Chapter Seven: Whispers in the Dark

The palace had not been this loud in years. It seemed every corridor hummed with whispers of the Ironfang envoy, of Alpha Garrison’s feared reputation, and of his two sons—one admired, one loathed. Elara could not take three steps without hearing her name twined with theirs, as though her future had already been placed in their hands.

She kept her head high, though her pulse betrayed her calm facade. Kieran’s voice still echoed in her skull from the night before, smooth and venomous, laced with that familiar arrogance. Her wolf growled every time she remembered his smirk. Once, she had been blind enough to love him. Once, she had trusted that smile. But not anymore.

And then there was the other one.

Darius.

The elder son. The outcast. The one whose presence had stolen the air from her lungs the moment their eyes met at the gates. Power radiated from him like heat from a fire—dangerous, consuming, yet strangely steady. Her wolf had recognized him instantly, surging to the surface, straining toward him.

Her mate.

And her enemy’s brother.

At breakfast, the court was alive with speculation. Nobles perched along the long tables, voices sharp as knives, weighing every rumor.

“They say the younger son is already half in love with the princess,” one lady whispered behind her jeweled fan.

“Half? Please. He’s here to secure an alliance through marriage.”

“And the elder one?”

“Hah! He’s nothing but a weapon. No court would let him near power.

Elara chewed slowly, forcing herself to ignore the heat of their stares. Kael nudged her from across the table, muttering, “You’ve got the whole pack gossiping already, Elara. Careful, or they’ll marry you off before you blink.”

She forced a smile. “Let them talk.”

But her father was not so easily placated. His sharp gaze lingered on her as he said, “The envoy is here under our roof. Show courtesy to Kieran. A bond between our packs could serve us all.”

Her fork clattered against the plate. She caught herself quickly, bowing her head. “Yes, Father.”

Her mother reached for her hand, gentler but no less insistent. “The boy is charming, Elara. I saw how he looked at you last night.”

Charming. If only they knew. If only they had seen his hand closing around her throat in another life, the cold smile as he delivered her to death. Elara swallowed back bile and nodded again.

She escaped the hall as soon as she could, slipping into the garden paths where the summer sun dappled leaves in gold. The air was fresher here, but no quieter—her thoughts chased her like hounds.

Her wolf paced inside her, restless. It recoiled at the memory of Kieran but hummed, alive and yearning, at the thought of Darius. The contrast was unbearable, a tug-of-war inside her chest. Every breath seemed to pull her closer to him, even when she resisted.

“Running already, Princess?”

Elara stiffened. Kieran leaned lazily against a marble column, lips curled into a smirk. He looked every inch the golden heir—polished, confident, a predator disguised in silk. “Or are you avoiding me?”

“I prefer solitude,” she said coolly, moving past him.

He caught her wrist lightly, just enough to halt her. “Come now, Elara. Don’t be cruel. We’re not enemies.” His eyes glittered with the lie. “If anything, fate seems to favor us.”

Her wolf snarled so fiercely she nearly doubled over. With effort, she yanked her hand free. “Do not touch me again.”

Kieran’s smile faltered, replaced with something colder. “You’ll come around. You always do.”

Always.

The word sliced through her. In her first life, she had. This time, she would sooner tear out his throat.

She left him there, breath unsteady, heart pounding. She needed distance. Space. Air.

And she needed—goddess help her—Darius.

The training yard lay empty, save for one figure moving through its dust and silence. Darius’s strikes against the wooden post were precise, brutal, every movement steeped in discipline. His black tunic clung to his broad shoulders, sweat gleaming against his skin. He looked less like a man and more like the embodiment of war itself.

Her wolf pressed against her ribs, desperate to draw near. Elara’s breath hitched before she could stop it.

He stilled. Slowly, he turned, golden eyes locking onto hers. A dangerous silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of recognition neither could name aloud.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low, rough. Yet there was no true dismissal in it. If anything, it sounded like a warning to himself more than to her.

Elara lifted her chin. “Why? Because your brother might see?”

His jaw tightened. “Because I don’t intend to fight a war under your roof.”

“You think war hasn’t already begun?” she countered, stepping closer. “Every smile at court is a blade waiting for my back. Your brother is already sharpening his.”

Something flickered in his gaze—approval? Respect? Desire? He turned away sharply, striking the post again. “Stay clear of him.”

Her lips curled bitterly. “You think I need your protection?”

“I think,” he said, turning back to her, voice like thunder, “you’re not nearly as safe as you believe. My brother plays games you can’t afford to lose.”

Elara’s laugh was short, humorless. “I know exactly what kind of games he plays.”

For a moment, silence hung heavy. Then Darius stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until the air between them sparked. Her wolf surged, claws out, desperate to close the gap. She felt it—his energy, raw and unyielding, reaching for her the way her soul reached for him.

“Elara,” he murmured, her name like a prayer and a curse. “Whatever this is between us…it will destroy you if you let it.”

Her breath shook. “Or save me.”

His hand twitched, as though he wanted to touch her, but he forced it back to his side. He shook his head, eyes dark. “Be careful, Princess. Some bonds burn too brightly. They leave only ash.”

Before she could answer, he strode past her, leaving the yard in silence but for the wild pounding of her heart.

That night, Elara lay awake beneath her canopy, staring at the ceiling. Her parents wanted her to charm Kieran. The court wanted her to choose security. And her wolf wanted only one man—his brother, the outcast, the danger.

She pressed her hands to her chest, feeling the thundering beat beneath. In her first life, she had been blind. She had chosen wrong. This time, she would not.

But as the moonlight spilled across her bed, Elara knew the truth: whatever path she chose, the palace would burn before it let her go easily.