Elira left the Valen Estate under the cloak of nightfall.
It was scandalous, even dangerous, for a noble young lady to travel unchaperoned in the city after dark. But Elira had always known how to move without being seen. In her past life, it was how she learned the truth of her betrayal—how she'd heard her brother speaking with the Crown Prince in the gardens, plotting her execution like a trivial formality.
Now, those same skills served a better purpose.
She needed power. Allies. Soldiers.
And she knew exactly where to start.
---
The district known as Blackbridge wasn't part of the noble maps. Situated between the merchant quarter and the southern barracks, it was a place for mercenaries, smugglers, and exiled warriors to carve out slivers of power. Its streets were filled with lamplight and the scent of oil, iron, and blood.
Most nobles wouldn't dare step foot here.
But Elira was no longer just a noble.
She was a woman with a throne to reclaim.
Her steps were measured as she passed watchful eyes, her dark cloak drawn tightly over her hair. She ignored the drunkards, the gamblers, and the pickpockets sizing her up. None were brave enough to approach her. Perhaps it was the cold steel glint in her gaze.
She reached her destination: an old smithy turned private training ground. She'd heard of it only once in her past life—from a dying soldier who whispered of a man known as the Wolf of the West.
A man exiled for disobeying royal orders.
A man who once held the entire western front with a mere hundred men.
Kael Roran.
Elira pushed open the heavy doors.
Inside, the scent of sweat and steel permeated the air. Flames from the forge cast flickering shadows against the walls, and the sound of swords clashing echoed through the open hall.
Two men were sparring. One, tall and lean, moved with speed. The other—a giant with dark hair, broad shoulders, and a scar running down his jaw—moved like a storm. Every strike was precise, brutal, and final.
The second man disarmed his opponent in under five seconds.
The loser groaned on the floor while the victor turned to the forge, retrieving a whetstone for his blade.
"Kael Roran," Elira called.
The giant stilled.
He turned slowly. His eyes—icy grey and piercing—landed on her like a sword's tip.
"And who are you?" he asked, his voice rough like gravel, but undeniably curious.
She stepped forward, lowering her hood.
"Elira Valen."
Recognition flickered across his face. "The Crown Prince's betrothed."
"Former, if I have my way," she said flatly. "I've come to make you an offer."
Kael let out a low, humorless laugh. "Little noble girls don't come to Blackbridge to make offers. They come to gawk, or get kidnapped."
She met his gaze, unflinching. "I'm not here to gawk. And I don't get kidnapped."
He studied her for a long moment, then nodded at a nearby table. "Talk."
---
She told him everything—well, most of it.
She spoke of betrayal, of knowing she'd been a pawn her entire life. She spoke of her desire for independence, of building something beyond the control of the Emperor and the Crown Prince.
Kael listened in silence, his expression unreadable.
"And what do you want from me?" he finally asked.
"You command loyalty," she said. "I need someone like that. Not a guard. Not a servant. A sword who doesn't flinch."
Kael leaned forward. "You want to hire me as a sword?"
"I want to make you my shadow," she said calmly. "My sword, my wall, and one day… my general."
He barked out a short laugh. "What makes you think I'd follow a pampered noble girl?"
"Because I'm not pampered anymore," she said, her voice low, eyes glinting. "Because the world thinks I'm soft. You and I both know how useful it is to be underestimated."
A silence stretched between them.
Kael stood. Walked over to her.
He towered over her by at least a foot, but Elira did not waver.
His hand reached out slowly—not to threaten, but to brush a lock of her hair behind her ear. His fingers were rough, callused from war. Yet his touch was disturbingly gentle.
"I like your eyes," he murmured.
Elira raised an eyebrow. "Most men compliment the eyes before threatening to crush their owner."
He chuckled. "I'm not most men. And you're not most nobles."
He stepped back and unsheathed a dagger, tossing it toward her.
She caught it without hesitation.
"Then prove it," Kael said. "Spar with me."
---
The duel was short, but intense.
Kael didn't hold back much, and Elira used every dirty trick she'd learned in her former life—distraction, timing, footwork, and unpredictability.
She lost, eventually. His strength overwhelmed her, pinning her against a post.
But when he looked into her eyes and saw that she hadn't broken, hadn't flinched, hadn't begged—he smiled.
Not kindly.
But like a wolf who'd found something interesting.
"I accept," he said, stepping back.
Elira panted, catching her breath. "You'll follow me?"
"I'll protect you," he said. "Fight for you. Kill for you."
"And your price?"
He stepped close, voice dropping to a whisper.
"You'll look only at me when you give orders."
Her brows drew together.
"I'm not sharing you, Elira Valen," Kael said darkly. "Not your voice. Not your gaze. Not your damn loyalty. I don't care what nobles you toy with—I'll tear the palace down if anyone touches you without your permission."
Elira blinked.
She hadn't expected obsession so soon.
But… this was fine.
She could use it.
Let him become a weapon so devoted it turned terrifying.
Let the world see her guarded by monsters if it meant her safety.
"Fine," she said softly. "But earn your place beside me."
His smile grew. "Watch me."
---
As they exited the building, Elira turned to him.
"There will be others," she said. "Men who will try to control me. Protect me. Own me."
Kael's eyes darkened. "Then I'll break them."
"Even if they wear crowns?"
"I'll break them slower."
---
That night, as Elira returned to the estate under Kael's watchful escort, the first piece of her new empire clicked into place.
She wasn't just building a network.
She was gathering wolves.
And she would be the queen they worshipped—or feared.
---