ELYSIA’S POVDanearo did not let me out of his sight.Not after the chandelier. Not after the whispers of curses and heirs.“You will not leave my chamber,” he said at last, voice low, final. “Not until I decide whether to kill you or keep you.” He ordered, pacing like a caged wolf.“I will see every breath you take.”It wasn’t protection. It was imprisonment. And yet, part of me wondered if Hazel’s shadows could have reached me anywhere else.The hall buzzed with whispers of the feast, of omens and curses. But louder still was Kayla’s voice.She swept into the chamber without waiting to be summoned, Hazel a shadow at her side. Kayla bowed low to Danearo, her hand pressed against her stomach like a trophy.“Alpha,” she said brightly, “the healers insist my condition is stable. Your heir is safe.”I stiffened where I sat, clutching the edge of the furs.Danearo’s gaze flicked to her hand. “Is that so.”“Yes.” Kayla’s smile was sweet poison. “Though the fall of that chandelier… if the g
ELYSIA’S POVThe Great Hall glittered like a jeweled snare. Torches flared in their iron sconces, banners hung heavy from the rafters, and the long tables groaned beneath platters of venison, pheasant, and steaming bread. But beneath the surface splendor, the air pulsed with hunger of a different kind.Kayla shone at the center of it, basking in every stolen glance, every whisper. She let her hand rest conspicuously against her stomach, her smile sweet enough to sour milk. Around her, wolves muttered about heirs, about alliances, about curses undone.Hazel sat beside her, too quiet, her smile too sharp. Every so often her fingers brushed the rim of her goblet, tracing invisible patterns that made my skin crawl. No one else saw. No one else felt it. But I did. Each curve of her fingertip stitched a thread of shadow into the hall.Danearo sat at the head of the table, black and gold like a storm given flesh. He said nothing as the wine flowed, as Kayla laughed, as Killian prowled among
ELYSIA’S POVThe morning smelled of pine smoke and simmering soup. Someone had set fresh linen by the bed; the cloth felt too clean against the sour-film of my skin. The healers fussed around me like anxious birds, pulling at blankets, tucking in knees, smoothing hair. I moved like a puppet whose strings had been yanked.When Danearo entered, he wore armor beneath his cloak though he had not been summoned to battle. The heaviness of it made him look even more like a thing carved from night: unyielding, inevitable.“Would you rather a repeat of last time?.” He said after spotting the untouched food. His voice was not a suggestion.I did as I was told, forced porridge down my throat until my stomach burned. He watched the slow mechanics of me swallowing like a man who was learning the map of a new land.He did not leave when the healers retreated. Killian arrived half an hour later, all silk and smiles that never reached his eyes. He kept his distance at first, bowing with the practiced
ELYSIA’S POVThe days blurred together, dripping past like blood from an unhealed wound.I woke. I slept. I bled. I healed.Or at least, that was what the healers whispered — that my body had “mended better than expected.” I wanted to laugh in their faces. What good was a body that healed if the soul inside it begged to end?I lost count after three. Or maybe it was four.Time had no meaning inside Danearo’s chamber. My world was reduced to firelight, heavy furs that pressed down like chains, and the sharp ache that pulsed in my stomach with every breath.The healers called it a miracle. “You were lucky,” they whispered, their hands smelling of herbs and smoke as they pressed bandages against me.Lucky.If I had been lucky, I would have died.Instead, I woke each morning — if it was morning at all — and stared at the stone ceiling while the whispers outside the door leaked in through the cracks. “Cursed thing.”“She tried to cut herself open before the pack.”“He should’ve let her bl
ELYSIA’S POVThe knife sank deep.For one breathtaking second, there was silence.Then pain — hot, sharp, spreading like fire through my stomach. My fingers slipped from the hilt. My knees weakened. The hall swam.Gasps rang out, chairs scraped, voices shouted. But above them all came one sound, tearing through the rafters:A roar.Danearo’s roar.It shook my bones even as my body sagged forward. His arms caught me before I hit the floor, the heat of him overwhelming, the iron grip of his hands forcing me against him as blood poured between us.“Elysia!” His voice was raw, guttural, half-human, half-wolf. “No. No, you don’t.”My vision blurred. I saw torches sway, wolves’ wide eyes, mouths frozen in shock. Someone muttered, “She’d rather die…” Another whispered, “The curse is real.”“I said quiet!” Danearo bellowed, his fury crashing over them. His hands pressed hard against the wound, but more blood welled through his fingers. His jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth would break
DANEARO'S POVThe grand feasting hall was loud with clamor — wolves laughing, tearing meat from bone, raising goblets — but every sound rang hollow in my ears. The fire burned bright, yet none of its warmth reached me. Not while the whispers swirled around her.Elysia.She moved as though walking to her execution, her steps hesitant, shoulders taut, eyes lowered. When we entered, I laid my hand against her back, guiding her forward.“Come,” I murmured, not a suggestion but a command. “Sit with me.”She stiffened. Just for a breath. My fingers tightened against her spine, a reminder that hesitation had no place here. She swallowed, obeying.I sat at the head of the table, as was my right, and gestured toward the seat beside me. “Sit.”She stepped forward, but before she could lower herself, I pulled her onto my lap.Her gasp cut through the hall.The murmurs stopped. Every wolf’s head turned. Their gazes were knives, some filled with envy, others with doubt.I held her there, one arm lo