Chapter 14

Ragnar 

   Sleep had become something unreliable and I hated it. It came in fragments now, shallow, uneven, and breaking apart the moment I became aware of it. I woke at odd hours with my hand already pressed flat against my chest, fingers digging into fabric like I could anchor whatever was happening beneath my ribs.

The ache had changed.

It was no longer sharp, and no longer something I could dismiss as the lingering echo of a severed bond. It had settled into something quieter. It was worse, like a low, persistent heat and a heaviness that did not lift.

By the second week, I stopped pretending it would pass on its own.

“Send for Alder,” I told Davan without looking up from the document in front of me. He didn’t ask questions. He never did. He only inclined his head slightly and left.

Alder took his time. He always did, and it was a miracle how I was still alive by the time he finally arrived. 

He moved with the careful precision of someone who understood that rushing was how things were missed. His hands were steady as he checked my pulse, and his expression neutral as he listened to my breathing.

“Any dizziness?” he asked.

“No.” I huffed. 

“Loss of appetite?”

“Yes.”

“How long?” The way he asked hinted that something was wrong, but I pushed it away. 

“Two weeks.”

His brow shifted almost imperceptibly, but he said nothing. He continued, his movements thorough. When he finished, he stepped back, folding his hands behind him.

There was a pause, not because he was hesitating, but because he was considering. 

“Your Majesty,” he said finally, his voice measured, “are you aware of what Lyra’s early symptoms were, before her condition worsened?”

Everything in me went still. The room didn’t change. The fire still crackled and the light still fell the same way across the desk, but something inside me locked into place.

“I am aware,” I said.

“Then you understand why I ask.”

“I do.”

“Your current symptoms,”He watched me carefully as he continued, not pushing but his words not softening either. “...mirror those early stages.”

The words landed without impact at first, then they sank.

“I see,” I said.

“My Lord.” Alder inclined his head slightly. “Would you like me to…”

“No.” The word came out sharper than intended, but he didn’t react.

“I will call for you if I require further examination,” I said, my tone level again.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

He left without another word. I sat there for a long time after the door closed and it didn't take too much for the memory to come uninvited. 

I remembered Lyra, but not her death. Not yet. In the beginning, she had been steady and composed, exactly what the court had required. The match had been approved before I had even met her, her name presented to me like a solution to a problem I had not been given the chance to define.

I had accepted. That was what was expected, and over tim, I had come to care for her, not because of the bond, it had never been that, but because she had tried.

She had met every expectation placed on her and carried them without complaint,until she couldn’t.

The first symptoms had been small. She was always fatigued and lost her appetite all the time. Then, there was a heaviness in her bones she couldn't explain. The healers had assured me it was temporary and I believed them. 

“It is a weakness in her system,” they had said. “Nothing unusual.”

“Manageable.”

I trusted their words because there had been no reason not to, because the system I ruled had never given me reason to question it.

Until now.

As the fire burned low,I didn't stop thinking about Lyra. I remembered the slow decline that had followed, the explanations had never quite matched what I had seen with my own eyes, and the way no one had ever offered a solution. Only reassurances.

And then I thought about Freya. About the report Davan had delivered quietly, without witnesses.

He had spoken about ancient blood that was older than the current structure. It was rare and powerful, but also hidden and sealed. While rumors spread that it had been defective, I stood to disagree. 

They wanted it as a tool and the thought settled into place with a clarity that felt almost cold.

The royal line required stability, which had always been the council’s concern. They didn't care about power or rule,but stability, and stability, in their language, meant predictability, manageability and something they could oversee. 

Lyra had been politically suitable and socially acceptable, but not sufficient for what the royal line required. And it wasn't enough for what they knew was coming.

Freya, was the prophecy, the bloodline and the sealed wolf it required and the connection snapped into place so cleanly it almost felt inevitable.

Lyra had never been the right match, and they had known it. They had known exactly what was needed, and they had made sure it was unavailable.

“They let her die,” I said into the empty room.

Lyra wasn't exactly sick, or her death could have been avoided, but they had allowed a mismatch to persist because correcting it would have required revealing what they had done.

So they had waited, watched, explained it away and called it a tragedy. 

The fire had burned down to embers by the time I stood. I moved to the window, resting my hand briefly against the cold glass and the ache in my chest was still there.

It was steady now, but it no longer felt like something foreign. It felt connected like a continuation of something that had started long before I had understood it.

In my reflection,I looked composed and controlled, exactly what they expected to see, but beneath that, something had shifted.

My patience had been useful once,but not anymore. 

“Davan,” I said as the door opened a moment later, as if he had been waiting just outside.

“Yes, my King.”

“Prepare a full report on the council’s involvement in Lyra’s treatment.” His gaze sharpened slightly,but I wasn't done yet. 

“And Thornfield,” I added. “Everything.”

He nodded once. “Immediately.”

He turned to leave, but I called him again. “Davan.”

“Yes?” He paused.

“One more thing.” I held his gaze for a fraction of a second. “No one else is to know I asked for this.”

“Understood.” he nodded once,then he left. 

As I stood in front of the embers of the fireplace that glowed faintly, I realized that the pieces in front of me were now aligned. 

And the people who had arranged them had assumed I would never see the pattern. That assumption, was their first mistake.