CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Lyra’s pov

Three days.

Three whole days passed without seeing him.

Not his icy blue eyes, not the gold glint of his wolf, not the way his voice could command a room—or cut through me like glass.

At first, it had been a relief. I needed space. Needed air. After everything that had come crashing down on me—finding out Ronan was my mate, the memories of Kael rising like poison again—I felt like I’d been underwater, choking on emotions too heavy to process.

But by the second day… the silence turned into noise. The kind that whispered questions. Loud ones.

Did he regret claiming me?

Was he angry?

Would he reject me now?

No. I shook the thoughts off again and again. But by the third day, I couldn't stop myself from flinching every time someone approached, hoping—fearing—it would be him.

So when a guard found me in the gardens and told me the king summoned me to the throne room, my heart nearly stopped.

I walked the hall slowly, palms sweaty, steps echoing off the cold stone floors. My reflection glanced back at me from polished walls—messy hair, pale cheeks, tired eyes.

What did he want?

When I pushed open the massive doors, he was already seated on the throne, back straight, eyes distant—until they found mine.

His gaze softened.

The room emptied quickly. Servants, guards, even Garrick— who glanced at me with a look that said “we need to talk” but I quickly looked away. They all filed out in silence until it was just him and me.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears.

I stopped several feet from him, unsure of what I was supposed to say. My lips parted, but no sound came.

He stood.

And slowly… walked toward me.

“I don’t know what exactly happened to you in Moonstone,” he said, voice low and calm, “but I imagine it wasn’t kind.”

His words took me by surprise.

Not because he spoke gently—but because he didn’t try to beat around it. He wasn’t pretending to know. He wasn’t rushing to fix it. He was… acknowledging it. And somehow, that hit harder than anything else.

He stopped just in front of me, not too close, not too far. A respectful distance. But his presence still enveloped me, warm and impossibly heavy.

His eyes studied my face, lingering on the dark circles under my eyes, the tightness in my jaw. And for a moment, he looked like he wanted to reach out. But he didn’t.

“I’m not asking for your trust,” he continued. “Not yet. But I want you to know… I’m willing to understand. To give you the time you need.”

Time. Something no one had ever truly given me.

My chest tightened.

He exhaled slowly, like this was hard for him too. “The things I’ve done… the way I’ve been trained to rule… it doesn’t come with softness. But I’m trying, Lyra. With you—I want to try.”

His gaze dropped for a moment, lashes casting shadows beneath those cold blue eyes.

“This bond,” he said, lifting his hand slightly between us, like he could feel it hanging there, invisible and yet undeniable, “I don’t fully understand it either. Not with you.”

I swallowed hard. “Then why…”

“Because I want to,” he said.

His voice was firmer now. Sure.

“I’ve spent days trying to fight it. Reason through it. Deny it.” He stepped closer. “But I can’t.”

His scent—amber and smoke and something uniquely him—wrapped around me. I hated how comforting it was. How much I’d missed it.

My breath caught.

Ronan's eyes held mine, and something deep, something unspoken, passed between us. A storm quieting for the first time in years.

“I know what I said. What I did,” he added, voice lower now. “I’ve made mistakes. I’ve been cruel. I don’t want to be that anymore. Not with you.”

There was a tremor in his voice now, almost unnoticeable—but I heard it. I felt it.

“I spent years learning to shut people out. Learning how to lead with power, not emotion. But with you…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Because he didn’t need to.

I blinked fast, but the tears still formed.

He took another step, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body.

“But I need you to understand something, Lyra,” he said, fingers gently brushing my chin, tilting it up until our eyes locked.

“You can take your time. You can hate me, scream at me, curse me if you want. I’ll earn whatever you give.”

My lips parted on a shaky breath.

“But you are not allowed to reject me.”

The words didn’t come out as a threat.

They were a vow.

A desperate, unwavering promise from someone who’d already lost too much.

My breath hitched.

“I’ll accept your fear, your walls, your silence. But not rejection. Not when the goddess carved your name into my soul.” His thumb swept gently beneath my lip, eyes darkening. “You’re mine, Lyra. And I’ll wait… but I won’t let you go.”

Heat. Pure heat.

I felt it in my face, in my chest, in my stomach.

He leaned in, his lips brushing my cheekbone.

“Not again,” he whispered. “Not ever.”

And then…

It happened.

The air shifted. Our breaths synced. My lips parted slightly, his nose brushed mine. The space between us sizzled, every inch electric. We leaned in—slowly, slowly—drawn like magnets, eyes fluttering shut.

I could taste the promise on his lips, the heat of him just a heartbeat away—

Then a voice sliced through the air like a dagger.

“Oh, how precious.”

Female. Sharp. Poisoned with venom and smug superiority.

“Didn’t take long for the stray to worm her way into my place.”

I turned sharply, breath still shallow, pulse still racing.

Standing by the door, arms folded and lips curled into a wicked smile, was none other than her.

Chloe.

The self-proclaimed queen.

And judging by the icy glare she was shooting me, it was about to get ugly.