CHAPTER 27: CHAPTER 26. THE SHADOW IS COMING

As the sun dipped behind the jagged peaks of the Dreadfang Mountains, the group set up camp in a narrow valley, shielded from the harshest winds by looming walls of rock.

The air is icy and sharp, each breath visible in pale white clouds. Snow clung stubbornly to the ground, crunching under boots and hooves as knights worked swiftly to prepare the area before night fell completely.

Dozens of tents were pitched in neat rows, their triangular shapes sturdy against the biting cold. The largest tent, belonging to Roxanne and Vivianne, stood near the center, surrounded by a protective circle of knights’ tents.

Around them, campfires blazed, their orange glow flickering wildly against the snowy landscape, casting warm halos of light amidst the creeping shadows. The smoke curled into the freezing air, carrying the rich scent of roasting meat and burning wood.

Supplies—barrels, crates, and neatly stacked bundles of firewood—were arranged near the edge of the camp. The warhorses, massive and powerful, were tethered to sturdy posts, steam rising from their nostrils as they snorted and shifted, their heavy coats glistening faintly with frost.

The mountains themselves loomed above, dark silhouettes against a sky painted in fading hues of crimson and gold. The sharp cliffs and icy slopes gave the place a haunting beauty, both breathtaking and intimidating. Faint whispers of spirits stirred in the wind, the kind only Vivianne could truly feel, while the knights remained alert, their weapons within easy reach.

The knights and maids had been tense throughout dinner, sneaking nervous glances at the Grand Duchess as they served the simple meal they had prepared. Bread baked that morning, a hearty stew made from dried meat and root vegetables, and a bit of salted jerky on the side—nothing close to the refined dishes a lady of her rank might expect. They worried she might frown or, worse, refuse to eat.

But to their surprise, Vivianne didn’t complain at all. She accepted the wooden bowl of stew with a warm smile, sitting comfortably between Roxanne’s legs, leaning back against her wife’s chest. The thick fur of a slain mountain beast had been laid out beneath them, creating a soft carpet against the snow-chilled ground.

Taking a sip, Vivianne’s face lit up. "It’s warm and filled with meat, really good," she said earnestly, her voice carrying just enough to be heard by those nearby.

The knights froze, exchanging stunned looks. Roxanne tilted her head down, her crimson eyes soft with concern. "Are you sure that’s fine, sweetheart?" she asked, almost hesitant.

She had grown up with harsh campaigns and battlefield rations, but Vivianne is delicate from her point of view, her cherished omega. The last thing she wanted was for her to suffer through a meal unworthy of her.

Vivianne looked up at her, smiling sweetly as she scooped another spoonful of stew. "It’s so much better than the food they prepared for me in Rothschild," she said with a small laugh before sipping from her bowl again.

The effect of those words is immediate. Roxanne’s expression darkened, a flicker of rage behind her smile. Around them, several knights stiffened, their hands clenching on their cups and bowls. The maids exchanged angry, tearful looks, silently seething.

The Grand Duchess, their gentle and graceful lady, had suffered neglect in the house of her birth, and they, the loyal Borgia knights, had just learned of it. Their respect for her, already deep after witnessing her mysterious powers protect them throughout the dangerous mountain journey, now burned hotter than ever. She isn’t just powerful; she’s kind, humble, and undeserving of the cruelty she has endured.

As night fell, the camp grew almost eerily peaceful. Silver threads of spirit energy shimmered faintly in the air, wrapping protectively around their tents and fires like a living barrier. Not a single monster’s howl pierced the darkness. There’s no rush of wings, no snarling in the distance.

For the first time in any expedition through the Dreadfang Mountains, the knights didn’t have to take turns fighting through the night just to snatch a moment’s sleep. Instead, the only sounds were the soft crackling of firewood, the occasional murmur of conversation, and Vivianne’s quiet laughter as Roxanne tucked her closer into her arms.

It’s a night of rare peace, and the knights understood the reason why: Their Grand Duchess is a blessing—not just to Roxanne, but to them all.

Vivianne’s eyes fluttered as if in a trance, the silver threads of spirit energy around her glowing faintly brighter. The whispers of the mountain spirits flooded her ears, urgent and sharp like the chill wind cutting through the camp.

"A group of men... a day away from you," one spirit breathed, its voice like the rustle of falling snow.

"Yes... they’re dangerous," another hissed, trembling like ice cracking over a frozen river.

Vivianne’s back went rigid, her body jerking up so suddenly that Roxanne’s arms immediately tightened around her waist. "Vivian?" Roxanne’s deep voice was soft and protective, though edged with concern.

Vivianne’s lips parted, her breath coming out in small, clouded puffs in the frigid air. "How many?" she asked the spirits, her voice barely audible.

"Ten," one whispered.

"Ten people," another added. "In black clothes."

"Scary people... the werewolves," a third whimpered, as if even speaking of them was terrifying.

Roxanne’s crimson eyes narrowed dangerously. "Vivian, what did they say?"

Vivianne swallowed, her hands clutching Roxanne’s arms around her waist. "The spirits told me... there are people coming. The Shadow Knights. They’ll reach us in a day."

A low growl rumbled in Roxanne’s throat, primal and fierce. The firelight reflected off her sharp canines as her protective instincts flared. "It’ll be fine," Roxanne said firmly, cupping Vivianne’s face and tilting it up so their eyes met. "Tell the spirits to keep them busy. Let the monsters of this mountain slow them down. We’ll pass through without a fight while they waste their strength."

The silver threads swirled faster around Vivianne, glowing like moonlight caught in a storm, as if the spirits themselves were drawing strength from Roxanne’s unwavering defiance. The air shimmered with their energy, humming softly like a thousand whispers of devotion and fear.

The spirits knew the truth better than any mortal ever could. This woman with crimson eyes, who held Vivianne so protectively in her arms, isn’t just another warrior or noble.

She carried the blood of two ancient lineages: the infernal power of the Demon King Ashkareth, whose very name once brought nations to their knees, and the primal strength of the werewolf royal bloodline, rulers of the untamed wilds.

Here, in the heart of the Dreadfang Mountain, where spirits had dwelled for centuries and monsters roamed freely, they recognized her for what she truly is: a storm in human form. A predator above predators. A being that even they, immortal watchers of the world, dared not provoke.

The threads of spirit energy twined protectively around Vivianne like a living cloak, shielding her, whispering reverence to the woman who had earned their respect. And as Roxanne’s voice, low and dangerous, cut through the cold night air, the very mountain seemed to listen.

The spirits didn’t simply follow her because of her words; they listened because they understood: Roxanne de Borgia was the most dangerous creature to ever set foot in their domain. And woe to those foolish enough to threaten the mate she guarded.

-

Celestara Palace, Erengrad Empire

The golden glow of the lanterns in Celestara Palace did little to warm the icy tension in Liselotte’s chambers. The air was thick with the scent of rare flowers, sweet but suffocating, clinging to every word that passed between mother and daughter.

Genevieve Rothschild sat on an ornate divan, her posture regal and unyielding, as though she were already mother to an empress. Beside her, Valdemar stood with a smug face. Liselotte, however, could no longer maintain the facade. She paced the length of the room, her silk skirts whispering furiously against the marble floor.

"I told you, Mother," she said, her voice cracking with desperation. "The emperor doesn’t want to marry me. He hasn’t even shown his face since I arrived! Even when you and your brother arrived!"

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharp and cold. "Nonsense. You are the legitimate daughter of House Rothschild! Our bloodline stretches back hundreds of years. The emperor has no reason to reject you."

Liselotte whirled on her, fury and heartbreak mingling in her expression. "The emperor wanted Vivianne!" she screamed, her voice echoing off the crystal dome above them.

At that, Genevieve’s composure slipped, a brief flicker of disdain twisting her features. "Vivianne is married," she spat. "She is mated to the Grand Duke of Borgia!"

Liselotte froze, her breath catching in her throat as she turned sharply to face her mother. "The Grand Duke... marked her already?" she asked, almost whispering.

"Yes," Genevieve replied with a bitter snort. "The church confirmed it. Their marriage was consummated, and Vivianne bears the mark of the Grand Duke’s claim. There is no undoing it now."

Liselotte’s hands trembled as she clutched at the fabric of her gown, her anger flaring brighter than her grief. "I should have chosen the Grand Duke," she hissed. "I should have let Vivianne marry the emperor! Perhaps then I would be the one who is happy!"

Genevieve rose to her feet, her presence commanding, her tone cutting like a blade. "Nonsense! Liselotte von Rothschild! You were born to be the empress! This marriage will happen, and you will sit beside the emperor on the throne. Do not speak such foolishness again."

But even as Genevieve’s words rang through the chamber, Liselotte’s heart pounded with doubt and dread. Somewhere in the depths of the palace, the emperor’s silence hung over her like a shadow, and no amount of ambition or lineage could silence the whisper of truth in her mind: The alpha emperor had no desire for her at all.