Rhea

My blood ran cold.

No.

No fucking way.

The look Ethan gave her before he left—the one I brushed off as casual, harmless—flashed back through my skull with brutal clarity. That look, soft as moonlight, protective and reverent, like she was something worth keeping… it wasn’t mine. It never had been. It was hers. Nora’s.

And suddenly it all made sense. Twisted, cruel sense.

The realization lodged under my ribs like a blade and twisted with every ragged breath. My thoughts spiralled, clawing for excuses, for any reason this couldn’t be real.

Moon Goddess, please. Not with her. Not like this.

The air thickened instantly, the wards woven into the bones of my suite pressing closer as if they were listening. They always hummed faintly—old Valorian work from when the fae sealed Silver Ridge after the Great Accord—fine threads of silver stitched through walls like veins of light. Tonight, they pulsed heavier, curious, tasting my pain and echoing it back at me in cruel harmony.

My sanctuary became a cage.

Lavender and woodsmoke from the enchanted hearth, scents that normally wrapped me like a blanket, now choked me. Floating sconces hissed as their flames flickered low, shadows bleeding jagged across velvet settees and silver-draped windows. The marble under my bare feet thrummed as sigil-lines beneath it tried to anchor me, glowing in rhythm with my pulse. Normally, I loved this view—the starlit gardens stretching below, their blossoms opening only under the twin moons. But tonight? It was a prison.

Nora moved.

Her silk skirts whispered over marble as she stepped closer. Her face—stripped of defences, eyes shining with devastation—hit harder than claws. And then she was around me, arms tight, shaking, her hands clutching my dress like pressure alone could keep me from splintering apart.

Too late. I was already breaking.

“Rhea, please… please believe me,” she whispered, voice fraying at the edges. Her tears soaked into my shoulder, hot and trembling. “I didn’t know. I haven’t seen him all summer—we barely talked. If I’d even suspected, I would’ve told you.”

The words reached me, but they dissolved in the ringing inside my head. This was happening. This was real. And the ugliest part? Some traitorous part of me had been bracing for it since last night. The way Ethan’s gaze drifted, the sudden distance, the knowing I’d refused to name.

Ethan wasn’t my mate. He never was.

Years—years—spent weaving my future around him, threading every plan with the belief that fate would bless us. And now? Those threads snapped one by one until there was nothing left but loose ends and emptiness.

And it had to be her. Nora. Not just a friend—one of my best friends. One of the only people I trusted with the fragile, unspoken parts of me.

My wolf stirred. Even half-asleep, she was restless, prowling beneath my skin. She didn’t blame Nora. She knew. We all did. The mate bond isn’t a choice. It’s written into the marrow of your soul before your first breath. Fighting it was like fighting gravity.

And no matter how much it gutted me, I wasn’t going to become the villain in someone else’s fate.

I straightened. Framed Nora’s face in my hands. Her skin was cool and damp, lashes clumped with salt tears. My thumbs brushed the streaks away, though my voice only held steady because I forced it to. Breaking in front of her wasn’t an option.

Because Ethan was mine.

He had been mine since the day he looked at me and didn’t care that I was the adopted girl with no pedigree. He hadn’t flinched at the whispers calling me a charity case. He hadn’t cared that my dominance barely stirred the wards back then. He chose me. Me. Not my bloodline, not my rank—me.

And now?

Ka-fucking-boom.

The picture I’d carried in my chest shattered—glass under a hammer.

The wards flared brighter, faint sigils pulsing in the walls with every jagged beat of my heart. Academy wards were designed to light when emotions spiked, to prevent fights from boiling into bloodshed. But right now, they only exposed me, spotlighting my pain like the stone itself wanted to watch me crumble.

I blinked hard, tilting Nora’s chin until her red-rimmed eyes met mine. “Listen to me,” I said, voice splintering my throat. “I’m not mad at you. Or Ethan. The mate bond isn’t a choice. If the Moon Goddess says it’s him, then… that’s the end of it.”

Inside, my wolf clawed and snarled, screaming.

But even she knew the truth: you can’t fight gravity.

Still, the only thought looping in my skull was vicious and broken: if fate was going to take him, why did She let me believe he was mine at all?

“Nora,” I whispered, even as my insides cracked wider. “I’m saying this once, so listen carefully. I’m not mad at you. Or Ethan. The mate bond isn’t something we control. If you and Ethan are meant, you have my blessing. I will never come between you.”

The words tasted like iron and ash. But they were true. Even as they hollowed me out.

Her breath hitched. Guilt melted into fragile relief, and she crushed me tighter. I let her. Smoothed her back. Murmured nothing-words to steady her—because if she fell apart, I might too.

When her breathing finally evened, I pressed a tissue into her hand. She dabbed at the black smudges under her eyes, still too beautiful for such an ugly moment.

One question still clawed at me.

“Nora,” I said, gripping her hands, forcing her to meet me head-on. “Are you absolutely sure? One hundred percent?”

She hesitated—just a heartbeat—but then nodded. “I felt it the second I saw him tonight.”

Something flickered across her expression. Guilt. Shame. And beneath it—a spark she didn’t want me to name.

I forced a smile. “Sweetheart, look at me.” I tipped her chin, held her there. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Yeah, this sucks—this really fucking sucks—but it doesn’t change us. You and Ethan have something most wolves pray for. I’m happy for you.”

Her mouth curved—tiny, fragile—but it was my Nora, peeking through.

“Bitches over dicks, right?” she whispered, voice shaky but still threaded with sass.

A dry laugh broke out of me. “Damn right. Don’t forget it.”

We stood together in the charged silence of the wards, fae glyphs humming low behind stone like distant thunder. From the balcony, moonlight spilled silver across the marble, painting everything beautiful and cold.

I meant every word. But the truth I buried deep was this: when Ethan claimed her tonight, it would break me into pieces I wasn’t sure I could ever put back together.

* * *

After freshening up, we slid into Nora’s sleek black Maserati. Obsidian paint drank the lanternlight until it looked like liquid starlight. When the engine purred awake, the runes etched into the dash flared—a neat constellation of travel sigils mapping our route across the ridge. Valorian glyphs threaded with Lycandran ward-marks traced a shimmering path, softly chiming when Nora’s palm brushed the wheel—vehicle wards recognizing a wolf with Academy clearance. Leather hugged me, scented with cedar and jasmine. It should have comforted me. It didn’t.

Silver Ridge was a painting come to life tonight. Ancient spires shouldered the sky, ivy breathing along their faces, wards stitched through the cobbles like gold thread, each filigree line a quiet promise of safety. Enchanted lampposts burned with blue-white flames that curled like living smoke; fae-made, fire with no heat, more show than scorch so mixed-blood students didn’t set themselves—or anyone else—on fire. Over it all stretched Lycandra’s night—high, black, and glittering like someone had flung handfuls of moonstone dust across silk.

I watched it smear past the glass, hollow.

We didn’t speak. The engine’s hum filled the spaces where words should have been. Nora’s hands were tight around the wheel, knuckles pale, hope and dread braided together. She had the certainty—the Goddess’s smile warming her bones. I had the ache of being almost chosen and passed over.

The Silver Stag rose ahead, warm light spilling from arched windows onto wet stone. Laughter and music vibrated the oak doors; ivy climbed the stones, leaves glimmering faintly as they drank the room’s magic. Even from outside, I felt the place working—old hospitality sigils woven under the floorboards, the kind that keep tempers soft and knives in sheaths. A practical compromise from the Accords: let the taverns keep their revelry, but enchant the ground so a multi-realm crowd doesn’t start a war over a spilled drink.

I caught Nora’s arm before she reached the handle. “Tell him now,” I said, low. “I’ll call him out so you can talk in private. Better here than in front of everyone.”

Her eyes shone in the lantern glow. She hugged me hard enough to bruise. “Thank you, Rhee.”

“Don’t thank me,” I murmured, swallowing splinters. “Just… go.”

While she lingered on the curb, I called Ethan. My fingers shook like the wards were running current through me. Each ring was a reminder of what I was handing away.

He came within minutes—dark jeans, hunter-green button-down sharpening the hazel in his eyes. Curls tied back, a few rebellious strands softening his temples. Stupid details I always kept without meaning to.

“Hey,” he said, smiling like I was still his. “Didn’t expect to find you outside. What’s going on?”

“Nothing bad,” I lied, voice thin. “Just wanted to see you before we went in.”

His face softened, and his scent hit—pine and clean rain and warmth. It wrapped around me like a memory I didn’t have the right to keep.

“You okay? You’ve been quiet,” he asked. Gentle. Careful.

I shrugged. “Just… a lot in my head. I’m fine.”

He didn’t buy it, but he didn’t push.

I smoothed my hands over his shoulders once, memorizing the easy weight of him, the heat under cotton. “Whatever happens, Ethan, I’m here. We’ll always be friends. Know that.”

Confusion tugged at his smile. “Of course I know that. You’re my person, Rhee. Nothing changes that.”

My heart twisted sharp and mean. “Good. Because I want you happy.”

Before I could break, I rose on tiptoe and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek—just long enough to feel the warmth of him one last time. Then I turned toward the doors carved with old tavern wards, sigils pulsing to the beat of the music inside.

The light swallowed me whole.

And I didn’t look back. If I did, I wasn’t sure I’d let go.

* * *

The Silver Stag breathed—magic, laughter, and sin in every corner. Moonlily lanterns floated over the tables, petals opening and closing in time with the bard’s rhythm like the whole room had a pulse. Carved oak walls shimmered with a skin of enchantment; vine etchings shifted if you stared, like the wood liked to eavesdrop. Polished runes glowed faintly underfoot, smoothing traffic for servers weaving between velvet booths and the long bar where jewel-bright bottles lined up like stained glass. A hearth roared without heat; its embers spelled to crackle for ambience only. The air tasted like roasted venison, honey-mead, clove smoke—and the faint metallic tang of old spells.

I let the warmth close around me like a heavy cloak. It didn’t reach the hollow.

Lila spotted me first, perched in a corner booth like a smug little queen. Gold hoops flashed as she waved me over, mischief ready on her mouth. Bree sat beside her, elegant as ever; posture neat, gaze sharper than everyone assumed, a glass of starlit cider beading with condensation in front of her. The cider’s surface shimmered with a glamour ripple—not strong enough to intoxicate a wolf, just enough to make mortals see stars. Academy rule: enchantments for show, not sway.

“What happened, Rhee?” Lila asked the second I slid into the booth, grin fading as she scanned my face. “You look like you got personally smacked by the Moon Goddess.”

“Not far off,” I muttered, tracking a line of water down my glass.

Bree’s tone stayed gentle even as her eyes sharpened. “Talk.”

Usually, I’d lock it all down. Smile until it calcified. But these were my people—the ones who knew where the bones were buried.

“Nora thinks Ethan is her mate,” I said, voice too steady to be okay.

They didn’t gasp. Didn’t flinch. Just… held it with me.

“Oh, Rhee,” Bree whispered, reaching across the table. Her fingers curled around mine, solid.

Lila’s arm slid around my shoulders, tugging me under her wing. “And you told her it was fine, didn’t you?”

I nodded, jaw tight. “She didn’t choose this. None of us do. I’m not going to make her feel guilty for gravity.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t gut you,” Lila said, thumb rubbing absently over my arm.

“It’s like I built a whole picture in my head,” I said, voice scraping. “What the future looked like. And in one breath—gone. Now it’s just… dark.”

Bree leaned in. “You’ll find your light again. And when you do, it’ll burn brighter than this shadow.”

Lila scanned the main room, then shook her head. “We’re not doing this here.”

She tugged me from the booth, Bree’s hand warm at my spine, and we slipped under an ivy-carved arch into a side lounge. The air was softer, quieter. Pale orbs floated at different heights, frosting everything in a honeyed glow. A moonstone table sat in the center, carved from a single slab, constellations etched across its surface—sigils woven into the stars so they flared when touched, a tavern trick to discourage brawls. Accord-era compromise again: put the magic where it cools blood before it boils.

Lila nudged me down onto a cushion and folded herself beside me, all intent and feral loyalty. Bree sat across, hands folded, like a queen in a council chamber.

“Okay,” Lila said. “Girl to girl. No walls. Spill it—the ugly, the stupid, the petty. Especially the petty.”

“What’s the point? It won’t change anything.”

“Wrong.” Her eyes sparked. “It changes you. If you don’t let this out, it’ll rot you.”

Bree nodded. “No judgment.”

I traced an etched star. It warmed under my fingertip, a tiny flare of light answering my pulse.

“It’s not just losing him,” I said, the words tearing free. “It’s losing the picture I had. He was my safe place. The one I thought would always choose me. Now… he doesn’t even get to choose.”

Bree’s voice softened further. “That’s the cruelty of the bond—it takes choice. Your grief is still real.”

“I don’t hate her,” I whispered. “I can’t. But thinking of them together? The ground moves under me. I don’t know where to stand.”

Lila laced our fingers, grip fierce. “Then you stand with us. Until your bond shows up and knocks you flat. And it will.”

Despite everything, the corner of my mouth betrayed me. “Optimistic much?”

“Always,” she smirked. “And when it happens, I’ll be right there to say, ‘I told you so.’ Loudly.”

Silence settled, warm instead of empty. Bree leaned forward, steel wrapped in silk. “Ethan is a chapter. He is not your whole book. You are more than the Goddess’s oversight, Rhee. When your bond comes, this will taste like ash.”

Something inside me unclenched—just enough air to breathe. The lounge listened, too; the constellations on the table pulsed softly when our hands brushed them, little flares of ward-light responding to the spike and fall of feeling. At the Academy, sigils are trained to glow when emotions hit hard—safety theatre and an early warning system. Everyone says there are ways around them if you know the right fae or witches—veils to keep intent hidden in mixed-company rooms. But here tonight, there wasn’t anything to hide. My hurt burned bright, and the room quietly, stubbornly, refused to let it devour me whole.

“Okay,” Lila declared after a beat, wiping her eyes and pretending she hadn’t. “We are not letting this night brand itself into your bones as doom. We’re going to absorb an irresponsible amount of sugar and then flirt with someone we have no intention of kissing.”

Bree’s mouth twitched. “Responsible rebellion only. Also, hydration.”

I huffed out something like a laugh. “You two realize I’m not actually going to flirt with anybody, right?”

Lila bumped her shoulder into mine. “I said flirt, not donate bodily fluids. We’ll keep it PG-13.”

“Promises from you are historically unreliable.”

“Incorrect. They are creatively interpreted.”

“Semantics.”

“Spoken like a future Luna.”

The word should have hurt. Instead, it settled strangely in my chest—like a seed choosing a patch of soil even if the ground was still winter-hard. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know anything at all.

A server drifted in—wolf, young, with a sprig of moonlily pinned behind her ear to mark staff—smile soft, eyes careful. “Anything I can bring you?”

“Three slices of moon-honey torte,” Lila said before I could argue. “And three waters. Big ones.”

“Make one of those a starlit cider,” Bree added. “Non-enchanted.”

The server nodded and slid away, the runes in the floor brightening to guide her path. The Academy loved its choreography—sigils telling bodies how to move so the chaos looked like grace.

I watched the faint glow ebb and flow, the way the wards tugged the night into order, and wondered if I’d ever feel steady inside my own skin again. Maybe the Goddess didn’t hate me. Maybe She was doing what She always does—rearranging pieces I couldn’t see yet. Maybe. Or maybe She just liked to crack bones so they set stronger.

“Look,” Lila said quietly, as if she could hear the churn. “When the Four found me and Theo in the gardens last winter after that Storm Run? I thought I was about to be lectured. You know what Callum said?” Her voice slipped into a perfect deadpan: “‘Don’t trip the perimeter wards and piss off the fae. If you must be feral, be discreet.’” She rolled her eyes. “They’re terrors. But they’re not cruel. Not to the people who matter.”

Bree’s gaze held mine. “And you matter.”

The server returned with the torte—glossy amber layers shot through with pearl sugar, a dessert that tasted like a prayer—and the waters that would probably save us from hating ourselves tomorrow. We ate quietly, spoons tapping moonstone, letting sugar do the ancient work it was commissioned by grandmothers to do: mend small rips in battered hearts.

Across the tavern, laughter rolled; a fae trio threw illusion sparks over their table, tiny galaxies spinning and popping before fading into harmless smoke. A Drakonis boy hissed when one spark landed on his sleeve; it sizzled and died, offensive only to pride. The wards hummed, unimpressed by theatrics they were built to contain.

I could breathe again by the time my plate was a smear of gold.

“Better?” Bree asked.

“A little,” I said. Honest.

“Good,” Lila said, dragging me upright. “Now we re-enter like queens.”

“Please don’t make me strut.”

“Then glide. I’ll accept glide.”

We stepped back through the arch, music curling around us like a ribbon. The main room had shifted—crowd thicker, heat higher, the Silver Stag leaning into its reputation as the safest place to make questionable choices within Academy bounds. I let the sound and colour wash over me and tried to let it fill the places where the ache still lived.

Nora wasn’t back yet. Maybe that was good. Maybe that was bad. Maybe I wasn’t ready to know.

I wasn’t ready for anything at all.

But I was still standing.

And sometimes, in a world of magic and fated threads, surviving the hour was victory enough.