Chapter 33. The East Wing

It had almost faded by sunrise.

The name—carved not with a blade, but with her own fingernails—had smeared against the sheet, crimson soaking into the linen like an oath sealed in sleep. Aria washed her hands in the basin until her knuckles turned pale. Still, a faint red echo lingered under her skin, as if the memory didn’t want to let go.

Rhydain.

Not a name she knew. Not from the old packs. Not from the fractured bloodlines. And yet the sound of it rang inside her like a bell she’d heard once in another life.

She didn’t tell the guards.

Didn’t show the towel stained with dried blood.

Let them think she was adjusting.

Let them believe she was settling.

The East Wing was quieter than she’d expected. No servants. No gossip. Only a strange stillness that unnerved her more than the dungeon ever had. Her room was one of five on the upper level. She checked them one by one, testing the silver ring Kaid had given her. It never burned. But t