Rory

The Night Market was alive, thrumming like a heartbeat under my feet, every lantern-strung alley packed with wolves, fae merchants, witches hawking glowing wares, and humans bold—or stupid—enough to wander in. Smoke from roasting meat curled with incense, sweet and sharp, tangled with the buzz of wards that kept the chaos just this side of dangerous. Magic pulsed faintly in the cobblestones, enough to raise the hair on my arms.

But I barely noticed any of it.

Because she was here.

My Princess.

Rhea walked at Cal’s side, her silver hair catching every flicker of firelight, her chin tilted higher than her pulse allowed. I could feel it through the bond, faint but there—skittering, unsteady, that tug deep in my chest that told me she was barely holding it together. Jax prowled just behind her, shadow-dark and unreadable, while Seth moved like he owned the place, smirking at everyone who dared to look too long. And me? I hung back half a step, just enough to watch her every move.

The whispers followed us the second we stepped past the wards.

“That’s her.”

“Their Luna.”

“She won’t survive them.”

Her shoulders stiffened. Brave face, stubborn chin, but the bond hummed with unease, and my wolf Lex paced inside me, snapping at every voice that dared doubt her.

Cal angled closer, murmuring, “Stay close.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she muttered, but her fingers twitched like she wanted to.

Jax’s glare cut across the street, scattering a group of wolves who had been staring too long. Seth laughed under his breath, low and taunting, daring anyone else to try.

We reached the first row of stalls, and she stopped, her eyes catching on a knife-toss game manned by a fae with a too-slick smile. Weighted blades, warped boards, rigged as hell.

“Don’t,” Jax growled.

Rhea crossed her arms. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a scam,” I said easily, sliding in beside her. She shot me a sharp look, and I grinned. “Blades are spelled to pull left. I’ve beaten it before, though. Twice.”

Seth snorted. “And he almost got banned both times.”

Her mouth curved despite herself. Then she tossed a coin on the counter. “One try.”

The fae smirked, teeth too sharp. “Good luck, little wolf.”

She ignored him, squared her shoulders, and threw. The knife whistled through the air, thunking dead center in the board. The fae’s smirk dropped.

“Beginner’s luck,” he muttered.

Rhea arched a brow. “Or maybe you just underestimated me.”

Lex howled approval, pride swelling in my chest. I leaned down, voice just for her. “Careful, Princess. I might start bragging about you.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. Crack.

We moved on through the Market, weaving past stalls selling glowing noodles, charred skewers dripping sauce, candied nuts that sparked faintly when you bit into them. Seth shoved a skewer into her hands before she could argue.

“What is it?” she asked suspiciously.

“Delicious,” he said with a grin.

She rolled her eyes but took a bite. Her eyes widened, then narrowed at him as she took another. Seth’s grin widened. Victory.

Cal bought her a drink, violet liquid glowing faintly in a frosted glass. “This will help with the bond resonance,” he said, as if it was a simple fact.

Her lips parted. “How do you know that?”

“Because I researched,” he replied. “If you’re going to be ours, I’ll know what you need.”

Her throat bobbed as she took a sip, not meeting his eyes.

I snagged a bag of candied nuts, shoved one between her lips. Her eyes went wide, her cheeks puffing adorably.

“You’re welcome, Princess,” I teased, grinning when she swatted at me.

Later, we found ourselves near the performance square, where wolves drummed in rhythm with the wards, witches painted fire into the air, and children chased glowing sprites. But the whispers didn’t stop.

“She’s weak.”

“She can’t handle four.”

“She won’t last the week.”

Her chin tilted higher, shoulders stiff, like she could hold back the tide by sheer force of will. But I felt it—the sting, the ache.

Enough.

I brushed her hand, just lightly, and when she glanced at me, I tilted my head toward the edge of the square. She hesitated, then followed. Cal watched but didn’t stop her. Jax’s glare burned into my back, but I didn’t care. Seth smirked like he knew exactly what I was doing.

We slipped down a side path, lanterns bobbing on the canal water, the crowd’s noise fading to a low hum. She sat on the stone ledge, legs dangling, and I dropped beside her, tossing a coin into the canal. The wards caught it, glowing silver ripples across the water.

“Why do you call me that?” she asked suddenly.

My head tilted. “What?”

“Princess.” Her gaze was steady. Searching. “You always call me that. Why?”

I leaned back on my hands, grinning at first. “Because it fits.”

She frowned. “I’m not royalty, Rory. I don’t even have a family name. I’m just—”

“No.” My voice came out sharper than I meant. “Don’t do that. Don’t strip yourself down like you’re nothing. Titles don’t make a Princess. You do. The way you walk into a room when everyone whispers. The way you told us to our faces you wouldn’t be caged. That fire? That’s royalty.”

Her lips parted, eyes shimmering like she didn’t know whether to believe me.

I softened, voice lower. “One day, you’ll see it. Even if I have to keep calling you Princess until you do.”

She looked away quickly, cheeks flushed, fingers brushing the stone. But her pulse through the bond wasn’t sharp with anger or fear. It was softer. Warmer.

Another crack.

We sat there for a long moment, the canal glowing silver beneath us, the hum of magic thrumming steady. When she finally stood, brushing crumbs from her jeans, her gaze flicked back to me, just for a second, softer than before. Not trust yet. But progress.

And progress was enough—for now.