Chapter 3

The rain had stopped by the time Elinore left her study. The torches lining the palace corridors flickered in the late hour, their golden glow casting long shadows against the stone walls.

She had spent the last two hours going over reports, requests from human settlements, petitions from the Council, and more letters urging her to keep the throne. The tension between the species was growing sharper by the day.

And now Randall Astor was back.

A prince who had abandoned his kingdom. A Lycan who had no desire to rule. A problem she could not afford right now.

Elinore's steps were light and measured. The train of her gown trailing behind her as she turned down the hallway leading to her chambers. A guard stood by her door, nodding respectfully as she approached.

"Lady Elinore."

She stopped.

The voice was unmistakable.

Deep, rough, and uninvited.

Slowly, she turned.

Randall stood at the end of the corridor, half-hidden in shadow, watching her.

His damp shirt was undone at the collar, exposing the tan, scarred skin beneath. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, unreadable yet too focused.

Her exhaustion vanished. She met his gaze, calm and unwavering.

"Your Highness. Do you make a habit of lurking outside a lady's chambers at night?"

Randall stepped forward.

Elinore remained still, heart steady. She had faced Alphas who wanted her dead. She had stared down beasts twice her size. She would not flinch.

But something felt different this time.

The air was thick and charged. She could feel it, the way he studied her, the way his breathing slowed as he neared.

And then, Randall inhaled.

The change was instant.

His body tensed, his golden eyes flashing with something feral. Uncertain.

Elinore's fingers curled at her sides. "Something wrong, Your Highness?"

Randall exhaled sharply, as if trying to shake something off. His hands twitched at his sides. Not with anger, but restraint.

He took another step closer.

And suddenly, she knew.

He was scenting her!

A werewolf's heightened senses allowed them to track prey, detect lies, sense emotions. Lycans were even sharper.

But the way Randall was reacting, this was different...

Elinore had been around werewolves all her life. She had never seen one react like this.

Randall ran a hand over his jaw, voice tight. "Why the fuck do you smell like that?!"

Elinore arched a brow. "I wasn't aware my scent required your approval."

"It's wrong." His jaw clenched.

She tilted her head slightly. "And what, exactly, do I smell like?"

Randall was silent.

Elinore took a step forward. A dangerous move, but deliberate. If he was testing her, she would test him right back.

She studied him, her gaze sharp. "You're a Lycan, Your Highness. Are your senses failing you?"

Randall's gaze darkened. "You smell like—"

He cut himself off, shaking his head as if the words physically refused to form.

Elinore watched him struggle.

He exhaled again, stepping back at last. His expression shuttered, walls slamming down.

"Forget it," he muttered. Without another word, he turned and disappeared down the hall.

Elinore let out a slow breath.

She was not shaken. She refused to be.

And yet, even as she entered her chambers and shut the door behind her, her pulse remained too quick.

She pressed a hand to her wrist, exhaling deeply.

Randall Astor was dangerous.

Not because of his strength. Not because he was a Lycan. Because something about her unsettled him.

And she didn't know why.

Elinore turned away from the door, inhaling slowly.

She moved toward the basin in the corner of her chamber, pouring cool water into her hands and pressing it to the back of her neck. She was not rattled. She had stood before Alphas who wanted her dead, spoken before councils that saw her as nothing more than a temporary inconvenience.

But this was different.

Randall had looked at her like she was something unnatural.

Elinore straightened, smoothing her hands over her gown before moving to her window. Outside, the moon hung heavy in the sky, casting pale silver light over the palace courtyards. The wind had shifted, carrying the scent of wet stone and damp earth. The storm had passed.

A knock at her door made her turn.

She expected a servant, perhaps one of the palace guards. Instead, Alec Harland, her most trusted advisor, stepped inside.

"My lady." He bowed his head slightly, closing the door behind him. "I thought you might want to know, the prince has been seen prowling the halls."

Elinore lifted a brow. "Prowling?"

Alec's expression was carefully neutral. "Lycans do not usually pace. They hunt."

She exhaled through her nose, walking toward her desk.

"Let him hunt, then. I have nothing to hide."

Alec hesitated. "And if he hunts you?"

Elinore froze for half a second.

It was a fair question. Randall was unpredictable, volatile, and clearly unsettled by her presence.

But if he thought that would shake her, he had severely underestimated her.

She turned, facing Alec with an even gaze. "Then let him try."

The older man studied her for a long moment before inclining his head. "Very well. Shall I have extra guards stationed outside your door tonight?"

Elinore hesitated. She should say yes. She should at least pretend to be cautious.

But if she did, it would send a message. That she was afraid.

She would not give Randall that satisfaction.

"That won't be necessary," she said smoothly.

Alec pressed his lips together but didn't argue. He gave a short bow before exiting, leaving her alone once more.

Elinore moved to her desk, picking up her quill, but the ink blurred before her eyes.

Because despite herself, despite her control, and her years of discipline, she could still feel him.

The weight of his gaze. The tension in his stance. The way his voice had gone raw, as if he had fought to keep from saying something he didn't understand.

"You shouldn't smell like that."

Elinore closed her eyes for a moment.

Randall Astor was dangerous. Not because he was stronger than her. Not because he was a Lycan.

Because something about her unnerved him.

And she needed to find out why.

Before he did.