All Chapters of His Mate, His Enemy: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

SAPHRA'S POVEira turns away from the table and shuffles toward a wooden chest in the corner of her shelter. The lid creaks loudly when she lifts it.Inside are bundles of old scrolls tied with faded ribbons.Carefully, she pulls one out.The parchment looks ancient, thin and brittle with age, the edges curled and darkened.She carries it back to the table and slowly unrolls it.Symbols cover the surface, hundreds of them.My brows draw together.“I’ve never seen writing like that before.”Eira smooths the parchment with her palms.“Of course you haven’t.” Her voice is calm.Before I can ask anything else, she begins speaking.The words flow from her mouth in a soft, rhythmic pattern.Strange..... musical..... completely unfamiliar.And yet my breath catches.Because I understand it.Every word.Perfectly.My mouth falls open.“How…?”Eira pauses mid-sentence.Her eyes twinkle with quiet amusement.The words she spoke still echo in my mind clearly.They sound ancient.Powerful.But so

SAPHRA'S POV I return the very next day and Eira makes me sit on the floor at the center of the room. The wooden boards beneath me are cool through the thin fabric of my clothes, and the scent of burning herbs curls softly through the shelter. I cross my legs reluctantly. “Is this necessary?” I mutter. Eira ignores the complaint entirely. She moves slowly around the room, adjusting small clay bowls filled with herbs and crushed leaves. Smoke rises in pale threads that twist through the air like ghosts. “Close your eyes,” she says. “I’d rather not.” “Close them.” I sigh loudly. “If this is another riddle lesson...” “Close them, Saphra.” Something in her tone makes my sarcasm die before it reaches my tongue. I close my eyes. “Good,” she murmurs. I hear the rustle of fabric as she sits somewhere in front of me. “Now breathe.” “I am breathing.” “Not like that.” A long pause. Then she demonstrates. “In through your nose. Slow.” I inhale. The scent of herbs fills my

SAPHRA'S POV The tower corridors are never truly quiet. Even in the late hours, when most of the pack sleeps, the ancient stone seems to breathe with its own life. Torches crackle softly along the walls, casting long shadows that stretch across the cold floor like dark fingers. Tonight, the silence feels heavier. Every step I take echoes too loudly. I pull my cloak tighter around myself as I move through the dim hallway, trying to look like someone with a purpose instead of someone sneaking back to her room after yet another forbidden trip outside the territory. My nerves are already raw. The guards searching the forest earlier still linger in my mind. Their voices. Their threats. I force the thought away and turn down a narrower corridor that leads toward the servant quarters and then to the towers. Just a few more turns and I’ll be back in my room. Then I can breathe. Then I can think. I round the corner and stop abruptly. Someone steps out of the shadows. “Going somew

SAPHRA'S POVThe moment I reach the edge of the palace grounds, I start running.My lungs burn with every breath as I sprint across the courtyard, my boots slamming against the stone path. The towering walls of the palace rise above me like a fortress of dark stone, windows glowing with warm torchlight against the deepening night.Dinner.The thought hits me like lightning.If Joren is planning for Lucien to die soon… if he already gave me poison…Then there’s a chance he doesn’t trust me to finish the job.There’s a chance he planned something else.My heart pounds harder.A backup plan.I shove open the palace doors and race inside.The guards at the entrance shout something as I rush past them, but I don’t stop.The palace corridors stretch endlessly before me, lit by rows of flickering torches. My footsteps echo loudly against the stone walls as I sprint deeper into the building.Then down the long hall leading toward the dining chamber.My legs ache, but I push harder.I’m too la

SAPHRA'S POVThe summons spreads through the palace like wildfire.Justice.The word passes from mouth to mouth, from corridor to courtyard, drawing pack members toward the throne room with a gravity no one dares ignore.By the time I arrive, the chamber is already filling.Every member of the pack seems to be here.Warriors in armour, servants clutching their aprons nervously, council members whispering among themselves. Everyone waits.The air feels tight with tension.At the far end of the chamber, raised upon a broad platform of dark stone, sits the throne.Lucien occupies it like he was carved for the seat.He sits straight-backed, one arm resting casually on the carved armrest shaped like a wolf’s head. Dark clothing drapes over his broad frame, the fabric stark against the pale stone behind him.He doesn’t move or speak but the authority radiating from him fills the entire room.His eyes sweep slowly across the gathered crowd, and conversations die instantly beneath the weight o