The first faint tendrils of dawn were little more than a bruised smear across the horizon when Roan left the palace. The great iron gates had opened without fanfare, their groaning hinges the only announcement of the king's departure. A cool mist clung low to the ground, curling around the hooves of the horses as they stood restless in the courtyard. Their breath rose in pale clouds, matching the muffled plumes of smoke rising from the palace chimneys, where the rest of the realm still slept.
Roan mounted without a word. His black stallion, a beast as broad-shouldered and unyielding as his rider, shifted under the king's weight but made no protest. Beside him, his Beta Corvus and Gamma Ewan followed suit, each settling into the saddle with the familiarity of men who had done this countless times before. Behind them, a dozen warriors fell into quiet formation shadowed figures in dark leather, their weapons dull in the fog.
No one asked where they were going until the city walls were nothing but jagged silhouettes against the paling sky. The ride was solemn, much different from the fanfare which had engulfed the palace just the night before.
It was Ewan, as always, who broke the silence first."You leave before the sun, Your Majesty," he said, his tone more curious than accusing. "Most men with a new mate would be… otherwise occupied."
The faint smile on his lips was almost lost beneath his windblown hair. Almost.
Roan didn't look at him. His eyes stayed forward, fixed on the damp road ahead where the dew-slick cobblestones gave way to muddy earth."My mate," he said evenly, "is not the reason I rise or sleep. She is not the reason I do anything and she has no influence on my life."
Ewan arched a brow. "Strange words for a man who took vows only a night ago."
"Strange?" Roan's voice was cold but unhurried, a blade still sheathed but dangerous nonetheless. "No. Necessary."
Ewan's horse slowed fractionally, enough to let the gamma study his king's profile. Roan's jaw was tight, his gaze distant but sharp, like a man weighing the worth of something already half-decided.
"And why," Ewan pressed, "are they necessary?"
This time, Roan did look at him. There was no warmth in the king's dark eyes, only the faint glint of something cold and unyielding."Because I will not be used," he said, his voice as flat as the morning light. "Not by Arin. Not by her father."
The name lingered in the air like frost. Even the horses seemed to shift uneasily.
Ewan's lips curved into a humorless smirk. "Ah. So the rumors have teeth after all."
"They have more than teeth," Roan replied. "They have chains."
For a time, only the steady rhythm of hooves filled the silence. The mist was breaking now, revealing rolling fields glistening with dew and the first scatter of songbirds darting through the hedgerows. The land was waking, but the men rode as if apart from it, bound to a purpose heavier than the dawn.
Corvus, who had been silent until then, adjusted the reins in his gloved hands before speaking. His voice was quiet but certain, as always."Forgive me, my king, but what do you intend to do about the matter of an heir if you loathe your mate this way?"
The question was asked without judgment, though it carried the weight of duty. Every ruler knew the expectation. A throne without an heir was a torch held above dry kindling, inviting chaos.
Roan's answer came without hesitation."I have no intention," he said, "of laying with Arin and giving her the satisfaction of bearing my heir."
Corvus' brow furrowed, but he didn't interrupt. Ewan, however, gave a short, incredulous laugh."None at all? You mean to defy not just the queen, but her father too? this feels like you are cutting your nose to spite your face."
"I mean," Roan said, "to remind them that my bloodline is mine to decide, not theirs to claim." His gaze swept across the horizon, as if the fields themselves might bear witness. "They think to weave themselves into my lineage like rot in the roots of a tree. But I will not plant the seed they hunger for."
Ewan's smirk returned, sharper this time. "And when the queen begins to spread whispers of a cold, unconsummated union? When the nobles speak of a barren throne? Do you think your enemies will hesitate to turn that into a weapon?"
"They can speak," Roan said, "until their tongues turn black. I have survived worse than whispers. Let them choke on their own words."
The conversation fell into a heavy stillness. The warriors behind them kept their eyes forward, pretending deafness, though Roan knew every syllable had been heard. In the palace, walls had ears. Out here, the wind did.
As the sun finally broke the horizon, the light revealed more of Roan's face, the faint shadow of sleeplessness beneath his eyes, the steel in the set of his mouth. He was not a man given to impulsive words. Every sentence he had spoken since they left the gates was chosen, honed, and dangerous.
They passed through a small village on the edge of the king's lands. The early risers, farmers, bakers, a pair of sleepy-eyed children chasing a stray hen stopped to bow as the party passed. Roan acknowledged none of them, not out of cruelty but necessity. His mind was elsewhere, pacing the corridors of his own plans and the unexpected complication of the woman in the garden.
Once the village was behind them and the road widened, Corvus moved his horse closer to Roan's. His beta was a man of few words, but when he spoke, Roan listened."You know they will not take this quietly," Corvus said. "The queen's father has power. More than some of your other allies, i doubt he has gone as far as he has setting up this union to let his daughter be sidelined."
Roan's gaze didn't waver. "Power," he said, "is only useful when the other man believes you have it. I do not."
Corvus studied him. "Then what is it you believe?"
"That his reach does not extend as far as he thinks," Roan replied. "And that I can cut it shorter still."
Ewan gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You sound as though you've already begun sharpening the blade."
"I have never stopped," Roan said simply.
The road began to climb, curling toward the forest that crowned the hills ahead. Here, the air grew cooler, the shadows deeper. Branches knit together overhead, filtering the sunlight into shards of gold across the damp earth. The sound of the horses' hooves was muffled by fallen leaves, and the scent of pine and wet soil filled the air.
It was only when they reached a clearing that Roan slowed his horse to a walk. The warriors halted in a loose half-circle, watching as their king dismounted. He stood still for a moment, surveying the land dense forest to the east, a sheer drop to the valley below on the west. This was no idle ride. Roan had chosen this place.
"This," he said quietly, more to himself than to the others, "is where the lines will be drawn."
Corvus dismounted as well, stepping beside him. "You intend to move against them here?"
Roan's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Not yet. First, we fortify. This ground will be ours before the queen's father even realizes it has meaning."
Ewan tilted his head, curiosity bright in his eyes. "Meaning for what?"
"For what comes next," Roan said.
He didn't elaborate, and neither man asked. They knew him well enough to understand that Roan's plans were never spoken in full before their time. Every detail he withheld was deliberate, a secret held not out of mistrust, but precision.
The men set about marking the ground, driving small stakes into the soil, measuring the terrain. Roan moved among them, giving quiet orders, his presence enough to keep them working without pause. His mind was already three steps ahead, seeing the place as it would be months from now stronghold, refuge, or perhaps a blade poised in waiting.
When the sun was high enough to burn away the last of the mist, they remounted. Roan took one last look at the clearing before turning his stallion back toward the palace road.
Ewan, riding at his side again, spoke with the casual air of a man who knew his words would land."So, no heir. No queen's bed. No peace with her family. Tell me, Roan what do you plan to give Alpha Oswald instead?"
Roan didn't look at him. His gaze was fixed ahead, on the ribbon of road vanishing into the horizon."The only thing he deserves," he said. "Nothing."
Ewan's laugh was soft, almost admiring. Corvus said nothing, but the faint tightening of his jaw was enough to show he understood the weight of what had just been promised.
The rest of the ride was wordless. The warriors kept their formation, the rhythm of hooves and the whisper of wind through leaves the only sound. The palace would be waiting when they returned, its stone walls, its gilded halls, and within them, a queen who would smile with all her teeth.
Roan was ready for her smile. He was ready for her father's council, their whispered plots, their feigned civility. They would find no foothold in him. No weakness. No heir to tie him to their name.
And when the time came, they would learn as all his enemies had that Roan's patience was not mercy. It was the silence before the strike.
"So, when will we return to the citadel." Ewan asked as he looked around at the warriors hard at work.
"I don't know yet." Roan said and moved on, leaving Ewan and Corvus to exchange wary glances.