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He knew. They all knew.
And she felt liberated by that fact. “You stole everything from me, everything that I loved! You are worse than the stories say… no, you aren’t a wolf. You are a monster.”
The Black Wolf stared down at her for a long stretch of silence.
And he did not speak.
Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breaths; even the wind beyond the home ceased its rattling. After what felt like a lifetime, he said simply and with quiet authority, “I am neither wolf nor monster. I am Rowan Dietrich, and you are my prisoner.”
She darted toward the door, her injured leg screaming from pain.
Rowan said in a low, stern voice, “Seize her.”
It happened in a flash of movement. One of his soldiers grabbed her arms and clasped them behind her back. The wolf went wild, snarling and snapping at her ankles in a mad frenzy. Its growl was thunder, volcanic and deep and black as the night.
She squirmed as they tied restraints around her wrists. When all her efforts failed, she contented herself with spitting in the Black Wolf’s looming face.
She thought he might strike her. Instead, he gave a dark, rumbling laugh void of humor or mirth. Chills raced down her spine. He wiped away the spit with a gloved finger, his gaze staring her down like daggers. Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to shed them in the face of her enemy.
His voice was calm and steady, though an undercurrent of hatred spilled through his words. “You’ll live to regret that, Princess.” He turned his eyes on his men as she struggled against their iron hold. “Load her up,” he said, speaking like she was another piece of cargo or plunder.
“Kill me and be done with it!” she screamed at him from the chamber of her raw throat and heart. “Kill me and be cursed!” She kicked at the soldiers, watching through a curtain of tears that blurred the towering monster in front of her. One soldier groaned and yelled a curse as her knee slammed into his groin.
“Feral bitch!”
The Black Wolf merely gave another rolling laugh.
“Kill me! Do it!” Blanchette’s cry almost sounded like a plea. The self-loathing that filled her brought bile to her throat. She felt it bubble up and spill over her lips. Her breaths shortened, and a trembling rage shook her to the marrow of her bones.
Even worse, she felt her grandmother’s disappointment from beyond her grave.
“Black Wolf! Kill me as you murdered my brother!”
That provoked a reaction from him. His eyes hardened into two ice chips. Blanchette shivered from their coolness. “I didn’t lay a finger on your brother. Of that, my hands are clean. I am no murderer. I am a liberator.”
“Liberator? Clean?” Her anger mounted to a boil, and she shook from the force of it. “There is nothing clean about you. You have lived as a monster and shall die as one, maybe by my hand. The only thing you inspire in others is treachery. That’s the name of your legacy since you left my father’s army!”
“Maybe I shall die at your hand. But not today.” He turned to Jonathan; his mouth set into a wolfish grin. “Gag her and arrest this traitor. Bring his child to the orphanage but see that no harm comes to him. He’s a ward of Norland now,” he commanded his men in a growl that rang true to his name. A soldier forced a musty, damp cloth between her teeth and vomit-covered lips, silencing her. She supposed it should have angered her, but a queer sense of relief washed over her.
Finally, she could rest.
She watched as the Black Wolf’s soldiers collected the child she’d come to care about, watched as Jonathan slid her a heartfelt goodbye and was restrained, watched as the wolf trailed after its master, understanding the hunt was over.
She fought her body’s desire to faint dead away. Her house’s words echoed inside her like a war cry. They sheathed her in sentimental armor.
This can’t be.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to end.
I had promised… I promised.
Blanchette glanced at Petyr, who looked utterly confused and lost—how could his hero do this?—and then she looked forward and to her fate.
I promise.
* * *
Blanchette returned to a home she no longer knew or recognized, surrounded by walls that no longer barred an enemy but housed one.
