The Rogue Who Woke the Royal Dead

I woke in warm water and panicked.

My claws shot out. I struck porcelain, splashing lavender-scented water over the floor.

“Easy.” Sera sat beside the enormous bath, sleeves rolled to her elbows. “It’s warm. Test it.”

Warm baths had never existed in Mira’s house. Water was punishment there, drawn from the winter pump and dumped over my head while she complained that feeding me already cost too much.

I lowered my claws into the bath. Steam curled around my fingers.

“No one is angry?” I asked.

“About water?”

“About the mess.”

Sera’s mouth tightened. “If anyone gets angry, I’ll throw them into the tub.”

She washed my hair because lifting my arms reopened the cut on my shoulder. Dirt turned the water brown. Each gentle pass of her fingers made my throat ache. No one had ever touched me with such warmth before.

When she rinsed the last soap from my hair, my wolf made a small, confused sound. Pack wolves groomed one another as comfort after a frightening shift; I knew that from lessons I had never been allowed to practice. Sera's fingers through my hair stirred that buried instinct. Without thinking, I leaned back against her arm.

She said nothing. She only kept combing until my shoulders lowered.

The healer arrived after I dressed in a soft gray tunic. She counted my ribs, treated the infected cuts on my feet, and grew silent over the old scars across my back.

“Long-term wolfsbane exposure,” she said. “That explains the delayed awakening and poor healing.”

Sera’s orange-blossom scent turned bitter with fury. “Someone poisoned her?”

I stared at my hands. “My tonic tasted bitter.”

The healer told me to eat six small meals each day. When she left, servants brought a tray crowded with porridge, fruit, eggs, and toast.

I finished half, then slipped two rolls into my sleeves.

Sera noticed.

Heat climbed my neck. I expected her to demand them back.

She added an apple to each pocket. “For emergencies.”

My eyes burned.

Barrett entered before I could cry. He had changed clothes, but his cedar-and-storm scent reached me first. My wolf rose instantly, rubbing beneath my skin as though my bones were bars.

He stopped on the threshold. His gaze moved over my clean hair, clothes, and bare feet. A low sound caught in his chest.

Sera’s brows rose. “Was that a growl?”

“No.”

“It was.”

“I was clearing my throat.”

“With your wolf?”

His ears reddened. The sight warmed something in me.

“I came to check her injuries,” he said.

“The healer checked them.”

“I am checking the healer’s work.”

“You have no medical training.”

They glared at each other. A laugh slipped from me.

Both turned.

Barrett smiled then—a real one, brief and startling. His scent warmed, and my body answered. My nipples tightened beneath the thin tunic. Heat pooled between my thighs, bewildering and sharp. I had spent years trying to feel less, to need less. Now my awakened wolf wanted with humiliating force.

I folded my arms.

Barrett’s nostrils flared. He looked away so quickly that Sera began coughing to hide another laugh.

“I want my coat,” I blurted.

Sera agreed to return to the cemetery with me. Barrett insisted on joining us.

Outside, the palace grounds spread across the hill in silver stone and dark green gardens. Armed guards bowed as Sera passed. Servants lowered their eyes. A banner displaying a crowned black wolf flew above the highest tower.

I stopped.

“Sera,” I whispered. “Who are you?”

She winced. “Princess Seraphina Blackthorn.”

I looked at Barrett.

“Crown Prince Barrett Blackthorn,” he said.

I nearly climbed the nearest wall.

They followed me to the cemetery, where I found my coat beside Alaric’s tomb. In daylight, the inscriptions were impossible to misunderstand.

ALARIC BLACKTHORN, HIGH KING OF THE NORTHERN WOLVES.

Around him lay princes, queens, generals, and royal consorts.

I had eaten the dead king’s lunch.

“I need to leave,” I said.

Aunt Maeve appeared. “Nonsense.”

"A rogue like me doesn't belong here." I hissed.

Barrett frowned. “Who are you talking to?”

“The dead.” I pointed at Alaric.

Barrett went still.

Alaric materialized beside his tomb, wearing a smug expression. “Tell him his posture has deteriorated.”

“He says your posture is terrible.”

Barrett’s face lost color.

“And he says the woman you brought here last winter had a laugh like a dying goose.”

“I did not say that,” Alaric protested. “It was a strangled goose.”

Barrett whispered, “No one knows she came here.”

The cemetery gate slammed open.

A beautiful woman and a young lady entered with guards at their back. Her black hair was pinned beneath a silver crown, and her authority struck the air before her scent did—white roses, frost, and Alpha blood.

Queen Isolde looked at me as if I were mud on a ceremonial floor. The lady was staring at me from behind her back.

“This is the rogue?”

Sera stepped in front of me. “Her name is Lyra.”

“She trespassed in the royal cemetery, stole offerings, and attacked three wolves.”

“She rescued me.”

“After appearing conveniently where you were endangered.” The Queen’s gaze sharpened. “Rogues survive through deception.”

My stomach clenched. Mira had used the same calm voice before every punishment.

“I’ll go,” I said.

Barrett moved closer, his heat brushing my side without contact. “Mother, she needs treatment.”

“And you need judgment. Both of you have allowed instinct to replace reason.” Her eyes flicked between us, lingering on the way his body angled toward mine. “She leaves before sunset.”

Alaric swore.

Every spirit in the cemetery began talking at once. Their voices rose like a storm inside my skull. Pain stabbed behind my eyes.

Then one dead queen stepped from a cracked monument and stared at Isolde.

“Tell my insufferable granddaughter,” she said, “that the moonstone crown is false. I hid the real one beneath the nursery hearth after Alaric spilled wine on it during our coronation.”

Alaric looked offended. “That was private.”

I pressed a hand to my temple. “Your grandmother says the crown you wear is a copy. The real one is beneath the old nursery hearth because King Alaric spilled wine on it.”

Silence fell.

Isolde touched her crown.

“That story died with them,” Barrett said.

Guards were sent to the abandoned nursery. They returned with a dust-covered silver box. Inside lay a moonstone crown.

No one looked at me as though I were merely a rogue anymore.

They looked afraid.

The Queen recovered first. “One night,” she said. “She may remain one night while we investigate this ability.”

She left. The young lady walker over and looped her arm through Barrett’s.

She was beautiful in a polished, deliberate way.

“Barrett,” she purred. “You disappeared on our date.”

My wolf’s pleasure vanished beneath a flash of possessive pain.

The woman looked me over. “And who is this?”

“Lyra,” Sera said coldly.

“I’m Vivienne Ashford.” Her fingers tightened on Barrett’s arm. “His future bride.”

I waited for Barrett to deny it.

He removed her hand, but too slowly.

Sera scoffed. She grabbed my hand, dragging me right past them.