Chapter 9 — The Price of Freedom

Spring crept across the mountains on timid feet, loosening snowpack and spangling Ironclaw’s ramparts with thaw-water pearls. In the courtyard Ophelia ladled stew to soldiers while sparrows fought for crumbs at her boots. Captain Thorn nudged her shoulder.

“Rurik convenes council at noon,” he muttered. “Rumor says your name sits on the agenda.”

She arched a brow. “Good or ill?”

“Depends who sharpens the quill.”

Before she could ask more, the war horns sounded a single low blast—summons to the great hall.

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#### A Dismissal in Gold

Iron sconces burned high when Ophelia entered, Thorn at her heel. Rurik lounged on his axe-throne, rolling a gold coin across his knuckles. He raised a hand.

“Moon-maid, six moons in my kennel and still unbroken.” His gaze flicked over her straighter posture, the healed—yet visible—scar across her back. “Ironclaw respects endurance, but fascination fades.”

She inclined her head. “As snow to sun, Alpha.”