TO RUIN A KING

The snow began to fall—soft, silent, and indifferent.

It dusted the edges of the ruin like ash reborn. Beneath the fractured moonlight, Magdalene lay slumped in Maddox's arms, her skin pale, lips tinged violet, and eyes fluttering against the weight of unconsciousness. The wound at her shoulder had turned an ugly shade of black-veined crimson. The poison was working fast. Too fast.

Cassian knelt beside them, fingers already uncorking another vial of warding elixir from his satchel. "This won't be enough," he muttered, voice clipped, teeth clenched.

"She needs a healer," Maddox said, holding her closer, as if the sheer force of his presence might anchor her. "Now."

Cassian looked up sharply. "Do you have any wolves left you can trust?"

Maddox didn't answer right away.

He couldn't.

The Valebloods—the wolves bound to his crown, his bloodline, his very command—had just sent assassins. And not just after her. After all of them. His own kind.

His own betrayal.

The silence said everything.

"Damn it," Cassian swore, standing. "We're wasting time."

Magdalene stirred faintly in his arms, a whimper escaping her lips—hoarse and haunted. Maddox swallowed hard and brushed the damp hair from her brow, whispering, "You stay with me, Magdalene. You don't get to leave. Not now."

Her eyes fluttered open for the briefest of seconds—clouded, dazed, unfocused. But they met his.

And there was something in them.

Recognition. Fragile and raw. Followed by fear.

"No…" she rasped. "Don't… trust… anyone…"

Then her body went limp again.

—

They moved swiftly. Cassian scouted ahead while Maddox carried her, wrapped in his coat, her blood seeping through the thick fabric. The snow only worsened, fat flakes swirling like bone-white confetti from the gods, as if celebrating the crumbling of everything sacred.

They made it to the hollow of an old watchtower—long abandoned, its stone spine cracked and crooked. It would have to do.

Inside, the fire Cassian lit sputtered but held. Maddox set Magdalene down on the furs Cassian laid out and knelt beside her.

"She's burning," he said. His voice—so often polished by command—was hoarse. Close to breaking. "It's in her blood."

"I know," Cassian said grimly. "Moonfang venom does that. It consumes from the inside out."

Maddox looked up, fury barely veiled. "You said it was rare."

"It is. It's restricted to the elite guard. Or was, until your wolves used it to gut a queen."

"She's not a queen."

Cassian arched a brow. "Could've fooled me. The way you look at her."

Maddox didn't rise to the bait. He pulled a small dagger from his boot—one etched with faint golden runes. "There's a way to slow it. But it's… dangerous."

"For her?"

"For me."

Cassian gave a slight nod. "Then let's not waste time. Do it."

Maddox sliced his palm without hesitation. Blood welled instantly—bright red, thick with latent power. He pressed it to Magdalene's lips.

"Drink," he murmured. "Take what you need."

At first, nothing. But then—her mouth parted slightly, instinct stirring where reason had failed. Her tongue brushed his skin, barely a flicker—and then her body jerked once, twice, as if her blood rebelled against the intrusion before finally giving way.

Her breathing steadied. Just a little.

It was enough.

He exhaled shakily. "The bond isn't perfect. It won't cure her, but it'll hold her until dawn. Until we can find someone who can."

Cassian stared at him.

"That was a bloodshare," he said slowly. "A king's blood. You'll be linked now. Tied."

"I know," Maddox said, not looking away from her face. "I'd rather be cursed than let her die."

—

The wind howled outside, wailing through the tower like a dirge. Maddox watched her through the flicker of the flames, watched the sweat bead at her temples, her lashes twitching in dream or memory or both.

Cassian sat with his back to the stone wall, sword on his lap. "You're quiet," he said after a long while.

Maddox didn't move. "You think I did this."

Cassian shrugged. "I think power makes liars out of good men. And you were always good at lying."

"That wound wasn't mine."

"No, but it bore your crest."

Maddox closed his eyes. "Someone's turned them. Or bought them."

"Or they followed a king who didn't protect his wolves," Cassian said softly.

That one hit.

And maybe it should.

Maddox let the silence stretch. "I never meant for this. I wanted peace."

"So did she. That didn't stop the blade."

A long pause.

Then Maddox whispered, more to the shadows than to Cassian, "She still doesn't trust me."

"She shouldn't. Not yet. But she didn't push away your blood either."

Maddox looked at her again.

A tremble in her fingers. A furrow between her brows. Fighting, even now.

He smiled bitterly. "She always did prefer war over surrender."

Cassian's expression softened. "And still… you came."

"Of course I did."

"Even when you knew it would cost you everything."

"I already lost everything," Maddox said. "What's left to ruin?"

Before Cassian could answer, a noise cut through the wind.

Low.

A howl.

But it wasn't wild.

It was controlled.

Commanded.

Cassian sprang to his feet, sword raised. Maddox stood slowly, careful not to wake her, blood thudding in his ears.

Outside, shadows moved—slow and sure.

Not bandits. Not rogues.

Wolves.

They stepped into the firelight, eyes gleaming, coats dusted with snow. Half-shifted—still bearing human forms beneath the snarl of fur and fang.

At their center stood a woman—tall, statuesque, with gold-threaded braids and armor that gleamed like obsidian. Her eyes locked with Maddox's.

"Hello, Your Majesty," she purred.

He stiffened. "Seraya."

Cassian growled. "You know her?"

"She was one of my commanders. One of the best."

"Was."

Seraya smiled. "You should've stayed hidden in your castle, Maddox. The realm was safer without you."

"And now?"

"Now," she said, unsheathing a blade that shimmered with the same golden filigree as her armor, "you've chosen a girl over a kingdom. And I've come to make sure you don't choose again."

Cassian stepped forward, weapon raised. Maddox didn't stop him.

Because Seraya wasn't bluffing.

And outside, more wolves began to circle the tower—silent and deadly.

They weren't here to warn.

They were here to kill.

And inside, in the heart of it all, Magdalene still lay bleeding.

Maddox clenched his fists, the remnants of the bloodshare still tingling in his veins.

"You want war?" he said, stepping forward.

His voice was ice and fire, wrath and ruin.

"Then you've brought it to the wrong king."