Snow covered Blackwood Castle in silver.

The winter banquet stretched across the lower grand halls beneath gold chandeliers and massive evergreen garlands woven with crimson ribbon while music drifted softly through the palace like warmth trying to survive the cold outside.

Nobles talked.

Wolves drank.

Vampires pretended not to judge everyone.

For the first time in decades, Blackwood hosted peace instead of strategy meetings.

Strange atmosphere.

The servants still moved nervously around Eva, though less from fear now and more from sheer survival instinct. The Queen sat at the center elevated table wearing a dark crimson gown threaded with black lace while silver candlelight flickered against the obsidian crown resting lightly in her hair.

Beautiful enough to silence rooms automatically.

Dangerous enough to keep them silent.

Killian stood near the western balcony doors overlooking the snow-covered courtyard below, one hand resting loosely behind his back while military commanders continued reporting border updates nearby.

He half listened.

Mostly because his wolf kept tracking Eva unconsciously across the room.

Always.

Marcus noticed immediately.

“You’re doing it again.”

Killian didn’t glance toward him.

“Doing what.”

“Standing thirty feet away while still somehow watching her like an obsessed Victorian husband.”

Killian took a slow sip from his glass.

“Sounds made up.”

“You almost snapped a diplomat’s wrist earlier because he touched her hand too long.”

“He was annoying.”

Marcus laughed beneath his breath.

“Sure.”

Across the hall, Eva signed another treaty revision without looking impressed by the northern Alpha practically sweating in front of her.

The kingdom ran smoother lately.

Trade improved.

Human integration programs expanded carefully through neutral cities.

Even the vampire territories stopped openly murdering each other every second week.

Mostly.

Killian should’ve felt satisfied.

Instead his wolf stayed restless tonight.

Wrong.

Something felt wrong.

The music continued softly through the banquet hall while snow drifted beyond the massive gothic windows surrounding the palace.

Too quiet outside.

Killian’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Marcus noticed immediately.

“What.”

The former Alpha looked toward the courtyard below.

Nothing visible.

Still—

Wrong.

“I’ll be back.”

Marcus frowned.

“Killian.”

Too late.

The wolf commander already moved toward the balcony exit with silent military precision, black coat shifting sharply behind him while palace guards instinctively straightened as he passed.

The moment the cold winter air hit him outside, the bond pulsed hard beneath his ribs.

Danger.

Not near Eva yet.

Approaching.

Killian stepped into the snow-covered courtyard slowly.

White silence stretched across the lower palace grounds beneath moonlight while distant banquet music echoed faintly through the open stone arches behind him.

His breath fogged softly in the freezing air.

Stillness.

Then—

Movement.

Tiny.

Left rooftop.

Killian moved instantly.

A silver bolt sliced through the air exactly where his throat stood half a second earlier before embedding deep into the palace stone behind him.

Assassins.

Five.

No—

Eight.

Hidden across the courtyard walls beneath snow camouflage and suppression magic.

Professional.

The first attacker dropped silently from the upper balcony with twin silver blades aimed directly toward Killian’s spine.

Too slow.

Killian caught the assassin’s wrist midair hard enough to shatter bone instantly.

The crack echoed sharply through the snow.

The assassin screamed once.

Briefly.

Killian drove his elbow through the man’s throat before the body even hit the ground.

More movement exploded across the courtyard immediately afterward.

Black-cloaked figures rushed from the palace walls all at once.

Fast.

Disciplined.

Rogue faction remnants.

Interesting.

Killian’s wolf surged violently beneath his skin.

Not rage.

Purpose.

None of them reached the doors.

The first assassin lunged with a silver dagger aimed toward Killian’s ribs.

Killian sidestepped smoothly and buried the man face-first into the frozen courtyard fountain hard enough to crack marble beneath the impact.

Another came from behind.

Then another.

Steel flashed silver beneath moonlight.

Killian tore through them silently.

No wasted movement.

No dramatic brutality.

Just terrifying efficiency.

One body dropped into the snow.

Then another.

Blood spread dark against white ground beneath the falling winter flakes.

A female assassin sprinted toward the western entrance.

Palace access.

Bad idea.

Killian crossed the distance before she touched the doors.

The woman barely saw him move before his hand closed around her throat.

Her boots left the ground instantly.

“You picked the wrong castle.”

Then he snapped her neck one-handed.

The body collapsed soundlessly into the snow.

The remaining assassins hesitated.

Fatal mistake.

Killian’s transformation hit like violence itself.

Bones cracked sharply through the frozen courtyard while massive golden fur erupted beneath moonlight and muscle expanded violently outward through shredded black fabric.

The enormous wolf landed in the snow with enough force to split ice beneath clawed paws.

Gold eyes burned bright against the winter dark.

The assassins froze.

Actual fear now.

Good.

The giant wolf moved.

Fast enough to become blur rather than animal.

One assassin disappeared beneath snapping jaws before finishing his scream.

Another lost an arm.

Another vanished into the courtyard wall hard enough to leave blood sprayed across frozen stone.

Silent slaughter.

Snow swallowed sound beautifully.

The palace guards inside barely heard anything beyond distant impacts beneath the banquet music drifting softly through the halls.

Killian hunted the remaining assassins through the courtyard like winter itself had grown teeth.

No mercy.

No speeches.

Just execution.

One rogue attempted scaling the outer gate wall.

The golden wolf caught him halfway there.

Blood painted the snow afterward.

By the time palace reinforcements finally burst through the courtyard doors—

It was over.

Bodies lay scattered across the white ground beneath drifting snowflakes while blood soaked dark crimson rivers through the frozen courtyard paths.

The massive golden wolf stood motionless at the center of it all breathing slowly beneath moonlight.

Untouched.

Terrifying.

A palace captain swallowed visibly.

“Goddess…”

The wolf’s glowing eyes lifted briefly toward the open banquet windows above.

Toward Eva.

Still safe.

The bond settled instantly.

Good.

Very good.

Killian shifted back slowly beside the shattered fountain while snow melted across scarred skin and torn black tactical pants hung low against his hips beneath the freezing night air.

One of the surviving assassins still breathed weakly nearby.

Killian crouched beside him calmly.

The man coughed blood into the snow.

“W-we were paid…”

Killian grabbed his jaw sharply.

“Who.”

The assassin smiled weakly.

“Eastern… loyalists…”

Then died before finishing.

Coward.

Killian stood slowly afterward.

Snow drifted softly across his shoulders while blood steamed faintly against the frozen courtyard beneath moonlight.

And suddenly—

A memory hit him hard enough to still his breathing briefly.

Winter festival.

Sixteen years old.

A starving girl kneeling alone in the snow while everyone else inside Blackwood laughed and drank beside warm firelight.

Eva.

Tiny hands shaking from cold.

Blood on white ground.

His coat around her shoulders.

Killian stared silently across the snow-covered courtyard now years later while blood pooled around his bare feet instead.

Different winter.

Different version of them.

Same instinct.

Protect her.

Always.

The palace doors opened behind him.

Marcus stepped outside first with several guards before immediately stopping dead at the sight of the massacre covering the courtyard.

“…Jesus Christ.”

Killian looked over one shoulder.

Snow drifted slowly between them.

Marcus glanced toward the shredded bodies.

Then toward Killian.

Then back toward the bodies.

“You couldn’t leave even one alive?”

“They tried entering the palace.”

Marcus rubbed a hand across his face.

“Right. Silly me.”

Killian looked once more toward the banquet hall windows glowing warm gold against the winter night.

Safe.

Still safe.

His wolf finally settled completely beneath his ribs after that.

And somewhere high above the snow-covered courtyard—

Behind dark velvet curtains and candlelight—

Eva stood silently at the window watching her wolf return from the blood-soaked winter dark exactly the same way he always had.

Covered in violence.

Carrying peace back to her anyway.