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Chapter 27 — The Eve of Eighteen
Huling Na-update:
2025-12-29 14:15:58Briar packs like she’s annoyed at her own happiness.
It’s honestly impressive. She folds clothes too sharply. Tightens straps too hard. Muttering the whole time like the palace personally insulted her bloodline, except every few seconds her hands pause, just briefly, like her body is trying to remember how to be excited without getting caught. Tessa sits cross legged on her bed, practically glowing. “You found your mate,” she whispers again, like saying it enough times will make it feel even more real. “Briar. You actually found him.” Briar shoots her a glare that’s missing its usual venom. “Stop saying it like it’s a fairytale.” Tessa grins wider. “It is a fairytale. You’re just a grumpy princess in it.” “I’m not.” Briar starts, then stops, because she has no argument that doesn’t require admitting she’s… pleased. I stand and lean against the desk, arms folded, watching her shov
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The Lullaby of Wolfbane Chapter 44 — The Choice They Gave Me
I don’t remember the walk back. I remember pieces, my boots hitting stone too hard, the cold air slicing my lungs, my cloak snagging on a nail and the sound making me flinch like it was a scream. I remember the package in my hands, heavier than it should be, like it’s filled with lead instead of poison. And I remember my bond. Still taut. Still pulsing. Adrian alive. Close enough to feel, far enough to not reach. That thread is the only thing keeping me upright. If it snapped… I think I would too. I use the corridor Lia showed me, the one that lets you move like a ghost through royal wings. I don’t go to my room. I don’t go to Adrian’s. I go straight to the clinic because Melody is the only person in this palace who can look at horror and immediately start turning it into solutions. The moment I push through the clinic doors, the brightness hits me like a slap. Clean white walls. Neat shelves. The illusion of control. Melody is at a desk with papers spread in front of her. S
The Lullaby of Wolfbane Chapter 43 — Blood at the Candlelit Table
The abandoned building looks like nothing from the outside, just a gutted shell on the edge of the capital’s older district, windows boarded, stone dark with soot and age. The kind of place the palace pretends doesn’t exist. Inside, candlelight flickers. Not scattered. Arranged. A long table sits in the center of the open floor like someone is hosting a dinner party in a ruin, candles in uneven clusters, wax spilling down glass holders, flames bending in drafts that slip through cracked boards. Boxes of takeaway food are laid out with absurd care, lids folded back like a feast is about to begin. My boots scrape over dust and splintered wood. My wolf presses forward, teeth bared. Because I can smell them. Not one. Not two. Many. Hidden in the dark rafters. Behind broken pillars. Down the hall to my left where a doorway has collapsed. They’re holding still, controlling their breathing, but they can’t hide what they are from a wolf who’s finally awake. And underneath it all, like a
The Lullaby of Wolfbane Chapter 42 — Bars and Bloodlines
Morning comes in pieces, warmth first, then weight, then the faint ache in my thighs that makes my wolf purr smugly before my mind even catches up. Adrian is half propped against the headboard, sheet low on his hips, hair mussed in a way the palace never gets to see. One hand idly traces along my shoulder as if he’s memorizing the shape of me in daylight. I should feel embarrassed. I don’t. I feel… claimed. Safe. Sated. Like the world can scream outside these doors and it still can’t get in unless he opens them. He leans down and presses a slow kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be gone today,” he says. The words snap me awake fully. I lift my head off his chest. “Gone where?” His eyes don’t soften, Adrian’s eyes rarely do, but the tension underneath him shifts into something sharper, more focused. “Rogue movement,” he says. “Scouts reported a pattern. We think they’re probing the outer routes, looking for weak points. We’re intercepting.” My stomach drops as if the bed tilts. “
The Lullaby of Wolfbane Chapter 41 — The Queen’s Room
The hallway to the royal infirmary feels like a different wing of the palace, same marble, same gold-trimmed doors, same guards standing like statues, yet the air is wrong. It smells like boiled herbs and hot cloth and something thin and metallic underneath, like sickness has soaked into the stone itself. Adrian walks beside me, close without touching. His presence is a steady pressure at my side, quiet, controlled, watchful. The King leads us. He’s regained his posture, but not his ease. I can see it in his shoulders, in the way his jaw tightens like he’s bracing for a blow he’s taken before. Two guards open the doors. We step inside. The Queen’s chambers are dim, curtains drawn to a dull gray light. A low fire burns, more for comfort than warmth. Chairs sit near the bed like people have been rotating through them, keeping watch in shifts. And there she is. Not the Luna from the portraits. Those paintings show a woman carv
The Lullaby of Wolfbane Chapter 40 — The King Who Couldn’t Breathe
The palace corridors feel narrower at night. Not physically, nothing in this place is built to feel small but emotionally, like the walls have learned to listen and the doors have learned to swallow words.Adrian walks beside me, quiet and coiled, his hand occasionally brushing the small of my back in those brief, grounding touches he pretends are purely directional. The bond hums low between us: not heat anymore, not fire, something steadier. A tether.Logan’s escort splits off at the entrance to the inner council wing. We’re taken through a side passage lined with guards and cold stone, and I can feel my heartbeat trying to climb my throat.“You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to,” Adrian says without looking at me.I glance up at him. “That’s not true and you know it.”His mouth tightens, almost a smile, not quite. “Then speak carefully.”We reach the doors to the King’s war room. I expect ceremony. Announcements. A hera
The Lullaby of Wolfbane Chapter 39 — Blood Doesn’t Decide Me
Adrian’s chambers are quiet in the way only guarded places can be quiet, but never relaxed. The fire is low. The curtains are half drawn. The air still smells faintly of smoke and steel and him, but now there’s something else layered into it too: aftermath.Garden blood washed from stone. A rogue dragged in chains. My mother smiling like she won a prize. I pace anyway, because my body still thinks movement can outrun fear. When the door finally opens, I don’t wait for him to speak. “Adrian.”He turns fully toward me, and I see it immediately, tension in his shoulders, clipped control in the set of his jaw. He’s been doing guardian work. Threat work.His eyes sweep over me in one fast scan. “Are you hurt?”“No,” I say too quickly, because if I start with what hurts I might never stop. “I went to Melody.” That makes him still. Not alarmed, focused. “What did she say?” he asks. I stop pacing
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