He runs his fingers over the leaves before bringing them to his nose. His brow furrows. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s not natural, that much I can tell. But beyond that…” He shakes his head. “Sorry, Commander.”
I scan the area and spot more traces of the powder scattered around the clearing. “Bottle as much as you can find. Send it to Queen Astra. She might recognize it.”
“Yes, sir.”
I stand and survey the scene again, trying to piece together what happened here. The official story is that Zane was attacked, left for dead, and somehow survived until Selene found him. But nothing about that makes sense.
First, the timing. Zane claims he left the celebration around midnight, but Selene didn’t emerge from the forest until nearly three in the morning. What was he doing out here for three hours?
Second, the result. Why did his attackers leave him alive? If they were trying to send a message, it really isn’t clear what that message might be.
Third, the lack of evidence. If three shifters attack a man, there should be tracks, scents, signs of a struggle. Instead, we have nothing but Zane’s blood and some mysterious, red powder.
I walk the perimeter again, looking for anything my team might have missed. The ground here is soft enough to show tracks, but there are none. Not even Selene’s footprints, which should be here if she really found him like she claims.
“Commander?” One of my soldiers approaches. “We’ve coveredevery inch of the area. Other than the powder you found, there’s nothing.”
“What about the guest list from last night? Everyone accounted for?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve verified the whereabouts of every single person who attended. Those who left early were escorted by guards and arrived safely at their destinations. No one is unaccounted for.”
That’s what bothers me most. Palace security wasn’t breached. Every guest was monitored. So, who attacked Zane? And why does his story feel like a carefully constructed lie?
My wolf paces restlessly, still agitated from our encounter with Lord Radrick. There’s something predatory about the man that sets me on edge. Especially his behavior in the infirmary—the practiced humility, the way he spoke about Selene with such certitude. Like he knows something the rest of us don’t.
Just thinking about it makes my teeth clench tightly.
The sun is setting by the time I give up on finding anything else here. My team packs up their equipment while I take one last look around the clearing. Then, we all head back to the palace.
The next day, the healers’compound buzzes with its usual morning activity—apprentices hurrying between treatment rooms, senior healers moving efficiently from patient to patient, the soft hum of healing magic mixing with quiet conversations about treatments. I scan the familiar chaos, searching for auburn hair and soft blue eyes, but Selene is nowhere to be seen.
“Excuse me,” I call to a passing apprentice. “Where is Selene?”
The young woman looks puzzled. “Selene? She was discharged this morning, Commander.”
My wolf paces restlessly as I approach several healers, asking if they’ve seen her, but each one shakes their head.
“Haven’t seen her since yesterday,” one says.
“Not sure where she’d be,”another adds.
I approach a senior healer who is examining a soldier’s wounded arm. “Excuse me, have you seen Selene today?”
The woman glances up briefly from her patient. “No, not since yesterday, Commander. You’d need to ask the master healer about her work schedule.”
Frustration builds in my chest with each negative response. I don’t understand this compulsion driving me forward, this need to see her that burns constantly. But I can’t seem to stop myself.
Finally, I knock on Master Healer Cordelia’s office door.
“Commander Rowan!” The elderly woman looks up from her ledger with surprise. “What brings you here?”
“I’m looking for Healer Selene. I need to ask her some follow-up questions about the forest incident.”
Cordelia sets down her pen, studying me with concern. “Ah. Well, nobody has seen her this morning, I’m afraid.”
My jaw tightens. “What do you mean, nobody’s seen her?”
“I’ve given that poor girl several days off to recover from such a massive drain of her healing abilities. What she did for Lord Zane nearly killed her.” Cordelia leans back in her chair. “She must be in her quarters, resting. Room forty-seven in the east wing.”
