LOGINKaelThe door closes behind Elara, and the room feels too quiet.Not empty. Never empty when she’s near. But charged—like the air before lightning chooses where to strike.I stand where she left me, staring at the place she was standing, my mind replaying the way her hand drifted to her stomach without her realizing it. The way her wolf turned inward. The way my instincts shifted into something I still don’t have a word for.Heir.That was the word that used to matter.That was the reason I accepted her.Garrick brought her to me as an offering. A solution. A way to secure my line without emotion or complication. I didn’t question it much at the time. I needed an heir. My curse made that almost impossible. Elara was presented as a body, not a person.And I let myself think of her that way.Not cruelly. Not deliberately.But carelessly.I drag a hand over my face and let out a slow breath.She was supposed to be a means to an end.Instead, she became the end.Mate.The word hits harder
ElaraI’ve rehearsed the words a dozen times in my head.None of them sound real enough to survive being spoken aloud.Kael stands in front of me now, broad shoulders tense, golden eyes fixed on my face with the kind of focus he usually reserves for battlefields and breaking points. He still carries the weight of the war room—strategy clinging to him like armor—but the moment his gaze locks on mine, all of that sharpness turns inward.Toward me.“Tell me,” he says quietly.I swallow.My hand drifts to my stomach again, the motion so instinctive it startles me. I don’t remember deciding to do it. My body just… knows.“Tiberius spoke to me,” I begin. “He sensed something. An additional royal presence.”Kael’s jaw tightens. “I assumed that meant your awakening.”“So did I,” I admit. “At first.”I force myself to meet his eyes.“He asked me how far along I was.”The words land between us, fragile and devastating.Kael doesn’t move. Not a muscle. But the air around him changes, pressure ti
KaelThe war room smells like iron and smoke and old stone—familiar, grounding, useless.I’ve been pacing the length of the table for too long, boots grinding against the floor in a steady rhythm that mirrors the pressure building behind my eyes. Maps are spread before me, weighted down with daggers and carved stones marking borders, patrol routes, weak points. Lines. Plans. Strategies.None of them account for the Veil tearing open inside my own walls.Ronin stands near the table, arms crossed, watching me with the patience of a beta who knows his Alpha is two seconds away from snapping or deciding something irreversible. Two of my captains sit on opposite sides, silent, waiting. Lucian lingers near the doorway, unreadable as ever.I stop pacing and stab a finger into the eastern edge of the map.“They didn’t come through the border,” I say. “They came around it. Which means someone knew exactly where to thin the wards.”Ronin nods. “Agreed. We’ve checked the outer sentries twice. No
TiberiusI feel it before I see her.It’s subtle at first—a pressure change in the air, the way a storm announces itself long before the clouds roll in. Royal blood does that. It bends the world just enough for those of us born to sense it to notice.But this time… it’s wrong.Not wrong as in dangerous.Wrong as in more.I pause in the corridor outside the inner garden, one hand resting against the stone wall. My wolf stirs uneasily, not in warning, but in recognition. My pulse slows as I let myself listen—not with ears, but with the part of me tied to lineage and old power.There it is again.Elara.And something else.Something new.My breath stills.That shouldn’t be possible. Royal bloodlines don’t multiply quietly. They announce themselves with earthquakes, wars, omens written in fire across the sky. A second presence—small, contained, folded inward—doesn’t make sense.Unless…Goddess above.I straighten slowly, every piece of the puzzle snapping into place with unsettling clarit
ElaraI don’t say the word.I don’t even let myself think it at first.Because once you name a thing like that, it becomes real in a way you can’t undo. It takes shape. It demands choices. It draws eyes.And right now, the last thing Elara needs is the weight of certainty pressing down on her.So I do what I’ve always done best.I observe.I calculate.I prepare.She’s sitting on the edge of the low bench by the window, shoulders drawn in, hands resting over her stomach like they belong there. The motion isn’t dramatic. It isn’t panicked.It’s instinct.That’s what sets my wolf on edge.Elara has always moved like someone surviving—reacting to danger, bracing for impact, flinching before the blow ever landed. This is different. This is quiet. Purposeful. Protective.I lean against the stone wall across from her, arms crossed, forcing myself to keep space between us even though every part of me wants to close it.“Tell me exactly what you’re feeling,” I say.She lifts her head, meeting
ElaraI don’t realize something is wrong at first.That’s the strangest part.The corridor smells like smoke and cold stone and the faint metallic echo of lightning. Wolves move around us in tight, controlled patterns—repairing wards, murmuring to one another, pretending not to stare at me the way they always do now. Like I’m something fragile and volatile all at once.Kael walks beside me, close but not crowding, his presence a steady weight at my shoulder. Ronin has already peeled off to bark orders, his voice sharp and familiar in a way that almost makes this feel normal.Almost.I take three steps.Then four.And then my vision tilts—not enough to knock me down, just enough to make the world feel… softer. Blurred at the edges. Like I’ve stepped half a heartbeat out of sync with everything else.I stop.Kael stops instantly.“Elara?” His voice is low, careful. Not alarmed yet, but tuned to me in a way that makes it impossible to hide anything for long.“I’m fine,” I say automatical







