12

Tarian POV

I shut the door of my chamber, the ticking clock echoing in the silence of the room. I stood still for a moment, letting my eyes sweep aound.

This used to be Moriah’s. It was her safe space. Our safe space.

“This wedding should not have happened,” I muttered to the empty air, my voice heavy with a mix of grief and irritation.

I walked over to the king-sized bed, sat on the edge, and pulled open the top drawer of the nightstand. Reaching inside, my fingers found the silver frame I kept hidden beneath a stack of documents. I pulled it out, staring down at the photograph of Moriah and me. She was laughing, her chin tilted up, her eyes bright with that fierce, unyielding light that had captivated me from the very first moment we met.

Instantly, my mother’s voice echoed in my head, sharp and disapproving, repeating the same vile words she had spewed five years ago:

“After everything your father and I did for you, Tarian, you went ahead and married a foreigner! A so-called feminist! A woman who flaunts her personal life online, with zero respect for family traditions or royal order! How can an Alpha King marry someone who preaches that men and women are equal? A woman belongs behind her husband, supporting his crown, not trying to share it!”

My mother had despised her. She believed a Luna’s only duty was to be submissive, quiet, and devoted entirely to the household—the exact mold she had sought out when she forced Livyana on me.

Yet, the very qualities my mother hated were the exact reasons I had fallen madly, hopelessly in love with Moriah. She challenged me. She debated me from an intelligent perspective, pushing me to be a better leader, and never once did she make me feel like less of a man while advocating for equality. She was my equal in every sense of the word.

I stared at her smile in the photograph, a sudden tightness gripping my throat. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Moriah.”

I hated myself for disappointing her memory by going through with this shame of a marriage today, for not saying no to my mother as still being the spineless mummy’s boy she married. I felt a surge of anger, a desperate urge to take my frustration out on Livyana—to punish her for invading my life. But the thought died as soon as it formed. If Moriah were here, she would look at me with disgust. She would call me a pathetic misogynist for taking my anger out on an innocent woman who was just as trapped in this arrangement as I was.

I refused to become that person.

“I just won’t go near her,” I told myself, setting the frame down on my lap. “I won’t touch her. I won’t sleep in the same bed. Hell, I won’t even breathe in her direction. This entire circus was my mother’s idea, not mine. I’ll do my duty in public, but in private, she stays on her side of the villa, and I stay on mine. I just need to get this whole nightmare over and done with.”

I rubbed my thumb over the glass, tracing the outline of Moriah’s face.

What would our life look like right now if she hadn’t stepped out of the house that night? The painful thought crept in, unbidden and agonizing. If she had simply listened to me and stayed back... maybe we would have had a pup or two by now. We’d be raising them quietly at my private estate, away from the politics of the main packhouse.

But she had been so headstrong. So stubborn.

A single hot tear escaped my eye, tracing a path down my cheek. I quickly wiped the streak of moisture away with the back of my hand, angry at my own weakness. Men shouldn’t be crying.

Knock. Knock.

The sudden sound at the door broke the quiet atmosphere.

“Who is it?” I called out, my voice sharp and guarded.

“Your Highness,” Silvia’s voice came through. “The Queen Mother asked me to escort your new Luna to your chambers for the night.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, letting out a long, frustrated breath. “Tell her to wait!” I commanded, forcing my tone to sound steady. “Give me fifteen minutes!”

Mother and I agreed no intimacy, why on Goddess green earth is she sending that girl over here.

“Yes, Alpha,” Silvia replied softly, her footsteps retreating down the carpeted hallway.

I looked down at the photograph one last time. “Fifteen minutes,” I murmured softly to the glass.

I neatly tucked the picture frame back into the deep recess of the drawer, sliding it shut until it clicked. Standing up, I unbuttoned my wedding jacket, tossed it over the armchair, and walked straight into the bathroom to wash the day off.