The impact against the ground of the outer courtyard knocked all the air from her lungs, but adrenaline was the only thing keeping her legs moving. Shards of broken glass had embedded themselves in her arms and in the servant's uniform, mingling with Gavin's warm blood that was already drying and seeping into her skin.
Behind her, the howls of the Ivanov guard wolves tore through the air. They were the barks of a royal hunt: her own father had given the order to kill her.
Sofia ran. She ran like she never had in her life, crossing the textured borders of the mansion gardens and plunging into the thick forest that surrounded the pack. Almost at the same time, the sky seemed to hear her misfortune and split open entirely. A torrential rain, freezing and violent, crashed down upon the trees, erasing the paths and turning the ground into a treacherous quagmire.
The storm was a double-edged sword. On one hand, the water washed away part of the blood on her clothes and diluted her scent trail, temporarily disorienting the trackers; on the other, the extreme cold seeped into her bones, and the lack of visibility made her stumble constantly over exposed roots.
"Search the east flank! Don't let her cross the river!" a guard's voice rang out in the distance, far too close for comfort.
With her chest burning and her strength fading, Sofia kept pushing forward blindly. Her inner she-wolf, wounded by Gavin's rejection and terrified by the danger, cowered in a corner of her mind, trembling, leaving her completely helpless in her human form. The broken bond with her mate was a black hole draining her energy with every heartbeat.
She crossed the river with the freezing water up to her knees, shivering violently. Her strength abandoned her just as her feet slipped on a moss-covered slope. Sofia tumbled down the hill, striking against low branches until she lay sprawled on her back on the damp earth.
The pain was unbearable. Her vision blurred with tears and rainwater, her body covered in wounds and her heart shattered. She could no longer hear the barking, but she knew death would find her if she stayed there. She tried to stand, pressing her hands into the mud, but her arms gave way. Darkness began closing around her eyes, an absolute and heavy exhaustion that dragged her into unconsciousness as the sound of the storm faded away.
The smell of dampness and wet earth vanished, replaced by a warm fragrance of lavender, burned firewood, and a sweet hint of chamomile.
Sofia's eyes flew open, disoriented. The first thing she saw was a ceiling of dark, high wooden beams, illuminated by the soft flickering of a nearby fireplace. She wasn't on the forest floor. She was lying in a soft bed, tucked under clean sheets of rough but comforting linen.
She let out a groan of pain as she tried to sit up. Her body had been neatly bandaged, and the bloodstained clothes from the wedding had been replaced by a simple, loose cotton shift.
"Don't move so fast, child. Your body's barely holding on to its warmth," said a mature voice, firm yet laced with a strange kindness.
Sofia turned her head in fear. Seated in a wooden chair beside the bed, a woman with gray hair pulled into a bun and hands weathered by years of labor watched her closely. Her gaze carried an ancient wisdom and a calm that Sofia hadn't felt in years.
"Where... where am I?" Sofia managed to croak, her throat dry. "Who are you?"
"My name's Greta," the woman replied, rising to bring her a steaming bowl of soup that gave off a delicious aroma. "And you're in the only place where your pursuers would never dare come looking for you... if they value their lives. You're in the service wing of the royal palace. The Lycan King's territory."
Sofia tensed completely, trying to press back against the bed until her spine hit the headboard. Panic threatened to choke her again. The Lycan King? Everyone knew the legends about Cesar Drovnikov — the merciless monarch, the Supreme Alpha who knew no mercy and executed intruders without blinking.
"Does... does he know I'm here?" Sofia asked, her voice trembling, her eyes darting to the heavy wooden door of the room.
Greta let out a quiet sigh and shook her head, keeping her voice in a confidential whisper.
"No. And for both our sakes, pray it stays that way for a good long while. I found you at the edge of the forest while I was gathering medicinal herbs before the storm got worse. You were half dead, covered in blood, with the scent of a mate's rejection clinging to your skin. I couldn't leave you there to be devoured by the vermin or your own demons."
The old woman set the bowl on the nightstand and fixed her gaze on Sofia, reading the fear in her eyes.
"I know you're running from something terrible, child. The blood on your clothes wasn't yours. But I won't ask questions here. The palace is enormous, and King Cesar rarely deigns to look into the eyes of those who scrub his hallways or cook his meals. If you've got nowhere to go, you can stay here. I'll pass you off as an orphan from the Lowlands looking for work. I'll give you a new uniform, teach you the duties, and you'll hide in plain sight working for the palace. But you must promise me one thing."
Sofia swallowed hard, clutching the blanket.
"What?"
"Keep your head down, don't talk to the guards, and above all... never cross the Lycan King's path. Cesar Drovnikov has a nose that can smell fear from miles away, and he hates secrets. If he discovers you, not even I will be able to save you from his judgment. Understood?"
Sofia nodded slowly, feeling the weight of her new reality. She had gone from being the pariah of the Ivanovs to a fugitive hidden in the lair of the most dangerous wolf on the continent.
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