackle of the fire.

The nurse rocks him gently. “Please go,” she says rudely.

I force myself to leave the nursery before my wolf tears the room apart.

***

Crossing the threshold of my chamber, I stagger back when a raven darts above me. Its black eyes glint, feathers slick as oil, wings fluttering before it perches on the windowsill. It doesn’t take me more than two seconds to realize this raven belongs to the Rogue King of Nightfell.

I grab a piece of parchment and write quickly, my hand unsteady. Rowan. Meet me at the border. Tonight.

I tie the message to its leg. “Go.”

The raven dips its head, then flies off into the night.

***

I wait until dusk has fallen to leave the keep.

But right at the gates, a guard stops me this time. I glare at him, demanding, “Am I not even allowed to take a walk in the woods now? Has Alpha Kade forbidden even that pleasure?”

He gruffs, then withdraws his arm that was blocking my way. I walk quietly until he’s out of sight, and then I sprint.

At the clearing where I met Rowan two nights ago, the mist curls silver over the grass. He waits there, arms folded, green eyes catching the pale glow.

“You called me,” he says softly, uncrossing his arms.

“I saw it with my own eyes,” I tell him, rushing to the point. “She’s tampered with him. Finn—my son—he knew me. For one breath, he knew. Then it was gone.”

Rowan’s jaw tightens, the softness in his eyes melting away. “Witchcraft. I warned you.”

“Yes.” My voice cracks. “He called me Mama. And then… he didn’t. Like a veil fell over.”

For a moment, Rowan says nothing, only looks at me as if trying to understand my grief. Then he pulls a crystal from a leather cord around his neck. It glimmers faintly gold, warm as starlight, pulsing as if alive.

When our fingers brush while he passes it over to me, the silver mist around us flashes bright, startling me. I almost drop the piece from my hand.

I expect him to explain, but he doesn’t, so I turn my attention back to the crystal. “What is it?” I ask, studying its oval shape.

“Moon-amber,” he says. “It can cut through glamour, but only for a while. Sixty seconds, no more.” He presses it into my hand. “Use it wisely.”

The crystal burns faintly against my palm, a warmth that spreads up my arm. I glance up at him. “You’re giving it to me? I understand that it protects you. Surely you need it more than me where—in Nightfell, I mean. All the other rogues—”

He cuts me off. “It doesn’t protect me. It warns me so I can be prepared. And I’ve had it for a while. I don’t need a moon-amber anymore to understand when glamour is at play.”

I study his face, try to read him, and notice subtle scars that I missed earlier. They’re everywhere I can see. Along his exposed arms, back of his hands, on the curve of his neck. I can only imagine the horrors he went through before he claimed the throne and united the rogues under him. And all of it, because of me. Because he loved me. And he claims he still does.

“Don’t worry about me, Freya,” he says softly, stepping closer. But he still keeps his distance, maintains restraint. “You’ve never had to worry about me, and I won’t give you a chance now.”

“I did worry about you,” I confess, my throat thickening. “For a long time. I want you to know that I wish I had the power to change what happened.”

He chuckles then, but it’s bitter. “You don’t realize, do you? You have the power to do everything now. You only need to reach out and claim it. Make it yours.”

I look away to breathe. “Rowan—” My throat closes on his name. “What if I fail?”

His gaze soothes me, and although it pains him to say the next words because of their meaning, and because it is a glaring reminder of what happened with him, with us, he still says it, “You won’t fail. Hold on to that one word. Mama. Hold onto the love you bear for your children. That’s the truth. The rest is shadow.”

I curl my fingers around the moon-amber, feeling its weight. “I swear I will reclaim my children. Whatever it takes.”

Rowan inclines his head, but his green eyes blaze with something fiercer than approval. “Then it means the High Luna has already begun to rise.”

Mist swallows the clearing, and I feel the mark on my back burn. I clutch the stone and know there is no turning back.