Chapter Six: The Envoy’s Arrival

The palace gates had not stood this tense in years. Guards lined the walls in double ranks, spears gleaming in the afternoon sun. Banners fluttered above, the silver wolf of her family’s crest snapping in the breeze. From the balcony above the courtyard, Elara’s breath clouded faintly against the cool air. Her palms gripped the railing, hidden by the folds of her gown. She forced her shoulders back, her chin high, every inch the princess she was expected to be.

But inside, her wolf clawed against her ribs.q

Hooves thundered beyond the gates. The Ironfang envoy rode in with banners high—black cloth streaked with blood-red sigils. Her stomach churned at the sight. The last time she had seen that banner, it had flown above her home as smoke swallowed the skies.

The gates creaked open. Riders poured into the courtyard, armored and sharp-eyed. At their head rode two men.

The first, she knew before she saw his face.

Kieran.

His dark hair was tied back, his smile easy, his posture confident in a way that once charmed her to the core. His gaze swept the gathered nobles with practiced charm—until it landed on her.

For a heartbeat, Elara’s lungs forgot to work. The mark on her neck prickled, memory stabbing sharp and cruel. She remembered his lips on her skin, the way his voice had once whispered promises. She remembered the knife in her chest, his cold eyes as he let her die.

Now, here he was, alive and whole, looking at her as though he were pleased to find her waiting.

Her fingers curled around the railing hard enough to ache. She would not break. She would not show him her fury.

Beside him rode another.

Taller, broader, his presence like a shadow stretched across the courtyard. His hair was darker still, his expression unreadable, carved from steel. Unlike Kieran, he did not smile. His eyes—storm-grey, cold and sharp—lifted to the balcony.

The world tilted.

Elara’s wolf surged, a howl rising inside her chest that nearly drove her to her knees. Her heart slammed against her ribs as those grey eyes locked on hers.

The bond snapped into place.

It wasn’t like with Kieran—fragile, burning at the edges, something that had always felt slightly off though she never admitted it. This was deeper. Ancient. Her very soul pulled toward him, recognizing what her mind had yet to fully grasp.

Her true mate.

Darius.

She forced herself still, breath caught in her throat. Around her, courtiers whispered, oblivious to the storm roaring in her chest.

“Presenting the sons of Alpha Garrison,” the herald called. “Lord Kieran of Ironfang, and his elder brother, Lord Darius.”

Kieran dismounted smoothly, bowing with flourish. His eyes flicked to hers again, and the smile deepened—as if fate had brought them together once more.

The bile in her throat nearly choked her.

Darius dismounted with none of his brother’s theatrics. He moved like a predator—silent, efficient, lethal. When his boots hit the ground, the air seemed to shift, heavy with unspoken warning.

And still, his eyes found hers.

Not possessive. Not greedy. Simply steady. Knowing.

Elara’s nails dug into her palm. No. Not now. Not here.

She could not let this bond consume her. Not when the memory of betrayal still burned so raw.

she thought, why does her mate always have to be from the ironfang's clan and it had to be her enemy's brother?

Inside the grand hall, courtesies were exchanged. The King welcomed the envoy, the Queen offered warmth, Kael smirked his way through formalities. Elara sat at her mother’s side, the perfect picture of poise.

Kieran played his part well. He charmed the court with practiced ease, bowing to nobles, complimenting the palace, laughing at Kael’s sharp jests. He was everything she remembered—polished, ambitious, dangerous.

And then there was Darius.

He spoke little, only when addressed directly. His voice was low, resonant, carrying authority even in brevity. While Kieran smiled, Darius watched. Every word spoken, every shift of posture, his eyes tracked it with quiet intensity.

When his gaze brushed hers again, her wolf surged forward so violently she nearly gasped. She pressed her lips together, lowering her eyes as if studying the rim of her goblet.

“Princess Elara,” Kieran’s voice slid across the table, warm with false fondness. “I had hoped to see you today.”

Her pulse spiked. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, masking her revulsion with polite calm. “Lord Kieran,” she said smoothly. “It has been… some time since Ironfang graced our halls.”

His grin widened. “Too long, I think. But perhaps fate is kind, for it allows us to meet now.”

Her stomach twisted. Fate. He had once whispered that word to her as though it bound them. But fate had given her back her life—and she would not waste it on him again.

“Ironfang’s presence here is politics, nothing more,” she replied coolly.

The flash in his eyes was brief, but she saw it—the faint sting of her distance. Good. Let him feel it.

Across the table, Darius shifted, his gaze sliding to her with something unreadable flickering there. Not pride. Not approval. Something deeper. Her wolf leaned toward him, aching. She forced herself to sit straighter, to sip her drink as though her entire body wasn’t on fire.

When the meal ended, courtiers drifted into clusters, laughter and wine flowing. Elara excused herself, slipping into the side corridor. Her breath came hard, her pulse still unsteady.

The bond pulsed in her veins. She wanted to run, to hide, to scream.

“Princess.”

The voice stopped her cold. She turned.

Kieran stood in the shadows, smile curling his lips. He stepped closer, confidence rolling off him. “You’ve grown more beautiful since last I saw you.”

Elara’s throat tightened. “I don’t recall us ever meeting before.”

A flicker of confusion crossed his features, quickly masked by charm. “Then let us call this a first meeting, and hope it will not be the last.”

Her nails dug into her palms. She wanted to spit venom, to tear him down with every truth she carried. But she bit it back. He must not know. Not yet.

Instead, she inclined her head. “We shall see.”

She brushed past him, her pulse roaring in her ears.

And then, further down the hall, she froze.

Darius leaned against the stone archway, arms folded, his gaze fixed on her as though he had been waiting.

The bond flared so hot it nearly buckled her knees.

He did not smile. He did not move closer. He only said, voice low enough for her alone:

“You feel it too.”

Elara’s breath caught. She wanted to deny it, to flee—but her wolf howled in agreement.

Her lips parted, but no words came.

Darius pushed off the wall, stepping past her without waiting for reply. His presence lingered, heavy as a stormcloud.

And Elara stood trembling in the corridor, caught between the past that had already killed her once—and the bond that threatened to unravel her all over again.

Darius POV

She was fire.

The moment his gaze had locked on hers from the courtyard, something inside him had shifted. He had felt bonds before—family, pack, blood. But this was older, fiercer, undeniable.

The mate bond.

And it was with her.

The daughter of his father’s greatest rival. The sister of the boy his pack mocked as weak. The princess who, by every law of politics and blood, should have been off limits.

And yet his wolf snarled inside him: Mine.

He had seen her smile at others, but her eyes burned with steel. She carried herself like a queen already, though she had not yet earned the crown. And when she looked at him—just once—he knew she felt it too.

He clenched his fists.

This bond would change everything. For her. For him. For both their packs.

And when Kieran’s gaze lingered too long on her, Darius’s wolf raged.

This would not be easy. It would be war.

But war was something he knew well.

And for her, he was ready.