“Callum, stop!” Dane moves to restrain me, but I throw him off with supernatural strength, my wolf completely overwhelming human control.
Nova comes through the door and crouches nearby, hands moving in complex patterns as she traces the fading magical signature. “Portal residue dissipating fast,” she reports, voice tense. “Faelan’s corruption signature. Classic extraction pattern. We can’t track it—they’ve masked the destination.”
The truth crashes through me with devastating clarity. He was watching. Waiting for exactly this moment.
My wolf surges completely forward, an agonized howl tearing from my throat as I throw back my head. The sound echoes through the cabin and beyond, a primal cry of loss and rage that will carry across the entire territory. I feel my body convulsing with the effort to contain the pain as my consciousness starts to fragment under the strain.
“She’s gone,” I manage to rasp before my vision tunnels and the world goes black; the last thing I register is my wolf’s howl of absolute grief echoing through the valley.
Chapter 28
Lyanna
Islam onto cold marble, pain exploding through my naked body as the portal violently ejects me. The incomplete bond screams across dimensions—a raw, jagged agony tearing through my chest where Callum’s presence should be. I feel him reaching, clawing, howling through that half-formed connection, but he’s impossibly far away.
Strong hands seize my arms before I can even catch my breath, yanking me upright with brutal efficiency. Guards in emerald and gold uniforms haul me to my feet, their grips bruising. I try to twist away, to cover my exposed body, but my limbs won’t cooperate. The dimensional sickness, combined with the howling pain of our severed bond, leaves me weak; disoriented.
“Stop! Please—“ I gasp, attempting to wrench free. “At least give me something to cover myself!”
The guards’ faces remain impassive. They drag me forward as if I haven’t spoken, their grips unrelenting as my bare feet stumble across the cold marble floors.
The corridors stretch endlessly before me, lined with watching eyes. Court nobles in finery stand alongside servants and messengers, all witnessing my humiliation. Some avert their gaze with practiced indifference, while others stare with clinical curiosity. No one steps forward. No one speaks. No one shows a flicker of compassion.
“Please!” I scream, my voice echoing off ornate crystal walls. “This is beneath us! I am a Silverthorne!”
Nothing. Not even acknowledgment.
The journey feels eternal—exposed, dragged like a criminal through my childhood home. Each step amplifies the agony in my chest, Callum’s rage and desperation echoing through me even across realms.
Finally, the guards shove me through carved doors. I collapse onto the floor, my legs giving out entirely as they release me without a word. The doors slam behind them, and for a moment, I’m alone with my pain and humiliation.
Then, silent attendants enter, faces neutral, carrying silken robes. They approach with measured steps, lifting me with impersonal hands; dressing me with mechanical efficiency. Their movements are practiced, precise—as if I’m a doll to be prepared, not a person in agony. They ignore my tears, the way my body shakes, the way I flinch at their touch.
When they finish, they withdraw without speaking, without meeting my eyes. The door locks with a heavy click, leaving me alone with nothing but the screaming bond and the knowledge that everything—the timing, the method, the public humiliation—was precisely calculated to break my spirit.
The doors have barely closed behind the silent attendants when they open again. My father strides in without knocking, his tall figure silhouetted against the hallway light. Something in his presence feels wrong—his grief is still visible in the shadows beneath his eyes, but there’s something else layered over it. Something cold.
“Daughter,” he says, not even glancing at my state of undress beneath the hastily wrapped silk robe. “The family’s duty is being fulfilled. Our honor will be preserved.”
The connection to Callum screams through me, raw and bleeding across dimensions. I can barely focus on my father’s words through the pain.
“Father, please—“ I gasp, clutching the edge of a nearby table for support. “The extraction ... it was too early. I was—”
He cuts me off with a dismissive wave. “The marriage ceremony has been scheduled for tomorrow at midday. The timeline has been accelerated due to political necessities.”
Not five days from now. Not even three days. Tomorrow.
I straighten despite the agony tearing through my chest. “Father, look at me. Really look at me. Can’t you see what they’ve done? This isn’t right. I was forcibly dragged here, naked, through our home.”
His eyes finally meet mine, but they’re distant, almost glazed. “Emotional dramatics won’t change your responsibility, Lyanna. The alliance must be secured. Prince Korren awaits, and the preparations are already underway.”
I take a stumbling step toward him. “Father, this isn’t you. Something’s wrong. You would never allow me to be treated this way—“
“Enough.” His voice turns brittle. “You will compose yourself and prepare to meet your betrothed this evening. The healers will attend you to ensure you’re ... presentable.”
The bond pulses with fresh agony at his cold formality. This isn’t the father who taught me healing magic in the garden, who held me when mother died. This is someone else wearing his face.
“The arrangements are made,” he continues, turning toward the door. “Our family’s duty will be fulfilled.”
