THE ESCAPE

King Aldric's POV

The throne room doors exploded open as my son stormed in, his bootsteps echoing like war drums. Even through the bitter herbs masking his scent, the defiance rolling off Lysander made my wolf bristle.

"You will not go to the front!" My voice shook the ancient tapestries. Moonlight streamed through stained glass, painting crimson streaks across his face as he bared his teeth - no fangs, no claim, yet more insolent than any alpha.

Lysander threw his ceremonial dagger at my feet. The steel clattered against marble, inlaid rubies glinting like drops of blood. "I'd rather die as a soldier than live as your ornament."

Father's guards dragged me to my chambers, their grip too tight on my arms. The door's iron lock engaged with a final click that vibrated through my bones. Bastards didn't even let me keep my boots.

I waited until the second moonrise. The castle's shadow stretched across the training yard below my window - where real wolves prepared for war while I polished silverware. My fingers traced the hidden compartment beneath the floorboard, where I'd hoarded everything I'd need: soldier's uniform, scent suppressants, forged enlistment papers.

The ivy outside my window tore at my bare feet as I climbed down. Freedom smelled like pine resin and fresh blood from where the thorns bit into my palms.

King Aldric's POV

The messenger faltered when I crushed the empty pheromone vial in my fist. Bergamot and iron - Lysander's scent, filtered through cheap suppressants. The fool thought he could disappear into the Legion?

"Shall we retrieve the prince, Your Grace?" Captain Varek asked.

I stared at the cracked vial. "No. Let Commander Kael discover what stalks his ranks... and break him properly." My wolf howled in approval. Omegas didn't survive the infantry. Either my son would crawl back, or the world would teach him truths I never could.

The recruitment tent reeked of sweat and wolfsbane. I kept my shoulders square like the alphas did, my borrowed scent clinging to me like armor. The quartermaster squinted at my papers.

"Lys of the Southwood Company?" He sniffed the air suspiciously. I forced myself not to flinch when he grabbed my wrist to check for the alpha marking.

"They burned off in a village fire," I lied smoothly, showing the old scar tissue from my experiments with silver nitrate.

Behind us, someone chuckled - a deep, dangerous sound that raised the hairs on my neck. I turned to see a mountain of a man leaning against a tent pole, arms crossed over his leather cuirass. Commander Kael's golden eyes gleamed in the torchlight as they traced my throat, where no mating mark would ever be.

"We'll test that story at the Blood Moon drills, alpha," he said, making the title sound like a challenge. My stomach dropped, but I held his gaze. This was my chance - and I'd rather be torn apart by his pack than returned to my gilded cage.

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