Chapter 47

Maeve’s POV

“Maeve?” Draven’s voice drifted from the shadows, closer now, less menacing than before. I stood frozen, the cold night air stinging my skin. Flickering torchlight danced on his hooded cloak, hiding his expression.

“It’s not safe here. What are you doing?” he asked, glancing over my shoulder. Only then did he notice I was alone among the cluster of warriors and the bound prisoner in the courtyard.

“I—” I began, but a deep, furious growl cut me off. The spy, trussed and bleeding, bared his teeth as Dorian’s men pressed forward.

Draven strode purposefully until his broad frame eclipsed the enslaved wolf. He lifted my chin with a firm thumb, tilting my face toward his hidden gaze. “I don’t want you to see this,” he murmured. “Go join the others at the bonfire by the outer wall. I’ll be there as soon as I’m done. I promise.”

Torn, I glanced one last time at the prisoner. The cold stone courtyard, ringed with torches, crackled with tension