Two weeks. Fourteen days of playing the perfect captive Luna. I smile. Nod. Obey. Every moment feels like walking on blades, but I don't let it show.
The council chamber smells like old wood and male authority. I sit beside Rhys, hands folded in my lap, eyes downcast. The elders discuss border patrols, supply routes, warrior rotations. I take notes when asked. Never question. Never object.
"The northern patrols should rotate every six hours," Elder Corvin says, spreading a map across the table. "Any longer and the men grow careless."
"Agreed," Rhys responds. "Bjorn, implement the changes tomorrow."
I write it down. Northern patrols. Six-hour rotations. Starting tomorrow.
After the meeting, I walk the halls with my guard trailing ten paces behind. Warriors bow as I pass. "Luna." "Welcome home, Luna." "Glad you're safe, Luna."
I smile at each one. Warm. Grateful. The Luna they expect.
In the kitchens, the head cook directs servants preparing the evening meal. She straightens when she sees me. "Luna. Is something wrong?"
"Nothing at all. I just wanted to thank you. The meals have been wonderful since my return."
Her face softens. "Just doing my duty, Luna."
"You do it well." I glance at the preparations. "Are we expecting the night watch for dinner?"
"Yes, Luna. They eat before their shift. Around sunset."
"That's very thoughtful." I smile again and leave.
Night watch eats at sunset. Walls are less guarded during the meal change.
I find Sera in the garden, tending roses. She doesn't look up when I approach, but her hands still on the shears.
"Walk with me," I say softly.
We move toward the eastern wall where the garden meets stone. No guards patrol this section during daylight. Too exposed, they think. Not worth watching.
"Northern patrols rotate every six hours starting tomorrow," I murmur, examining a rosebush. "Night watch eats at sunset. Ten minutes when the walls are thinnest."
Sera nods, pruning a dead bloom. "The wine merchant comes Thursday."
"Good." I touch a petal, feel its softness. "Any word?"
"He's recovering." Her voice drops lower. "Waiting."
My chest tightens.
"Tell him to be patient. I'm gathering what we need."
"He won't wait forever."
"He will." I turn away from the roses. "He has to."
That evening, I sit through dinner beside Rhys. He speaks to the warriors about discipline and loyalty. I eat in silence, watching faces. Who looks tired? Who drinks too much? Who shifts uncomfortably when Rhys mentions punishment?
After dinner, I walk the battlements. My guard follows, but I've learned his patterns. He stays back, gives me space to grieve in private. That's what he thinks I'm doing. Grieving my ordeal.
I'm counting torches. Measuring distances between watch posts. Noting which sections go dark when the wind blows strong.
In the training yard, warriors practice. I stop to watch. They notice me and fight harder, showing off. I smile, nod appreciatively.
"Well done," I call to one who executes a clean disarm.
He beams. "Thank you, Luna."
I recognize him. Third rotation. East wall. Sleeps during afternoon shift.
Back inside, I pass through corridors memorizing patrol schedules. The guards at the armory change at midnight. The ones at the main gate, every four hours. The Alpha's personal guard never leaves his side except during council meetings when Bjorn takes over.
I attend every council meeting now. Rhys insists. Wants me close. Safe.
"You're too quiet," Elder Maren says one afternoon, studying me across the table. "The old Ardena would have opinions."
I meet her eyes. "The old Ardena hadn't been kidnapped by rogues. Perhaps I've learned when to speak and when to listen."
She narrows her gaze but says nothing.
I take more notes. South gate reinforcements delayed until next month. Weapons shipment arrives Friday. Fifty warriors stationed at the border camp, rotating weekly.
Every piece of information flows to Sera. She passes it to the wine merchant. He carries it north.
Intelligence flows both ways. Kieran is training. Nightshade survivors are regrouping. The attack at the camp killed seventeen. Twenty-three escaped. They're rebuilding in the deep woods where Ironvale patrols don't reach.
I attend ceremonies. Smile at pack members. Accept their sympathies for my ordeal with grace and false gratitude.
"It must have been terrifying," a warrior's wife says, clasping my hands.
"It was. But I'm home now."
"The Alpha is so brave to have brought you back."
"Yes. So brave." The words taste like sand.
I visit the healers' wing. Check on injured warriors. Ask about their recovery, their needs. They tell me about supply shortages, about which herbs run low, about the healer who drinks too much and misses night shifts.
Everything is useful. Everything is a weapon.
Two days later, I'm in the stables when I overhear the stable master talking to a young groom.
"The Alpha's horse threw a shoe yesterday. Won't be rideable until the blacksmith finishes tomorrow afternoon."
I file that away. Rhys can't ride to inspect patrols tomorrow. He'll be here all day.
In the great hall, I help arrange seating for the upcoming council feast. Elder Bjorn reviews the guest list with me.
"The eastern territory Alphas arrive next week," he says. "Security will be doubled."
"Of course. We want them to feel welcome but protected." I smile. "How many additional warriors?"
"Twenty, stationed at all entrances. The night watch will extend their shift by two hours."
More information. More patterns. I absorb it all.
One night, I'm alone in the library. The guard waits outside. I'm reading—really reading, not pretending—when Rhys enters.
"You haven't let me touch you since you returned."
I close the book slowly. He approaches, footsteps measured. I don't move away. Don't flinch.
"I watched you execute three men for my mistake." My voice stays level. "I needed time."
He stops a foot away. "Those men failed in their duty. They let you be taken."
"They were following orders. Your orders. The patrol schedule you approved."
"Are you blaming me?" His tone hardens.
"I'm explaining why I needed time." I meet his eyes. "I watched men die because I was taken. That's not easy to forget."
He touches my face, fingers tracing my cheekbone. "I did what had to be done. You understand that, don't you?"