Chapter Thirteen

Nyra

The room’s quiet calm was woven with golden threads by the sinking sun. The curtain swayed gently in the breeze, and the scents—fresh flowers, resin, the breath of warm stone—filled the air as if nature itself wanted to convince me: for now, everything is all right.

And yet, peace within me was fragile. In my heart, the old terror still lingered, refusing to let go completely.

I sat beside Aedan. Neither of us spoke, but the silence was different than ever before: no longer the silence of fear, but something new—a gentle melody I was only beginning to learn. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head slightly bowed, but his eyes never stopped glancing toward me. I felt his gaze, and the knowledge that he was watching gave me both comfort and dread: what if one day he isn’t there?

Then he moved. He rose from his seat, slow and deliberate, and began pacing the room. Every step carried weight. The air thickened, tense, like the moment before a storm.

“Nyra…” he said at last, quietly—yet his voice was like the first roll of thunder on the horizon.

I flinched. My stomach twisted, my heart skipped a beat. I knew whatever he was about to say would change my world.

“I cannot stay here much longer,” he continued, his words deliberate. “I must return to the palace.”

The sentence cut into me like a blade. It stole the air from my lungs. My chest tightened, my heart throbbed in hollow, aching beats. He was leaving. The safety I had begun to feel shattered in an instant.

“No…” I whispered, though my voice was little more than a ragged breath. My vision blurred as tears slipped free despite my struggle to hold them back. I pressed my hand against my mouth as if I could hide the panic, but my body shook, my breathing came in ragged gasps. “Please… don’t leave me. Don’t leave me with them…”

All my wounds, all my despair bled into those words. The fear of being alone again. The terror of falling back into the abyss he had pulled me from.

Aedan moved instantly. No longer the patient, distant sentinel, he stepped forward and placed both strong hands on my shoulders—firm, but gentle. I trembled at the touch, instinctively wanting to recoil, yet the depth of my panic kept me still. I needed someone to hold me more than I needed distance.

He bent low, his forehead almost touching mine, his eyes locking onto me, refusing to let me hide behind my tears.

“Nyra,” he said, his deep voice steady, commanding my attention through the haze of my gasps.

I froze. His tone cut through the storm, and without meaning to, I met the molten gold of his gaze.

“I will not leave you,” he continued, clear, slow, each word weighted like stone. “Never. Not with them.”

My heart pounded, tears still fell, but I clung to his words as if they were the only thing keeping me afloat. Slowly, their promise pushed its way through the wall of fear.

Then, softly but firmly, he added: “I want you to come with me. To the palace. To my home. With me.”

Time stopped. His words were not just words—they were a doorway. To a world I had never dared to dream of. A place where I might not live in fear. With a man who would not hurt me.

“I don’t want you to choose out of fear,” he whispered, brushing the tears from my face with tender fingers. “But if you come with me… you’ll never have to fight alone again. Not ever.”

My heart raced so violently it ached. A storm of longing swelled in my chest—the desperate yearning to belong. Not as a prisoner. Not as a tool. But as someone free.

“…All right,” I breathed, my voice barely more than a sigh. “I’ll go with you.”

My tears fell anew—but they weren’t born of despair. These were tears of hope.

⸻

Aedan slowly drew me into his arms. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t confine—he simply held me, warm and steady. At first, I stiffened, my body bracing for pain. But none came. This wasn’t a chain. It wasn’t a blow. It was safety.

Little by little, I gave in. My hand, trembling, pressed against his chest. I felt his heartbeat—deep, calm, strong. For the first time, I realized I didn’t have to be afraid. Another heart was beating for me.

My head fell against his shoulder, and a long, shuddering sigh escaped me. My body softened. My eyes closed. The tears quieted.

“I’m afraid…” I whispered, raw and broken.

His reply was quiet, yet as unshakable as roots buried deep in the earth: “I know. But you don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’ll always be here.”

My heart trembled—not with despair, but with the fragile, cautious flutter of belief.

In that dim light, in his embrace, for the first time I dared to think: perhaps I, too, could have a home. Not of walls. Not of stone. But in him.

And when I asked, almost dreamlike, “Aedan… the palace… what kind of place is it?”

He smiled faintly, his deep voice like a story told by firelight. “It’s not just stone and gold. It’s where my pack lives. Where they wait for me. For us.”

My heart thudded. “And… would they accept me?” I asked, timidly.

His hand cupped my face, wiping away the last of my tears. “They would not only accept you. You were given to me by the Moon. Whoever harms you, harms me.”

The words pierced me, resonating in the depths of my soul. My voice shook as I asked one final question:

“Am I… enough?”

His eyes glowed with golden certainty as he answered, firm and absolute: “You are more than enough. You are the one I have been searching for.”

This time, the tears came freely. But they did not hurt. These were tears of hope.

And as I sank fully into his embrace, I knew: a new life had truly begun. Not bound by shadows of the past—but by the promise of the future.