A few weeks had passed and summer had slipped quietly into fall. The air turned cooler with each morning and leaves began to dust the training grounds and courtyard paths.
The notes didn't stop. They evolved.
The crown won't save you.
The moon chose wrong.
He'll watch you die next.
Nova tried to burn them. Elle tried to laugh them off. But the next morning, a new one appeared — not on parchment. It was etched into the frost on Nova's window from the inside.
The handwriting was the same.
Nova was adjusting. She never thought she'd feel anything close to routine. But here, in the quiet hours between sparring and classes, surrounded by people who didn't glare when she walked into a room — she'd started to breathe differently.
She didn't flinch when someone said her name now.
Whispers followed her everywhere about her hair, her appearance, and whether she even had a wolf. Some said she was trying to seduce the Alpha. Others called her the Mad King's bastard.
She told herself the looks were just curiosity. That the murmurs were politics, not cruelty. She had heard far worse growing up in Ashbane.
Elle became more than a friend. She became a sister. A sarcastic, fiery, unapologetically nosey one who threatened to braid Nova's hair in her sleep if she didn't start accepting compliments without apologizing.
Nova didn't say it aloud, but part of her was terrified of how much she was beginning to care.
The classroom today was colder than usual — both in temperature and tone.
"Two hundred years ago," Shard began, "Varos held twenty-one major packs. After the Unification Conflict, that number dropped to fifteen. And today"—he tapped a single finger against the map—"we stand at fourteen."
He gave a careless shrug.
"Some bloodlines die. Nature corrects its mistakes. There are still small packs in Varos, of course. But they tend to be absorbed into larger ones. Why is that, Ms. Varrin?"
A few students stiffened at the cruelty.
Elle didn't blink. "Rogues, sir. It's a safety issue, like what happened to my pack." Her voice was unemotional. Just facts.
Shard continued, not acknowledging her answer. He scanned the rows like a predator picking a target.
"How did six major packs vanish in the last two hundred years? Anyone?"
Silence.
A quill rolled off a desk.
Shard's smile sharpened. "Moonveil. Do speak for once."
Nova lifted her eyes, green and steady.
"I… don't think they disappeared, sir. Not exactly."
A few heads turned.
Shard folded his arms. "Go on."
"The eastern packs… the four of them … they didn't fall in battle. They were taken in, three absorbed by Redmoon, and one by Moonveil."
Shard snorted. "How would you know that?"
Nova swallowed. "The Tithe archives."
The class murmured.
Shard lifted a hand for silence.
"Fine. What of the other three? Do humor us."
Nova looked down at her parchment, fingers trembling slightly.
"Two were," she said softly. "They were… dispersed."
Shard's voice cut the air. "By who?"
"Ashbane," she whispered. "They purchased the pack into servitude. The records refer to them as 'labor acquisitions.' There were too many adult names listed in a single season to be natural population growth."
Shard stepped closer. "And where did you get that?"
Nova swallowed. "The War-Era Trade Manifests."
"And what of the last pack?" he asked, voice suddenly careful.
"The Trial of the Nine." She said quietly.
Shard crossed his arms, "I am not going to bother to ask how you know that. Yes, The Trial of the Nine remains one of the most controversial executions in the early unification period. Nine high-blood wolf families, accused of inherited madness, corruption, and unsanctioned shifting. All nine families were bound in silver, collared, and executed within one hour of each other, without trial by council."
He stopped, tapping a long, ink-stained finger against the lecture board. "Now. The question is — why?"
The class was silent. Eyes shifted. Pages turned.
Professor Shard's mouth curled. "Moonveil," he said. "You're not done. Do educate the class."
Nova swallowed, not enjoying this attention in the slightest.
"Because they weren't just accused of madness," she said. "Some believed they practiced dark magic — that might have truth — but later evidence shows they were planning a coup to take Bloodmoon. Bloodmoon struck first and executed the ruling lines. The rest either bent the knee or went rogue."
Silence stretched.
"That's… speculative."
Nova blinked once. "You are correct... But that's why Bloodmoon still enforces strict bans on magic today. It is still recorded in Intra-Council Records. There was also a sealed notation in the binding of the tribunal order."
He paused. "Those records are lost."
Nova didn't answer. Shard seemed to be in disbelief.
"Oh? Do elaborate," Shard said, arms folding as though bracing for nonsense.
Nova's cheeks flushed, but her tone stayed steady.
"Both records were said to be burned. But one wasn't. It was only hidden. And the Nine were all connected to Bond Anomalies — it's recorded there as well."
"Allegedly," she added.
Someone behind her muttered, "What the hell—?"
Professor Shard stared at her. "Again, that is not public knowledge. And the Anomaly files are sealed."
Nova lowered her gaze to her parchment, voice soft, almost gentle. "Kings seal the things they fear."
A ripple moved through the room.
Shard's jaw tightened — ego bruised, authority challenged.
"But you wouldn't have read that," he said sharply. "Those records are lost. And I highly doubt you, of all people, would know otherwise."
Nova didn't skip a beat.
"Fair point," she said lightly — not defensive, not wounded, just… agreeable in a way that knocked the wind out of his authority.
A few students snorted. Someone actually laughed.
Shard blinked, thrown off-balance.
Nova gave him a warm, earnest smile. The kind that would've disarmed a better man.
He didn't return it.
But he didn't shut it down either.
Instead, with a stiff inhale, he turned back to the board and continued the lecture — a touch faster than before, as though trying to outrun the fact he had just been outmaneuvered by a girl who apologized on instinct.
From the stone corridor above, Fin and Jax walked past the classroom's high arched windows. Voices drifted upward — soft at first, then clear.
They both stopped mid-stride.
It wasn't Shard's clipped condescension that froze them.
It was her.
Nova.
Calm. Precise in a way no omega had any business being — especially not one who'd spent years locked in a tower. Her voice held no tremor, no hesitation. Just truth, sharpened into something elegant.
Finric's jaw flexed once, sharp as a blade being tested for balance. His eyes narrowed, tracking her voice through the wall as if he could see straight through stone.
Jax listened too, arms folding, a slow grin spreading across his face.
"Well… she's not boring."
Finric didn't answer.
Not because he disagreed — but because his wolf had gone still. The kind of stillness that meant interest.
Nova's voice floated up again — soft, warm, and devastating.
"Fair point."
A ripple of laughter followed.
Jax snorted under his breath. "She just handled Shard. SHARD. The man once made a kid cry for breathing too loudly."
Fin's stare didn't shift from the window.
His voice was low. "She shouldn't know any of that."
Jax's smile faded. "Yes, if she was an omega. Because she's not."
Fin turned his head just slightly — the smallest movement — but it carried all the weight of command, calculation, and something possessive under the surface he didn't dare name.