The Last Touched: Rite of Queens-Chapter 2: The Knife & The Flame

The morning air was thick with mist, the faint drizzle of rain turning the stone at my feet slick. Dawn broke like a funeral bell—too soon, too bright—marking the end I could no longer delay. I stood in the doorway of the temple, my back against the cold stone, fingers gripping the edge of the frame. The pack had already fled, leaving me behind. Alone, as I'd asked Fred. Alone to stand against the full wrath of the 11th house for as long as possible.

Bricent, their leader, would be here soon. An invading force at the very heart of everything I'd sworn to protect.

The sound of paws against wet stone echoed through the damp morning air, growing louder, closer. My heart hammered in my chest, but I couldn't move. I had to buy time. I had to keep him talking, keep him distracted. Even if it was only for a few more moments. My father's name was on the wind, swirling around me, and I couldn't let this be how it ended—not without knowing the truth. I would take that with me into the trials.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the chill creeping up my spine. The rain drizzled down, soft but persistent, as if nature itself was weeping for what was to come. A sharp breath, and I steeled myself. I had to face him. The truth would have to come now, whether I wanted it or not. I gripped the knife in my palm like a lifeline in a storm.

The wolves arrived first, their heavy footfalls reverberating off the stone as they moved into position. And then, he appeared—Bricent. His towering form emerged from the mist, his pale eyes gleaming coldly in the dull light of the early morning. He was flanked by his pack, their movements synchronized and deliberate as they advanced on the entrance to the temple, their wet fur clinging to their massive frames.

He stopped just short of the sacred boundary, and his gaze locked on mine. There was a cruel satisfaction in his expression, like he had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

"Elsbeth," he called, voice slicing through the mist. "Last of the cursed. Still clinging to ruins? Not going to run?"

I didn't flinch. This was the first time we'd come face to face since he rejected our chosen bond. I couldn't afford to show him any weakness, not now. My heart ached, but I wouldn't let it break me in front of him. The light filtered through the rain-slicked trees behind him, casting eerie shadows across his face, but there was no warmth in it. My wolf, Annika, whimpered in my mind, still reeling from the pain of our rejection.

I forced myself to stand tall. I had no choice now but to face him. "So you could hunt me down and feel righteous about it?" I shot back, the laugh dying in my throat.

"Stop, Bricent," I continued, my voice steadier than I felt. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to destroy everything." How had I loved this man once?

He smirked, his lips curling up at the corners. "Oh, but I do. You're the last thread holding this pack together. Your father made sure of that. And now... now I'm here to finish what he started."

He took a few more steps towards me, his fingers elongating into talons. "Step closer, and I swear, I'll cut my own throat—and cheat you of your prize, Bricent." I shouted, and he roared in anger but stopped where he stood. I flicked open the blade, holding the hilt firmly in my hand. The light reflected against the silver. Bricent's gaze fixated on the blade for half a second, his face contorted with anger. He recognized the blade, the gift it had once been --it was meant to mark our bond. Now it would sever it forever.

I held my ground, barely keeping myself from shaking. I needed time. I needed something. "Then show me, Bricent. Show me what you've built this crusade on." I demanded, my voice more forceful than I expected. "If you're so sure he did it, then show me everything. I want to see it all. I want to see what you have on him. If you do that, I won't slit my own throat."

His eyes flickered with interest, and I could see the cruel delight in them. He wasn't surprised by my demand—no, he'd been expecting it. "Fine. You still don't believe it, do you?" He stepped back slightly and nodded to one of his wolves, a smaller omega. She moved forward with a large wooden box, handing it to Bricent without a word, her head bowed in deference.

He grinned at me, taking the box into his hands and slowly lifting the lid. "You're about to understand, Elsbeth," he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "What your father did—what he became—will shatter you."

I didn't flinch, though my insides churned with dread. He opened the box slowly, deliberately, as if savouring the moment. Savouring the clear upset and anxiety written in the lines on my face. The first item he pulled out was a leather-wrapped knife, its blade still stained with dried blood. The sight of it made my stomach turn, but I couldn't look away.

"Recognize it?" he asked, lifting the bloodstained knife. "The blade that carved the queen's name out of history. My sister's name. We found it in her quarters, covered in her blood. Do you still want to deny it?"

I stared at the bloodied blade, my mind racing. The words caught in my throat. I wanted to scream that it wasn't true—that it couldn't be—but there was something in his gaze, something cold and certain, that made me hesitate. The knife itself was a twisted thing; there was a strangeness to the shape of the handle, the balance of the blade. The way the grip was put together, it would slice the palm of the wielder with every cut. Drawing blood to elicit pain from others. This was a blade made to take something from the wielder.

"Fingerprints can be transferred," I said, though the words tasted hollow in my mouth. "He could have touched it before it was used to hurt her."

"It's a ceremonial blade, Elsbeth. Older than the pact. Older than our houses. Meant to sever more than flesh. He didn't just kill her. He broke her bond to the Moon."

That made my stomach twist.

Bricent didn't flinch. Instead, he dropped the knife back into the box with a loud clink and reached for something else—an envelope, yellowed with use. From how worn the paper was I could tell, even from here, that he'd handled this hundreds of times. He unfolded it with care, his fingers trailing over the paper as if he knew every crease and fold.

"His confession," Bricent snarled, holding up a handwritten letter, "like a prayer to a god that never answered. The goddess told him? No. That was just madness with holy wrapping."

He turned the paper towards me. It was my father's handwriting. Unmistakable. Tight and slanted, the loops closed like secrets.

"He thought he was chosen," Bricent said, lifting the page. "Thought the Moon spoke to him. That it was his destiny to end impurity and cleanse the bloodline. That she was... wrong."

I shook my head. "That's not him. My father was loyal. He believed in the sacred balance."

"Your father was hearing things," Bricent said. "Things that wore the Moon's voice like a mask."

And just like that, the world tilted.

Because deep in my bones, I knew he was right. My father had changed before it happened. Slowly. Subtly. But we all saw it—his long stares at the horizon, the way he walked as if the air itself weighed more. He spoke less. Slept less. Muttered, sometimes, at night. Once, I'd caught him whispering in the dark. And when I asked who he was talking to, he smiled and said, "Don't you hear her too?"

It hadn't been her. I knew that now.

The tablet came next. The footage. The proof. My father, a man I had loved with every piece of me, walking into the queen's chamber with a ritual blade and calm resolve.

The blood was real. The death was real. His madness was real.

And I knew—whatever had whispered to him, whatever had turned his loyalty into execution, it wasn't divine. It was something older. Something cruel. Something that had waited for a door to open.

And now, I feared, it had found a way through me too.

When the scene ended, Bricent's voice cut through the wet silence.

"He was cursed. And so are you."

"Play it again." And so he did. I watched it over and over again until it was seared into my eyelids, a reminder, a warning I could never forget. Until his finger jabbed the screen one last time and then threw the tablet down.

The rain intensified, each droplet a cold reminder of the weight pressing down on me. Bricent's eyes bore into mine, a tempest of rage and grief swirling within them. He stepped closer, the distance between us shrinking, his voice a low growl.​

"You think you can stall me, Elsbeth?" he snarled. "Your father's sins are etched in blood, and now, so are yours. I will have my justice."

I met his gaze, forcing a calm I didn't feel. "I'm not denying the pain, Bricent. I mourn her too. But killing me won't bring your half-sister back."​

He laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of humour. "No, but it will bring justice. You were my mate, you were supposed to be the bridge between our packs. Instead, you've become the embodiment of betrayal."​

I took a deliberate step back, drawing him further from the temple's entrance. "And you think this path of vengeance honours her memory? She believed in unity, in peace."​

His face twisted, pain flashing across his features. "Don't you dare speak of her beliefs. You forfeited that right when you chose to protect the man who butchered her."​

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. "I never chose to protect him. I chose to protect our people, our future."​

Bricent's hand moved to the hilt of his sword, the blade gleaming even in the dim light. "Then protect them in death."​

With a swift motion, I lifted my own blade, its edge catching the faint light. "If it's a fight you want, you'll have it. But know this—every second you spend here is a second my pack gains to escape your wrath."​

His eyes narrowed, realization dawning. "You've been stalling."​

I offered a grim smile. "Every word, every breath."​

A roar escaped his lips as he lunged forward, but I was faster and had less distance to traverse to my goal. I pressed the blade to my palm. My blood welled hot and bright. Bricent pushed himself faster but all I had to do was reach down to the sacred altar at my side and slam my hand against the carved stone.

"No!" Bricent's voice echoed behind me. "You won't escape justice!"​

A surge of energy pulsed through me, the air thick with divine power. Flames erupted around the temple's entrance, forming a barrier between us blocking Bricent's path. The flames, blue and violet, righteous and roaring, then enveloped me like a barrier --a promise.​

Bricent skidded to a halt, eyes wide with fury. "You dare invoke the Rite of Queens? You, a traitor?"​

I met his gaze through the flames. "I dare to seek the truth, to protect those I love. If the Goddess deems me unworthy, so be it. But I won't let you dictate my fate."​

He pounded his fists against the fiery barrier, the flames licking at his skin. "This isn't over, Elsbeth! The Goddess can't save you from me!"​

"I invoke the right of Queens." I say into the flames, as I'd been taught, and the temple answered. The path ahead was uncertain, but for now, I had bought my pack the time they needed because Bricent and his pack wouldn't leave while the Rite was active. They would hold vigil.

Fire roared. Time bent. Bricent howled his fury, clawing at the burning wall as it repelled him.

"You don't deserve it!" he screamed. "You'll never be queen! You're just like him!"

"No," I said, voice steady as the flame encircled me. "He was broken. The man who fled into the woods never to be seen again was twisted, we both saw that on the recording. I will not be."

And I stepped into the fire.

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Into the challenge.

Into the waiting jaws of fate.

Unknowing that somewhere, deep beneath the ice, a thousand eyes blinked open—and smiled.