WOLFLESS: Accidentally Marked By The Devil's Son-Chapter 78: Prince of death.

Chapter 78

Isabella stood in the center of the room, her breath hitching as she realized she had looped again.

The air was thick and warm, smelling of cedar and safety, but the peace felt fragile now—like a thin layer of glass over a churning abyss. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

She looked toward the bed. Caleb and Bella were there, tangled together in the sheets. This was the scene Isabella had seen in her recurring dreams—the one where the man was always a shadow, a faceless figure of comfort.

Now, seeing Caleb’s face, the connection was like a lightning strike. He wasn’t just a ghost; he was the source of the pull she felt in her own soul.

A sudden, sharp thud echoed from somewhere in the hallway, followed by the muffled clatter of armored boots.

The sound acted like a physical blow. Bella bolted upright, her eyes wide with a frantic, animal terror.

Caleb was awake in an instant, his hand flying to the space where his sword usually rested on the nightstand.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to. The dream was over. Isabella watched, her heart aching, as a loud voice came from out side the door.

"Prince Caleb," A guard said, his voice echoing through the door. "The King requested your presence immediately. He is waiting in the throne room."

Caleb’s jaw tightened, "I will be there." He replied as he waited for the guard retracting footsteps before both him and Bella hurriedly began to dress in the dim moonlight.

There was no grace in it, only the desperate fumbling of people who knew their time had run out.

Caleb pulled on his tunic, his movements sharp and rigid, while Bella struggled with the laces of her maid’s dress, her hands shaking so violently she could barely loop the cord.

They reached the door, and for a fleeting second, the urgency vanished. Caleb caught Bella’s waist, pulling her into a kiss that tasted of salt and goodbye.

It was a desperate, hungry thing—a vow made in silence before the world shattered.

Bella pulled away first, her golden eyes shimmering with warmth as she slipped out into the dark corridor like a ghost, disappearing toward the servants’ stairs.

Caleb followed a heartbeat later, his face hardening into the cold mask of the Crown Prince.

Isabella’s legs moved without her consent. She tried to turn toward the direction Bella had gone, wanting to scream a warning, but the vision held her to Caleb.

Isabella followed, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. She watched the back of Caleb’s head as he walked toward his doom, her mind screaming.

Don’t go! Lucian saw you! Selena knows! She prayed. She prayed to the Moon Goddess, to the stars, to any power that would listen.

She prayed that the younger Lucian hadn’t followed through on that dark promise he made to Selena.

She prayed that the love she had just witnessed—the only pure thing in this cursed castle—would somehow survive.

But as the massive oak doors of the throne room loomed ahead, a cold, sickening dread settled in her gut. Everything in her soul told her that she was about to watch the world burn.

The throne room opened, revealing a vast, cavernous hall where the flickering torchlight played across the cold stone floor like dying embers.

At the far end, seated upon a throne was the King. His face was weathered, his eyes sharp and unforgiving.

Caleb strode down the center aisle, his boots clicking against the floor. He stopped at the base of the dais and sank into a deep, formal bow.

"You summoned me, Father?" Caleb’s voice was steady, but Isabella could see the slight tension in his shoulders—the posture of a man ready for a strike.

The King leaned forward, his hands gripping the armrests of his throne. "Rise, Caleb. We have no time for pleasantries. Disturbing news has reached me from the northern border. It seems the knights of the neighboring kingdom have breached our territory. They fell upon the village of Oakhaven at dusk, slaughtering our people without provocation."

Isabella felt a wave of relief so strong it made her lightheaded. It isn’t about Bella, she thought, her spectral hand clutching at her chest. He doesn’t know. Lucian hasn’t told him yet.

Caleb’s brow furrowed, his eyes darkening with the instinct of a commander. "Oakhaven? That is a direct violation of the peace treaty. They wouldn’t risk such an affront unless they sought open war."

"Precisely," the King snapped. "Which is why I am sending you. I need you to ride out at once. Survey the damage, speak to the survivors, and report back to me the truth of what transpired. I need a report that carries the weight of the crown."

Caleb hesitated. The urgency in his eyes shifted from the border to the memory of the girl he had just left.

"Father, I ask for your indulgence. With the betrothal gala nearing and my wedding to Princess Selena only days away, is it wise for the Crown Prince to leave the capital now? Surely the High Commander or even Lucian could—"

"No," the King cut him off, his voice echoing like a gavel. "You and I both know you are my finest blade, Caleb. You are called the ’Prince of Death.’ When the enemy hears that you have arrived, they will know this is no minor grievance. They will know we are not taking this lightly. If I send anyone else, it signals weakness. If I send you, it signals an end to their games."

The King stood, his heavy robes rustling. "Go. Prepare your horse. You ride within the hour."

Caleb bowed again, his jaw set in a hard, grim line. "As you command, Father."

As Caleb turned to leave the throne room, Isabella stood rooted to the spot. Her relief had soured into a cold, biting dread.

The King was innocent of the plot, yes, but he was inadvertently playing right into Lucian and Selena’s hands.

He’s being sent away, Isabella realized, her mind racing. They’re clearing the path. If Caleb leaves the castle now, Bella is defenseless.

He’s going toward a fake war while the real one is happening in these hallways. She watched Caleb walk toward the armory, his mind likely already calculating the ride to the north.

"Don’t go," Isabella whispered, reaching out to grab his sleeve, her hand passing through him like mist.

"Caleb, please. It’s a trap. Not the village—the assignment. Stay for her." But the Prince of Death walked on, his duty a shackle he couldn’t see, leaving the woman who carried his soul alone in a den of vipers.