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Elsa’s POV

Getting back from the clinic was pure hell. Every step made me want to scream, like someone had shoved shards of glass into my bones. My legs shook like they didn’t belong to me anymore, my stomach throbbed, and between my thighs, it felt like fire had ripped me apart. I was barely stitched back together and already being forced to walk. The midwives kept offering to take the babies for me, but no. No one was touching them. They were mine. The only good thing left in this whole cursed mess.

I held all three close against my chest, breathing in that newborn smell, milk and warmth and something so pure it made my eyes sting. Their little breaths puffed against my skin, tiny fists brushing my collarbone like they were holding on for dear life. Maybe they were. Maybe we all were.

By the time I reached my chamber, I was half-dead on my feet. My knees nearly gave out when I lowered myself onto the bed. Every muscle screamed. My back, my legs, even my arms from holding the boys too tight. I felt ruined. But I had them. That was all that mattered.

One of them whimpered, a soft squeak that shattered me. I kissed the top of his head and rocked him gently, whispering through my cracked lips. “Shhh, you’re safe. Mama’s here. I’ve got you, my love.”

My voice sounded broken, hoarse, like I hadn’t spoken in years. They didn’t care. They burrowed into me, warm and trusting, as if I was the only world they needed. Gods, I loved them so much already it was painful.

Then the door slammed open.

I jolted hard, clutching my babies tighter. My whole body went rigid.

Riguel walked in like he owned the air I was breathing. Broad shoulders, dark eyes, lips pressed in that line he wore when he was plotting something. Except this time it wasn’t just his presence that made me sick. He smelled. Not like sweat or dirt, but perfume. Mira’s perfume. My stomach twisted. I expected it, but still I hoped he would at least bother to wash her off before coming here.

I waited for something human on his face. A smile. Relief. A flicker of pride or love. Something to prove I hadn’t been a fool all these years. But there was nothing.

His eyes went straight to the babies, and what I saw in them wasn’t warmth. It was hunger. Calculation. Triumph. Like he was looking at weapons he’d forged with his own hands.

“Three sons,” he said, voice flat, but the curve of his mouth made bile rise in my throat. “Perfect. The pack will fall in line now.”

The pack. Not our family. Not even his children. Just power.

I stared at him, heart breaking piece by piece. “Don’t you want to hold them?” My voice cracked, desperate and pathetic.

He glanced at me like I was nothing. “They’ll be presented tomorrow. Keep them quiet until then.”

Keep them quiet. Like they were mere puppies. Not sons. Not flesh of his flesh.

Something inside me snapped, sharp and cold. All the tiny threads of hope I’d clung to, hope that fatherhood might change him, hope that the man I thought I married was still buried somewhere inside, burned to ashes.

“I heard you,” I whispered.

That got his attention. His head whipped toward me, eyes narrowing, dangerous.

My chest squeezed, but I kept going. “On the phone. With the midwife. I heard everything you said to Mira.”

For a moment I thought he’d deny it, spin some lie. He was good at lying. But then he smiled. Smiled.

“Good. I’m tired of pretending.”

The words hit harder than any blow. My hands shook, but I tightened my hold on my sons, shielding them from his shadow.

“Mira?” The name clawed out of my throat, bitter and ugly. “My own step-sister?”

“She’s my mate,” he said, like it was obvious, like he hadn’t just ripped my heart in half. “You were chosen for breeding. And you delivered. Three heirs. Which means the throne is mine without question.”

I couldn’t breathe. My ears rang. “You used me,” I whispered, tears finally spilling hot down my face. “Everything we had, was it all fake?”

“Not fake. It's a strategy.” He stepped closer, the air around him thick with dominance. I shrank back instinctively, my body trembling. “You should be grateful, Elsa. Do you know how many she-wolves would die for the honor of being Luna? You got the crown because I allowed it. Nothing more.”

“Be a grateful woman!” He growled.

I broke down. Completely. The sobs ripped out of me, ugly and loud, shaking me until the babies squirmed and started crying too. My tears soaked their blankets. Every memory, every whispered promise, every night I thought I was cherished, it all crumbled into dust.

“You lied,” I gasped between sobs. “Every time you said you loved me…”

“I said what you needed to hear,” he cut in coldly. “It worked. You gave me sons.”

Sons. That’s all I was worth. A womb. A body.

I sobbed harder, clutching the boys so tight I was afraid I might hurt them. My babies. My only truth in this nightmare. I kissed each tiny forehead, whispering through broken breaths. “I’ll protect you. I promise. I won’t let him hurt you.”

He watched me fall apart like I was nothing more than noise. Then, with a cruel little smirk, he turned and left. Just like that. No hesitation. No care.

The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed was worse than his words. It was just me and my sons and the sound of all of us crying.

I rocked them gently, pressing their small faces to my chest, tears running down endlessly. I was shattered, but I wasn’t finished. I couldn’t be.

He thought I was his vessel. His pawn.

But I wasn’t just a Luna.

I was their mother.

And I would protect them, no matter what it cost me.