Freya's POV
"Be yourself, even if you keep wearing that mask," Zane murmured against my ear, his tone so low it was almost lost to the wind. I gave a slow nod. I had braced myself for his fury, yet his reaction caught me entirely off guard.
"Don't flatter yourself. Your freedom only lasts as long as your secret stays buried. If anyone ever figures out you're actually Freya, all bets are off," Zane cautioned. "So, let's strike a bargain," he whispered.
"What do you want?" I mustered every scrap of courage I had left.
"If your cover gets blown, I take over the Alpha's throne," Zane answered with chilling composure.
"Fine, it's a deal," I replied impulsively. I had no idea what my own future held, let alone what schemes this man might be plotting against me, but worrying about that could wait.
"Once the crown is officially yours, we're shipping you off to the Alpha academy," Zane added before walking away.
The funerals for the rebellion's victims were swift and understated, while Asher and his fellow conspirators remained on the run. Moving quickly, Zane reached out to every Alpha across Amberbridge Province, formally declaring that the Little Dragon Pack was severing all ties and protection from the Sapphire Pack.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we mourn the devastating betrayal that cost us our leader, Alpha Leonor, who fell defending us against the rebels. In his place, we proudly proclaim Ryker Henriette Zhask, Alpha Leonor's son, as the new head of the Sapphire Pack," Shein, a senior elder, announced to the pack, officially naming me as Ryker.
Only Zane knew the person sitting on the throne wasn't truly the male heir. We had agreed to keep the coronation subdued to limit public scrutiny. Zane had convinced the pack that celebrations were inappropriate given the recent mourning, sparing me from heavy festivities. He sought me out again the moment the ceremony concluded.
"Drink this," he commanded, holding out a small bottle.
"What is this?" I frowned, wrinkling my nose at the sharp, medicinal stench drifting from the glass.
"It will ruin your voice. You won't enjoy it, but it's the quickest way to mask your feminine tone," Zane replied smoothly. "And remember, Wilson has already reset the passwords, so you now have full control over all of Ryker's digital accounts."
"Wilson knows?" My heart hammered against my ribs; the more people looped in, the thinner the ice beneath me became. In Amberbridge, female Alphas were unheard of—a woman's ceiling was always meant to be Luna.
"I told him Ryker was paranoid about rebel hackers, which made getting his help a non-issue," Zane reassured me, instantly calming my racing pulse.
The following morning, I was dropped off at an elite institution reserved exclusively for prospective Alphas. I had already tightly bound my chest with cloth, a task made easier by my modest frame, while the medicine had successfully deepened my voice into the harsh rasp of a teenage boy hitting puberty. The campus was heavily isolated, its student body consisting entirely of young males training to be Alphas, Betas, and Gammas from packs all over Amberbridge. Outsiders were barred completely, with visits strictly limited to immediate family.
"With a bit of luck, you'll be out of here in twelve months, Ryker," Joshein remarked before he and the rest of the escort turned back toward Sapphire territory.
The climate here was brutal—scorching heat by day plunging into biting frost by night. While the exterior facade looked imposing, the interior told a much grimmer story, outdone by even the most basic public schools. The floors lacked proper concrete, the walls were crude stone, the roofs leaked with every rain, and the training grounds were neglected. Still, survival here was my only ticket to securing my place as Sapphire's true leader.
"Hold on!"
A commanding voice cut through the air, and I pivoted to find a striking young man around my age striding toward me.
"Who are you?" he demanded, pinning me with a sharp, analytical stare.
"Ryker," I answered, keeping my chin tilted upward. I knew well enough that an Alpha worth his salt never cowered before a stranger.
"I had a feeling the Sapphire Pack's fresh Alpha would end up in this place," he muttered, squinting at me with open suspicion. His gaze locked onto the mask concealing my face as he closed the distance between us. My instinct screamed at me to step back, to put distance between us before his piercing look saw straight through my disguise. Yet, an Alpha stepping down from intimidation was unheard of.
Instead, I feigned a casual pause to drop my heavy duffel bag onto the dirt, discreetly putting a barrier of space between us.
"Though I seriously doubt that rumored skin condition of yours is real," he murmured, his voice laced with accusation.
Ryker had always been forced to wear a mask to keep his face hidden, masking the supposed scars and pockmarks left behind by a disfiguring childhood illness.
"Do you want me to prove it by passing the infection right to you?" I sneered, intentionally twisting my voice into a low, threatening growl.
"Back off!" The young man jerked away, throwing his hands up in defense.
I let out a harsh, mocking laugh fit for a rival spoiling for a fight. The foul concoction Doctor Zerry had given me worked wonders, roughening my vocal cords enough to pass for a deep masculine register. Hearing myself laugh like that almost fooled me, too. Fheraen gave a disgusted shake of his head, entirely convinced he was looking at Ryker, the masked head of the Sapphire Pack—who was actually my late twin brother.
"Before you run off," I called out as he turned to leave, "you never mentioned the name of the guy arrogant enough to sneer right in my face."
"Fheraen," he shot back over his shoulder.
"Ruby Line Pack?" My eyes narrowed instantly. I recognized that name; it was practically all Dherael ever talked about. The notorious twin brothers were the sole reason the Ruby Line Pack remained locked in a vicious power struggle over the succession.
Fheraen gave a single, dismissive nod and walked away without looking back.
Life at the academy followed a brutal routine, punishingly strict for the pampered heirs of noble packs. Here, our bloodlines meant nothing; to the instructors, we were all just raw recruits expected to one day shoulder the burdens of leadership. By my first day of lectures, fate crossed my path with Fheraen once more. He had been appointed as the instructor's aide to bring me up to speed on pack administration, diplomacy, combat tactics, and conflict resolution.
"How's your swordsmanship holding up, Ryker?" Fheraen asked abruptly, tossing a heavy blade my way. Reflex took over, and I flinched, letting the weapon clatter uselessly onto the stone floor with a sharp ring. His eyebrows shot up in genuine astonishment.
The reality was simple: I had never touched a sword in my life. In the traditional ways of the Sapphire Pack, blade training was strictly boys-only. I couldn't admit the truth to Fheraen, but I knew everyone here assumed Ryker would have mastered the weapon long ago.
"My lessons were mostly focused on military theory," I replied after a brief pause, carefully smoothing over the lie. "I never had much patience for the practical side. Besides, I don't plan on fighting my own battles down the road."
Fheraen let out a dry chuckle at that. "Nobody goes looking for war, Ryker. But tragedy doesn't ask for permission. What happens if another rebellion hits your pack? Are you just going to sit it out?" His tone held more quiet wisdom than outright mockery, washing a wave of relief over me. At least he wasn't looking at me with active suspicion.
"My apologies," he added in a softer tone. "I didn't mean to bring up sensitive ground. Come on, let's work on the basics."
As Fheraen stepped forward to close the gap, my entire body locked up. Every time he invaded my personal space, a strange, unfamiliar flutter sparked deep within my chest—an entirely foreign sensation, tangled tightly with the icy grip of panic. What if he managed to strip away the mask? What if he discovered my entire existence was a fraud, that I wasn't an Alpha heir at all, but a sister wearing her dead brother's skin?
"Your grip on the pommel is completely wrong," he murmured, stepping closer to guide my hands into the correct posture. His voice dropped to a low, quiet intensity. "Let's just pray that if our packs ever go to war, ending your life won't be this easy. Every single flaw you've got is already burned into my memory."
"What is that supposed to mean?" I frowned, my stomach dropping. Was this the real reason Fheraen volunteered to mentor me? Was he studying me for weaknesses all along?
