LOGINIvy’s POV
The beans are still warm in my hands.
Freshly roasted, their scent rises with the steam curling into the mountain air; dark, rich, and steady, like the deep hum of a cello string. I cradle the burlap sack closer to my chest, pressing my cheek against its rough weave.
Obsidian Brew coffee beans.
It had taken me two days of searching, bargaining, and waiting to get them from an old grower reluctant to part with such a rare batch. Emi
Ivy’s POVThe morning light slips gently through my curtains, painting soft golden stripes across the wooden floorboards.I am halfway through making breakfast when the front door bursts open.“Mom!” Mikel’s small voice rings down the hall before his little feet do, pattering rapidly over the floor. He barrels straight into the kitchen, his cheeks flushed pink from the chill outside, his tiny backpack bouncing against his back.In his hands is a crinkled paper bag from the corner sweet shop. He thrusts it up toward me with both hands, grinning so wide his dimples show.“I brought your favorite candies!” he announces proudly.I laugh, my chest melting in the way only he can make it. “Two scoops? Someone must have missed me a lot today.”“I missed you this much!” He stretches his arms out as wide as they’ll go, then tips forward and hugs my waist tightly
Ivy’s POVEven after all this time has passed, the evening air still feels electric, holding the lingering memory of Alexander’s furious kiss. I can’t stop my hand from reaching up to touch my lips as I step onto my path. He tore through my defenses, and I feel like my skin is still humming from the heat of his touch.But the humming stops immediately.Something is wrong.I see the trucks first; three large, anonymous moving company vans parked directly across the street from my house. They are blocking half the road, and workers in uniforms are hoisting dark, expensive-looking furniture out of a fourth, smaller truck.And then I see Mr. Peterson, my landlord who owns most of the houses on the street, standing next to the long-vacant house right beside mine. He is beaming, his face red with excitement, flapping his hands like a proud pigeon as he supervises the chaos.I walk over, frowning. That house has been empt
Third POVEliza stands in the heart of her modest drawing-room, the scent of stale potpourri a constant, sickly reminder of her reduced circumstances. She holds a porcelain cup, but her hand trembles with a tremor that has nothing to do with the weak tea. It is the shudder of a cage rattling.Oh how, her life had changed!She was once the favored daughter of the Chief Minister, her life a meticulously plotted ascent to the throne.She believed her wit, her beauty, her calculated charm could control every variable, securing Alexander’s love and the exalted position of Queen. Her only concern was polishing her tactics.How naive. How tragically, utterly blind she was.The world she knew came crashing down the moment her father was convicted and imprisoned by Alexander, finally passing away without dignity inside the King’s dungeons.In that instant, she plummeted from the height of court favor to t
Ivy’s POVFor a heartbeat, I cannot breathe.His lips crush against mine, fierce, unyielding, real. Not a fever dream, not a phantom of my longing, but Alexander kissing me here and now.My heart lurches, my wolf howls with aching relief, but my mind reels. He is supposed to be choosing his bride tonight. He is supposed to be smiling at noble ladies and charming their fathers, not dragging me into a corner and claiming me like this.A bolt of panic spears through my chest. I shove at him with trembling hands. “Alexander, stop!”But his grip only tightens, refusing to let me go, his heat overwhelming every inch of me. The confusion, the hurt, the bitter knowledge of what this ball means; it all crashes over me at once. I push harder, writhing against his hold, desperate to free myself.And then it happens.In the tangle of his arm and my struggling hand, my palm slips, the angle sharp, the force too strong to
Third POVIvy’s phone buzzes in her hand just as she steps through the wrought-iron gates of the palace. The lamps lining the garden path glow softly, guiding her toward the hall where music and laughter already spill into the night.Arla’s name flashes across the screen. Ivy hesitates, remembering the earlier call; how her friend had sounded positively delighted at the idea of a man showing interest in her, how she had laughed and insisted Ivy stay away from the ball and enjoy herself. The memory still makes Ivy’s cheeks warm.She answers.“Arla?”This time, Arla’s voice is completely different. Breathless. Strained.“Ivy … there’s a problem. The dessert tables, the staff… t-there aren’t enough hands. We can’t keep up with the pace, it’s a mess. You have to come back immediately!”Ivy frowns, pausing on the path. “What? I thought you
Alexander’s POVI don’t sleep a wink.Her body trembles against me long after the fire in her veins begins to ebb, long after her sobs quiet into ragged breaths. I hold her through it all, my arms refusing to let go, my wolf growling low in my chest, steady, constant, like a vow I never gave her before.When at last her lashes flutter shut and her breathing steadies, I ease back just enough to look at her face. Even in sleep, her skin shines with a fever-sheen, her brow furrowed as though some invisible weight refuses to leave her be.My gaze drops lower.To the faint marks scattered along the inside of her arm. Tiny scars, needle-points, some faded, some still sharp.Inhibitors.A brutal necessity to curb the pain of heat. I thought she would never have to go through that. That, because she didn’t have her wolf, she would never face the excruciating effects of the heat cycle.Yet … sh







