His Silent Luna (Verity and Felicity) novel Chapter 27

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN: THREATS FROM WITHIN

Cassian’s Perspective

The next three days passed in a blur, consumed by unending tasks, mounting exhaustion, and a tension so palpable it felt like the eerie stillness before a storm’s first crack of thunder. The shadow of an imminent confrontation hung just beyond reach, impossible to dismiss or ignore.

There was no luxury for idle debates or endless strategy sessions in the war room. Our priority was clear: constant surveillance along the kingdom’s vast borders. The sheer size of our realm made it unfeasible for a single force to monitor every inch, so we divided the responsibility carefully. Caleb took command of the western frontier, Kin oversaw the northern reaches, and I was charged with guarding the southern and eastern boundaries.

Covering such an expanse was a daunting challenge, even for someone with my experience. The southern border was the most precarious, pressed tightly against the Darklands—a cursed land where the soil seemed blighted, blackened, and the very atmosphere felt hostile, as if it resented any living thing’s presence. The eastern border offered no respite either. It stretched into wild, untamed forests that blended seamlessly into the Darklands. Those ancient woods were dense and shadowed, capable of swallowing entire patrols without a trace. Tracking any movement there was like chasing a phantom reflected in water’s ripples—always shifting, always slipping away the moment you tried to focus.

Because our patrols were scattered so far apart, mindlinking was out of the question. Instead, we relied on messengers—sleek, swift wolves trained from birth to run tirelessly, even to the point of bleeding paws, if it meant delivering their message on time. These creatures could cover vast distances in mere minutes, slipping through terrain that would slow even the most seasoned warrior to a crawl. Each messenger carried only brief, coded notes—snippets of information carefully trimmed to avoid revealing the full truth if intercepted.

Aside from the three of us, no one else knew the full extent of Veyran the Hollow’s demands. To the patrol captains and pack alphas, this was just another rogue threat to be met with heightened security measures. That was the narrative I maintained, and I had no intention of changing it. The fewer people who knew that Verity was the true target, the better—not only for her safety but for mine as well.

The days slipped by without any notable incidents, but it wasn’t the kind of quiet that brought comfort. It was the wrong kind of silence—the kind that tightens your chest and sets your senses on edge. Every patrol I met reported the same: no unusual movements, no strange scents, no tracks, no signs of intrusion. It didn’t sit well with me. Rogues were impulsive and unpredictable; they struck swiftly, left their mark, and disappeared before anyone could respond. This unnerving stillness wasn’t their style.

When night fell and the patrols settled into uneasy rest, the forest transformed into a silence so deep it raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Under that heavy quiet, I crossed the southern border alone. Never venturing too far—never deep enough to lose my bearings—but just enough to feel the malevolence thick in the air.

This land didn’t just exist; it seemed to writhe in pain.

The trees were twisted and gnarled, their trunks resembling veins pulsing beneath cracked bark that split open like ancient wounds refusing to heal. Thick, black sap oozed slowly from these fissures, its sickly sweet smell turning my stomach. The ground beneath me was soft and spongy, giving way in places as if the earth itself was rotting from the inside out.

The air clung to my skin like a damp shroud—heavy, wet, and laced with the stench of decay mixed with something far older, something utterly alien to this world. I felt unseen eyes watching me, though I never glimpsed them. And if I breathed too deeply, the air seemed to settle inside my lungs, as if it intended to take root there.

I never stayed long. I didn’t need to. The outskirts alone were enough of a warning for any sane wolf to keep their distance. Yet somehow… Verity had survived here.

She had endured this poison and lived.

I recognized the wax seal immediately.

It wasn’t from Caleb. It wasn’t from Kin.

It came from the castle.

But it bore the same black seal I had broken days ago—the mark of Veyran the Hollow.

The paper felt heavier than it should as I took it.

Whatever was inside… it was bad news.

Because I couldn’t fathom how a letter from my enemy could be delivered from within the very walls of my own castle.