The wolf and his warrior

We were ordered to share a room.

Not for comfort. Not for kindness. For containment.

“The tether needs proximity,” Commander Kael had said. “Too far apart and the backlash could rupture your minds. Or worse.”

So now I shared a stone chamber with the Alpha Prince.

The room was barely large enough for one bed. They added a second cot against the opposite wall. Neither of us spoke when we were led inside. Neither of us touched the other. But the magic between us hummed—constant, like a wire pulled taut and trembling.

He took the cot without a word.

I stood at the narrow window for a long time, staring out at the frost-laced courtyard. My shoulders were stiff. My throat dry. My bones still remembered the pain of his injuries from the tethering.

Behind me, he exhaled like I was a problem he couldn’t punch his way through.

“You’re reckless,” he muttered.

“You’re welcome,” I said without turning. “You were cursed long before I came along. I just lit the match.”

He snorted. “And now I’m chained to someone who burns everything she touches.”

I turned then, slowly. “Better than someone who hides behind a title and a bloodline and calls it strength.”

He stood. I hadn’t realized how close he was to his boiling point until now.

“You think I want this crown? You think I asked for this tether? I don’t even want to breathe the same air as you.”

“Good,” I snapped. “Then we agree on something.”

We were toe to toe now, the energy between us crackling like lightning beneath skin. My fingers twitched with the urge to summon flame, to lash out, to do something besides stand here and feel this fury coil deeper inside me.

His eyes dropped—just for a second—to my lips.

“You’re insufferable,” he said, voice low.

I smirked. “Still thinking about kissing me, wolf?”

His jaw clenched. “Still thinking about strangling you.”

I felt a sharp throb in my collarbone—his tension, bleeding through the tether.

“Careful,” I whispered. “Your temper’s giving me a headache.”

His hand twitched at his side. “You think this is a game?”

“No,” I said. “But you’re starting to make it fun.”

He turned from me sharply, retreating to his cot like being near me was suffocating. And maybe it was. I felt it too—the pressure, the heat, the closeness forced by something bigger than us. Something cruel and ancient.

We couldn’t hurt each other without hurting ourselves.

But that didn’t mean we had to like it.

The next morning, we were summoned to the arena for paired combat strategy. Again.

“Ah, the cursed lovers,” one of the instructors joked as we entered.

Lucian growled.

I said nothing, just walked ahead.

We were made to spar together—not against each other. That was the true punishment. Forced cooperation.

“Target,” the instructor called, and illusion-figures began to flicker into the ring—shadows that moved like real foes.

Lucian shifted into motion. Fluid. Calculated. A predator born and trained.

I flanked him, weaving spellcraft into his path, reinforcing his blind spots.

We fought in sync.

Despite the hatred. Despite the silence.

But when one of the illusions cracked me across the side of the head, Lucian stumbled mid-strike, hissing through his teeth.

“You okay?” he asked, breath rough.

I staggered up. “Fine.”

“Don’t lie.”

His voice wasn’t angry—it was sharp, raw, something deeper than either of us expected.

“Why do you care?” I spat. “You hate me.”

“I don’t want to die, Arielle.”

My name in his mouth stopped me cold. Not witch. Not street-scum. Arielle.

The moment passed like a blade drawn slow.

We kept fighting. We didn’t speak again.

But when it was over and we limped from the ring, bruised and breathless, I noticed something strange:

He walked beside me.

Not ahead.

Not behind.

Beside me… and I hated how that made my chest ache.