Chapter 6: Who Takes the Boy?

I’m his mother,” she said firmly, voice shaking only slightly now. “You can keep the estate, the title, the Dominion—whatever you want. I don’t care. But Elias stays with me.”

Darius looked away, jaw tightening as if something in him resisted the simplicity of her demand.

When he finally spoke, his voice sounded strained.

“You think I’d take him from you?”

Lyra didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t need to.

They both knew how this world worked. Power decided custody long before love ever got a vote.

Her silence lingered between them.

Darius exhaled slowly. “You can keep custody.”

It came too easily.

Too clean.

And that ease hurt more than refusal would have.

Of course he agreed quickly. Of course he already had space prepared in his mind for a future where Elias was simply part of his legacy while everything else changed around him.

Including her.

Lyra nodded once.

“Fine.”

Another silence followed, heavier this time.

Broken glass still glimmered across the floor near her feet, reflecting fragments of light like something already shattered beyond repair.

Darius spoke again after a moment.

“We can wait until after the mourning rites before announcing anything.”

For a fraction of a second, the words almost sounded considerate.

Lyra almost believed them.

But she stopped herself before the thought could grow.

No. She would not mistake obligation for kindness again.

“There’s no point delaying it,” she said quietly.

Darius inhaled slowly. “Lyra—”

“You already planned this,” she interrupted gently, almost tired now. “Long before you said it out loud.”

His gaze shifted instantly toward her.

She lifted a hand unconsciously to her throat.

No mark. No bond. No visible proof that she had ever been chosen.

In wolf society, mates bore their bond marks proudly—proof of union, of belonging, of permanence.

Darius had never given her one.

At the time, he had explained it carefully, almost gently.

“You don’t have a wolf spirit,” he had said years ago. “A completed bond could harm you.”

She had believed him then.

Now the memory felt like something she had been naive enough to trust.

“You left an escape open from the beginning,” she whispered.

Darius frowned. “That’s not why I refused the bond mark.”

“Then why?”

The question hung between them.

For the first time that night, he had no immediate answer.

And that silence was worse than anger.

Lyra nodded slowly, as if something inside her had finally accepted a truth she had avoided for years.

“I understand.”

“Lyra.”

“Don’t,” she said softly, voice breaking just slightly. “Please don’t soften this now.”

Because pity from him would have destroyed what little remained of her composure.

“I’ve already prepared savings,” she added after a moment. “Elias and I won’t need anything from Shadowcrest.”

A flicker of irritation crossed his expression.

“You are still my responsibility.”

“No,” she corrected gently. “Not for much longer.”

His jaw tightened again, but he said nothing.

Lyra turned away before he could respond and walked toward the stairs.

Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the house itself resisted letting her go.

Memories rose uninvited—Darius at his peak during his early trials, Selene smiling beside him under cheering crowds, herself standing in shadows pretending none of it mattered, and the night everything broke beyond repair.

And then Elias.

Small hands holding hers.

His laughter filling spaces she didn’t know were empty.

His quiet warmth after nightmares.

Halfway up the stairs, she stopped.

Her chest tightened sharply.

Elias.

How did you tell a child that the world he knew was about to split in two?

She turned back.

Darius was still in the kitchen, unmoving, as if carved from stone and something far more exhausting than stone—regret.

“How do we tell Elias?” she asked.

For the first time, uncertainty crossed his face.

“I’ll speak to him.”

Of course he would. Always control. Always structure.

As if emotions could be organized like military orders.

Darius ran a hand across his face briefly, exhaustion showing for the first time in ways he never allowed publicly.

“And regardless of what happens between us,” he added quietly, “I’ll continue supporting both of you.”

Lyra almost laughed again.

Even now, he spoke like someone fulfilling duty, not someone losing a marriage.

Never like someone who had ever loved her.

Because maybe he never had.

She said nothing more.

Upstairs, the door closed softly behind her.

And the moment she was alone, her strength finally gave out.

Lyra sank to the floor beside the bed, trembling as everything she had held together finally collapsed inward.

Silent sobs shook her body as moonlight spilled across the room, cold and indifferent.

Downstairs, faint footsteps moved once through the hall.

Darius.

Perhaps already imagining the life he would build next. Perhaps already preparing for Selene’s return in ways she could not yet see.

Lyra pressed her hand against her chest, breathing unevenly.

Then her fingers drifted to her bare throat.

The place a mate’s mark should have been.

The place she had once hoped would mean she belonged to someone.

But there was nothing there.

Only skin and absence.

A tear slid down her cheek as she whispered into the quiet room, voice barely holding together.

“You survived before him.”

Her breath shuddered.

“You’ll survive after him too.”

But even as she said it, she no longer fully believed it.