Chapter 21 The Exile’s Pact
Snow fell heavy on Maeron’s shoulders as he stumbled deeper into the forest.
He had once walked through Noctara’s halls with pride, draped in silks, honored with counsel at Cassien’s table. Now his cloak was stripped, his crest torn from his chest, and his name spat like venom from the mouths of soldiers. He had been cast out like a criminal, his life’s work burned in a single night.
All because of her.
The cursed wolf. The abomination Cassien protected.
Maeron’s breath steamed in the air, his hands raw from the cold. Hatred burned hotter than the frost could bite.
When the first wolf appeared among the trees, Maeron did not flinch.
Its eyes glowed green, its fur white against the snow. More followed, circling, their growls rumbling low. Maeron stood still, his heart pounding, but he did not show fear.
“Take me to him,” he said hoarsely. “I come to bargain.”
The wolves sniffed the air, then parted.
Lucien stepped through the circle, his black armor glinting, his smile cruel. “And here I thought Cassien would kill you outright. He grows merciful in his old age.”
Maeron spat into the snow. “Mercy is weakness. He has forgotten that. But I have not.”
Lucien tilted his head, studying him. “Then why come crawling to me?”
“Because we want the same thing,” Maeron said, his voice trembling with fury. “Her. The wolf girl. She is poison. She has twisted him. She must die.”
Lucien’s smile sharpened. “Ah. At last, a man who sees clearly.”
From the shadows, Damon emerged in his human skin, towering, his green eyes glowing like embers. His presence made Maeron’s knees tremble, but he stood tall.
“You were elder of Noctara,” Damon said, his voice low and dangerous. “Why should we trust you now?”
Maeron clenched his fists. “Because I know their walls. Their patrols. Their weaknesses. I know where Cassien bleeds. And I want to see him bleed more. Use me, and I will tear Noctara apart from within.”
Lucien chuckled, circling him like a wolf. “A traitor to your own kind. I like you already.”
Cersei appeared at Damon’s side, her golden hair gleaming in the firelight of the wolves’ torches. She sneered down at Maeron. “And what would you have in return, old man? Power? A seat at Damon’s table? You think we reward weakness?”
Maeron’s jaw tightened. “I want her head. Nothing else.”
Lucien’s smile widened. “Then perhaps we are family, you and I. Because I want the same.”
That night, they feasted in the wolves’ camp.
The White Snow Pack’s warriors crowded around the fires, their voices a cacophony of growls and laughter. Meat roasted on spits, blood steamed in cups, and the air stank of fur and iron.
Maeron sat apart with Lucien, Damon, and Cersei. His hands shook faintly as he lifted a cup of blood-wine, but his eyes burned with conviction.
“You will give us their secrets,” Damon said. “And in return, we will give you her.”
Maeron nodded sharply. “The eastern wall is weakest. The stone is cracked from the last siege. They repair it with patchwork, but it will not hold against your fury. Strike there, and you will breach them.”
Lucien leaned back, his grin sharp. “See? Already useful. You may yet earn your place.”
Maeron’s lip curled. “I do not need your approval, boy. I need her corpse.”
Cersei laughed softly, the sound like broken glass. “And when you see her die, will that fill the hole in your chest? Or will you realize you’ve burned your home for nothing?”
Maeron glared at her. “Home? My home cast me out. My home chose her over me. Let it burn.”
Damon’s voice rumbled, final. “Then it is settled. You are ours now, Maeron. Betray us, and your death will be slower than fire. Serve us, and you will have your vengeance.”
He extended his hand.
Maeron hesitated only a moment before clasping it. The pact was sealed.
In the days that followed, Maeron walked the wolf camp as if he belonged. The warriors sneered at him, but Lucien shielded him with mocking words. “This one is mine. He bleeds for us now.”
Maeron shared every secret he knew. The rotation of patrols. The hidden tunnels in the mountain. The weaknesses in Noctara’s stores. He spoke of the soldiers who doubted Cassien, who muttered in corners.
Each word was poison. And Lucien drank it eagerly.
At night, Maeron dreamed of Lyra’s face twisted in fear, of her claws snapping as she fell. He woke with a smile.
Far away, Noctara knew nothing of the pact.
Lyra trained in the yard until her arms ached, until her legs trembled. She fought beside Ral, sparred with Cassien, pushed herself harder each day. Whispers still lingered, but more and more, she saw respect in the soldiers’ eyes.
For the first time, she felt almost steady. Almost whole.
But when she looked at Cassien, she saw the shadows in his gaze. The war was far from over. Lucien would return. Damon would strike harder. And she would be at the center of it all.
In the wolf camp, Lucien stood with Maeron over a map of Noctara.
“Here,” Maeron said, stabbing a finger at the eastern wall. “Strike here, and the fortress will fall.”
Lucien’s eyes gleamed. “And when it does, little wolf will have nowhere left to hide.”
He looked up at the night sky, the moon full and bright. His smile curved cruel.
“The end begins at the east.”