That night, Aria's anger and frustration fueled her combat training beneath the moonlit sky. Sweat dripped from her brow as she clashed wooden sticks with Kaida, her movements swift and deadly. The crunch of sticks and rustling leaves filled the air, echoing her turbulent emotions.
Elijah, meanwhile, paced within his chambers, haunted by Aria's somber expression. Her eyes, once bright and radiant, now dimly reflected the pain he'd inflicted. He knew his harsh words had struck a chord, but he'd done it to protect her from Ophelia's wrath.
This morning, Ophelia's visit changed everything. Her icy gaze pierced Elijah's soul as she delivered the deadly order.
"Kill Aria and the Netherlands captives," Ophelia commanded, her voice dripping with malice. "They conspire against our kind, plotting a coup to destroy our very existence."
Elijah's heart sank, weighed down by the gravity of Ophelia's words. He loved Aria, but Wolfland's ancient laws dictated death for treason. The thought of losing her was unbearable.
Ophelia revealed a written order, destined for her father's hands. The parchment seemed to burn Elijah's fingers, symbolizing Aria's death warrant.
Elijah's resolve crumbled, his voice cracking with desperation. "Don't send it," he pleaded, his eyes locking onto Ophelia's. "I'll do anything. I love her."
Ophelia's disgust deepened, her lip curling. "Love me, make me your mate, and I'll consider sparing her," she purred, her eyes gleaming with triumph.
Elijah's desperation grew, his soul torn asunder. "I'll do that," he vowed, the words burning his lips. "But return the captives to Netherlands."
Ophelia smiled inwardly, her victory within grasp. Elijah would sacrifice everything for Aria's life – his heart, his dignity, and his love.
As Ophelia departed, Elijah's thoughts turned to Aria. He'd protect her, no matter the cost. His love for her would be the very thing that would destroy him.
After the intense combat training, Aria sought Eira Shadowfire's wise counsel.
"I want to return to Netherlands," Aria confessed, longing in her eyes. "I miss my mother and maternal grandfather."
Eira's knowing gaze softened. "You will, child. Perhaps convince the Alpha to grant you passage. I see your close to him"
Aria's expression fell. "We're no longer close."
Eira's eyes sparkled with untold secrets. "I see." She seems to know more than she says.
That night, Aria's tears soaked her bed, sorrow overwhelming her. Elijah's rejection stung, and she felt worthless.
The next morning, Ophelia's summons arrived.
"Clean my chambers," Ophelia ordered, her voice dripping venom. "Alone. No fellow witches allowed."
Aria's magic whispered its presence. With a subtle gesture, she commanded the mop, broom, and dustpan to dance across the room.
As the cleaning continued without her lifting a finger, Aria lounged in comfort, lost in thought.
Before noon, the task was complete. Aria departed, seeking Ophelia to inform her of her completed tasks.
In the garden, Aria's heart twisted. Elijah strolled beside Ophelia, her laughter entwining like the vines around them.
Aria's anger and jealousy flared, and she fled, unnoticed.
Elijah sensed her departure, his heart aching. He yearned to hold her close, to kiss away her tears.
But duty bound him, his hands tied by Ophelia's manipulation.
As Aria vanished into the distance, Elijah's gaze lingered, his soul crying out for her.
Meanwhile, Ophelia smiled, oblivious to Aria's secret magic.
"Aria's suffering will be exquisite," Ophelia thought, her heart blacker than the night.
Little did Ophelia know, Aria's powers grew stronger, her resolve unbreakable.
Princess Ophelia's scheme unfolded. She ordered her maidens to scatter dust, crumple clothes, and spill wine across her chambers.
"Make it messy," Ophelia cackled. "Let Aria toil."
After her leisurely stroll with Elijah, Ophelia swept into her room, ready to mock Aria.
But her jaw dropped. The room sparkled, every surface gleaming.
"Impossible!" Ophelia fumed.
She summoned the palace guards.
"Did anyone enter my room?" she demanded.
The guards shook their heads.
"No, Your Highness. Only Aria cleaned the room earlier. She left at noon and hasn't returned."
Ophelia's fury boiled.
Summoning Aria once more, she instructed her maidens:
"Dirty the room again. I want reason to discipline her."
The maidens scurried, deliberately soiling the floors and furnishings.
One maiden grasped a wooden stick, poised to strike Aria upon her arrival.
Meanwhile, in a dark, dank cavern, Malakai, the warlock, paid a sinister visit to Alpha Ironfist.
"The time of reckoning approaches," Malakai hissed.
Alpha Ironfist's eyes gleamed with ambition.
"Tell me, warlock, how can I crush Elijah and claim Blackwood pack?"
Malakai's smile twisted.
"Aria, the Netherlands captive, holds the key."
Alpha Ironfist's eyes narrowed, intrigued. "How do you mean, Malakai?"
Malakai's voice dripped with malevolence. "Aria, the white-haired girl, is the key to the prophecy. She holds the power to control Wolfland's fate."
Alpha Ironfist's ambition flared. "Did you say the prophecy?"
Malakai's smile twisted. "Yes, The ancient prophecy foretells of a white-haired witch, born of Netherlands blood, who will determine Wolfland's doom. With Aria in my possession, I'll ensure Elijah's downfall and I will give you not just blackwood pack but also the throne of Wolfland."
Alpha Ironfist's grin spread, plotting unfolding in his mind.
"Getting the girl is child's play," he thought. "My spies within Blackwood pack will handle it."
He turned to Malakai. "I'll get her. But what's in it for you, warlock?"
Malakai's eyes gleamed with dark intent. "Aria's powers will fuel my own magic, granting me dominion over the world's shadows. Together, we'll rule unstoppable."
Alpha Ironfist extended a hand, sealing the pact.
In the shadows, Ironfist's spies within Blackwood pack awaited orders, ready to strike.
Unbeknownst to Elijah and Aria, a deadly trap was set.
.
.
.
Lysander Dawnbringer, Alpha Ironfist's clandestine spy within Blackwood pack, received the treacherous order. As a council elder, her position granted her access and trust.
"Foment a runaway story for Aria," Ironfist's message read. "Bring her to me, alive."
Lysander approached Aria at the guest house, feigning concern.
"Aria, I've come to warn you. The princess seeks to harm you. You must flee Blackwood tonight."
Unbeknownst to Lysander, Aria possessed the gift of visions – past and future.
Aria saw Lysander's deceit, her loyalty to Ironfist, and the kidnapping plot.
Elijah had been informed of Lysander's disloyalty by Aria's visions, but he awaited concrete evidence. He can't use the witch's vision as a concrete evidence at the trial, the king will not have that.
Three council members – Kago, Thorne, and Lysander – were suspected of treachery.
Elijah strategically excluded them from council meetings.
"The king demands proof of treason," Elijah thought. "I'll catch them in the act, then strike."
Aria's visions revealed Lysander's true intentions. She knew she had to act.
Aria's piercing gaze scrutinized Lysander. "Why help me?" she asked, aware of the deception.
Lysander's expression turned saccharine. "I hold no grudge against witches or Netherlands' indigenous people. I may not have children but I have motherly instincts and You're different, Aria. I see you as a fellow human." Her voice dripped with false sincerity.
Aria's intuition screamed lies. Her visions revealed Lysander's hidden truth.
Lysander had a son, a teenage boy, captive under Alpha Ironfist's control.
Aria envisioned the heart-wrenching scenes: Lysander secretly meeting her son every other moon, exchanging whispered promises and hidden glances.
Lysander's messages from Ironfist arrived periodically, reminding her of her son's precarious fate.
"Cooperate, and your son lives," the messages threatened.
Aria realized Lysander's "help" came with an ulterior motive – ensuring her son's survival.
Lysander's maternal instincts were genuine, but twisted by Ironfist's manipulation.
Aria's empathetic side stirred, understanding Lysander's desperation.
Yet, Aria wouldn't be swayed. Her own fate and freedom hung in the balance.