Marked By The Rogue King

I remember the flames first.

Not the smell or the heat, but the silence that came before. That impossible stillness right before the world shattered.

My brother's voice echoed in the dark. "Stay here, Celina. Do not follow me."

Then he was gone.

I crouched behind the frost-laced boulders, my fists clenched, breath catching in my throat. The northern border was quiet, too quiet. My wolf paced just beneath my skin, agitated and alert, but I was too young, too slow to understand the truth in time.

It wasn't a border skirmish.

It was a trap.

The fire leapt from the treetops like it had been waiting for permission to devour everything we'd ever loved. Screams cut through the air, sharp and fast, followed by a howl, his howl, so full of pain I felt it slice through my ribs like claws.

I ran anyway. As fast as I could.

By the time I reached him, it was too late. My brother, Thorne Vale, crown prince of Emberlight, was already on his knees. His chest heaved, and blood gushed from his side. Standing above him was a beast of a man, his face shadowed, his eyes glowing a terrible gold. Smoke curled around his boots like a serpent, like it answered only to him.

He didn't speak. Not even a word.

He just stared at Thorne, then turned...

And vanished.

I lunged forward, screaming his name...

"Thorne!"

But my brother's head lolled to the side. His last breath curled into the smoke.

And I woke up, drowning in the memory.

My eyes snapped open to a grey morning mist, soaked in sweat and breathless. I bolted upright in the tent, reaching for the blade I kept under my pillow. My heart thudded against my ribs, a sound louder than the wind clawing at the canvas.

Not real. Not again.

But it always felt real.

I wiped my face with trembling fingers and pushed myself to my feet. The guilt never left. It never dulled. No matter how many years passed, I still saw his blood on my hands.

"Leaving without saying goodbye?"

The voice was casual, too casual.

I turned sharply. Lorin, our stealth scout, leaned against the flap of my tent, arms folded, hood half-down over his dirt-smudged face.

"You're late," I muttered, sheathing the dagger at my hip.

"I was giving you space. You scream when you dream."

I didn't respond.

Instead, I buckled the final strap on my chest plate and reached for the rolled parchment on the table. The mission map. Every line etched into it pointed toward the Shadowlands,the ungoverned wilderness that belonged to only one name now:

Maddox Grey.

The Rogue King.

He'd grown into a legend. A beast born of exile, betrayal, and war. The one wolf no kingdom could tame. And the one I would kill.

"Sure you want to go through with this?" Lorin asked, lowering his voice. "There's no returning from the Shadowlands, Celina."

"That's the point," I whispered.

We rode under moonlight, just past midnight. Five of us total, enough to act like a hunting party, small enough not to be noticed by border patrols. I didn't speak the whole ride. The rage had begun to churn beneath my skin again, rising like a second heartbeat.

He killed Thorne.

He burned our legacy to ash.

This wasn't justice. It was retribution.

And I would deliver it if it were the last thing I do on earth.

The border of the Shadowlands wasn't marked on any map. You only knew you'd crossed it when the air changed, when the wind fell silent, and even the trees felt like they were listening.

The moon had climbed high when we reached the ridge overlooking the wild expanse. Below us, dense forest stretched endlessly. Mist crawled between gnarled trunks like it was alive.

I dismounted first.

Lorin glanced at me. "This is your last chance to say this is mad."

"It is mad," I said. "But I'm still going."

No one argued.

I stepped forward, and with a single breath, I crossed the line into rogue territory.

The shift was instant. My skin prickled. The bond to my wolf recoiled. Something ancient stirred beneath the soil, like the Shadowlands had teeth.

The second my boot hit rogue soil, something sharp prickled at the back of my neck.

Branches snapped. My head jerked up.

I turned...too late.

From the mist, figures emerged. Not one or two. Dozens. Silent. Masked. Eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

I reached for my blade, every instinct screaming.

They had us surrounded.

"Scatter!" Lorin shouted. "IT'S THE ROGUES!"

I drew my blades and spun, catching one rogue by the shoulder. Another tackled me from behind. My spine slammed into the ground. A boot pinned my arm. I screamed, thrashing, biting, blood flooding my mouth as someone drove a blade across my ribs.

I rolled, using the momentum to knock the attacker off balance. I jammed my elbow into his throat and staggered to my feet, gasping through the pain. Another rogue lunged at me, slashing downward. I blocked with both blades, barely holding the weight. The force rattled my bones.

Screams echoed behind me. One of our riders was dragged into the trees.

A rogue grabbed my braid and yanked hard. I drove my heel into his knee, spun, and buried my dagger into his side. He didn't even flinch.

Too many. Too fast. They were trained, organised; this wasn't a feral ambush.

Lorin was shouting my name somewhere, but I couldn't see him. The fog was too thick now, the air charged with something unnatural.

I ducked, just in time to avoid a blow that would have taken my head. Another rogue appeared in front of me, face hidden, two curved axes gleaming.

I backed up. Blood soaked through my tunic. My breath came ragged. I could feel my strength slipping.

Then, everything stopped.

He walked into the clearing like a storm.

Towering. Silent. His hair was black as night, jaw shadowed, eyes molten gold. I didn't need a name. I knew him.

Maddox.