Chapter 21: Confessions Under the Stars

(Penny’s POV)

The journey back to Silverfang Hold felt longer than the entire trip to the marshes combined.

They carried Genesis on the stretcher the whole way? four warriors rotating shifts so no one tired. I walked beside him every step, one hand always on his, the other pressing fresh cloths to the worst of his wounds when the bleeding started again. The healers had met us halfway, two older women with stern faces and satchels full of herbs and salves. They worked on him while we moved: stitching, packing, muttering low incantations that smelled like cedar smoke and something metallic.

He drifted in and out.

Sometimes his eyes opened, unfocused, fever-bright, and found mine.

“Still here?” he’d rasp.

“Still here,” I’d answer, squeezing his hand.

He’d try to smile. Fail. Drift again.

The scarred man, Torren, Genesis’s half-brother from a different mother, walked beside me most of the way. He didn’t speak much, but when he did, it was blunt.

“The king will want to see her,” he said once, nodding at me. “Immediately.”

“I know.”

“He won’t like that she’s been… traveling with his son. Unclaimed.”

I met his gaze without flinching. “Then he can talk to me himself.”

Torren studied me for a long moment.

“You’re not what I expected.”

“Good.”

He almost smiled. Almost.

We reached the hold at dusk on the third day.

The gates opened without challenge. Torches flared along the walls. People lined the paths, silent, watching. Whispers followed us like wind through dry leaves.

They carried Genesis straight to the infirmary, a long stone hall lined with cots and herb racks. The healers took over fully there, shooing everyone out except me.

I refused to leave.

One of them, an older woman with silver braids, looked me over, then nodded once.

“Stay. He asks for you even in fever.”

They stripped away the blood-soaked bandages. Cleaned. Stitched. Poured bitter-smelling potions down his throat. I held his hand the whole time, murmuring nonsense, things like “You’re not allowed to die on me” and “I still owe you for that bear” and “Don’t make me write your death scene, I hate tragic endings.”

His fever broke sometime after midnight.

The healers left us alone.

I pulled a stool close to his cot. Rested my forehead on the edge of the mattress, still holding his hand.

He stirred near dawn.

Fingers twitched in mine.

I lifted my head.

His eyes were open, clearer now. Tired. But him.

“Penny.”

“Hey.”

He tried to sit up. Winced. Gave up.

“You look like hell,” I said.

“You should see yourself.”

I laughed, soft, watery.

He lifted his free hand, slow, careful, and brushed my cheek. Thumb catching a tear I hadn’t realized was there.

“Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying. I’m… leaking. From exhaustion. And relief. And maybe a little terror.”

He smiled, weak, but real.

“I thought I lost you back there.”

“You almost did.”

He swallowed. “Kael—”

“Is dead. You finished him.”

“Good.”

Silence settled, soft, heavy.

Then he spoke again, voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t want you to go.”

I closed my eyes.

“I know.”

“I mean it. Not just because you’re the Luna. Not because of prophecy. Because…” He exhaled. “Because when I’m with you, the throne doesn’t feel like chains. The pack doesn’t feel like duty. It feels like… possibility.”

My throat tightened.

“I’ve spent my whole life running from what I was supposed to be,” he continued. “From my father’s plans. From the claim I never wanted. But with you… I don’t want to run anymore.”

I opened my eyes. Met his.

“I’m scared,” I admitted. “Of staying. Of what it means. Of losing everything I knew.”

“I know.”

“But I’m more scared of leaving you.”

His hand tightened on mine.

“Then stay.”

I laughed, shaky. “It’s not that simple.”

“It could be.”

I leaned forward. Rested my forehead against his.

“I need time.”

“You have it.”

“Genesis…”

“Whatever you choose,” he murmured, “I won’t hate you for it. I’ll hate the world that forced the choice. But never you.”

Tears slipped free then, hot, silent.

He wiped them away with his thumb.

“Rest,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I climbed onto the narrow cot beside him, careful of the bandages, careful of the stitches. Curled against his side, head on his shoulder, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

He wrapped his good arm around me.

We lay there under the stars visible through the high infirmary window, tiny points of light in the vast dark.

And for the first time since waking in that forest, I didn’t feel trapped.

I felt held.

The king would come tomorrow.

The claim would be demanded.

The choice would be forced.

But tonight, tonight was ours.

And under the stars, with his heartbeat under my ear, I let myself imagine, for just a moment—what staying might feel like.

Not as a Luna.

Not as a prophecy.

Just as Penny.

With Genesis.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.