CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lyra's pov

I wasn’t sure what I expected when Garrick said he’d show me “a bit of fun.” But sneaking through castle hallways in the dead of night like two unruly pups on the run? Definitely not that.

“Shh!” I whisper-shrieked, trying—and failing—not to laugh as he tiptoed dramatically across the hallway, barefoot, holding a stolen key like it was a sacred artifact.

“Relax,” Garrick whispered over his shoulder, grinning like a little boy. “No one’s going to catch us.”

“That’s exactly what someone who’s about to get caught says.”

“I’ve done this before.”

“Oh, that’s comforting,” I deadpanned, walking lightly behind him. “You’re a professional criminal. Should I be concerned?”

He shot me a cheeky smile. “Only if you’re planning on ratting me out, mouse.”

I rolled my eyes at the nickname but couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. It had been such a long, miserable day—yet somehow, right now, with the moonlight casting silver streaks across the floors and Garrick leading me into “forbidden territory”, I didn’t feel tired. Or broken. Or… whatever I’d felt before bumping into Elias.

I felt alive.

He stopped at a door tucked behind the main pantry—a small, inconspicuous thing I would’ve passed a hundred times without ever guessing it led to the main part of the kitchen. With a quiet click, the key turned, and the door creaked open.

“After you,” he whispered, giving an exaggerated bow.

I stepped inside, heart fluttering.

The kitchen was dark, save for the faint glow of embers still burning in the large fire. Shadows danced along the stone walls, and the scent of roasted meat and spices still lingered in the air. It was warm and quiet and—most importantly—empty.

“You actually did it,” I whispered, amazed.

“Told you,” he said smugly, closing the door behind us. “Now… let’s eat.”

He moved with surprising ease, pulling open a cupboard to reveal a stash of bread loaves and jars of honey. My stomach rumbled just from the sight.

“Catch,” he said, tossing me an apple.

I fumbled it—of course—and it bounced off my fingers and rolled across the floor.

“Okay, maybe not the most coordinated,” he teased, already peeling one for himself.

“I’m running on fumes,” I said, laughing softly as I chased the rebellious apple. “You try scrubbing ancient armor and hauling laundry all day with no food and see how well you catch things.”

“I’d rather die,” he said dramatically, flopping into a chair and throwing his arm over his eyes like some tragic heroine.

I snorted.

“Don’t tempt me,” I said, sitting opposite him.

We ate like thieves—greedy and grateful. Bread covered with honey, leftover roasted chicken, sweet red apples, and even some cold berry tarts we found in the corner cooling box. I didn’t even care that it was probably against the rules to touch those.

“Gods,” I groaned after the first few bites, sinking into the chair. “This is the best thing I’ve eaten in months.”

“Don’t let the head cook hear you say that,” Garrick said, his mouth full. “She’ll murder you with a spoon.”

I laughed again, louder this time. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so much in one night. Probably never since arriving here.

It felt… dangerous.

But also kind of wonderful.

“So,” Garrick said, leaning back, licking honey off his thumb, “what did little miss rogue Lyra do before she ended up here? Before your epic rejection plot twist.”

I raised a brow. “We’re sharing our tragic backstories now?”

He shrugged. “It’s what all the best criminals do during late-night kitchen raids.”

I took a bite of tart, chewing slowly. “Well, I… I didn't have much of a life there. The low born, omega with a ghost of a wolf, born of a scandalous affair between a noble and maid who died giving birth to her. I was a bad omen all my life.”

He remained silent.

I let out a bitter laugh. “I used to wonder why my father let me live. He should have let them kill me as a child.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, looking both puzzled and disturbed.

I looked at him equally confused. “Isn't that a thing here? Children who kill their mothers during child birth are evil.”

“What?!” He exclaimed.

“Shh!” I panicked, placing my hand over his mouth so no one hears him. “Are you insane? What if someone hears you?”

“I'm sorry.” He said, voice muffled behind my palm then he gently pulled it away. “I'm sorry about that. It's just… that's absurd. Kill? Kill pups? How's it their fault if their mother died?”

I swallowed. I guess it wasn't a thing here.

A dark expression clouded his face then he looked at me with that strange look. “Moonstone people are sick. But Lyra, I'm glad your father didn't let them kill you and henceforth I want you to stop thinking that way. Understand?”

I felt something flutter low in my stomach. No one has even been this nice to me, it all felt likea dream. With a small, genuine smile on my face I replied, “I understand.”

That boyish, cute smile grew on his face as well. “Good. Now, forget about the bad stuff. There has to be at least one good thing that happened to you back there.”

I thought for a moment. “There was actually. There was an old woman, Maria, she had been the midwife to deliver my me from my mother. She ran a healer's hut back then and used to invit em over after dark when she taught me about herbs and tonics.”

My smile turned sad, “She also taught me a lot of things about the moon goddess and some other myths she beloved in. I didn't believe in them but I enjoyed her teachings, it helped distract me from the pains in my life. That was the closet person to a mother I had in my life. She passed a few years ago and I miss her dearly.”

He looked genuinely intrigued. “You’re a healer?”

“Not formally,” I said. “But I know enough to make you stop whining if you twist your ankle.”

He chuckled. “Remind me to keep you close during training.”

“Training?” I asked, confused.

He waved it off. “Never mind. You’ll see.”

I narrowed my eyes, but he just smiled like he had a secret he wasn’t ready to share.

“And what about you?” I asked, tilting my head. “What’s your story, Mr. Royal beta?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Not that interesting. Born and raised in Shadowfang. Trained to be a warrior since I could walk. Grew up under a father who believed emotions were weakness. You know, typical childhood trauma.”

I gave him a mock pity look. “So tragic.”

“Right?” he said, hand to chest. “Someone should write a story about me.”

We burst into laughter again, and for a moment, it was just us—no kingdoms, no power struggles, no titles or tasks or cruelty. Just two people stealing time, like it belonged to us.

At some point, Garrick got up to mimic the head cook, putting on a terrible high-pitched voice and scolding me for “messing up her perfect spice rack.” I was crying with laughter by the time he started miming throwing stones at imaginary rats.

Then it happened.

He looked at me.

Really looked.

And something shifted.

His laughter faded into a softer smile, one that made my heart stutter.

“You should smile more,” he said quietly. “You have a… brightness in you. I don’t see it often. But when it comes out… it’s like the sun breaking through clouds.”

I blinked.

Words stuck in my throat, tangled with warmth and confusion.

Why did he keep saying things like that? Why did he look at me like that?

“Garrick, I—”

Throat. Cleared. Loudly.

We both froze.

Like criminals caught in the middle of a stealing.

Technically we were.

Slowly, we turned toward the source of the sound.

A tall shadow stood by the kitchen entrance, arms crossed, golden eyes glinting in the firelight.

Ronan.

The King.

Shit.