Semua Bab The Price Of Fate: Bab 291 - Bab 300

Ronan’s POVSpiro’s warning stayed with me long after we left his room. ‘Brace yourself, Alpha.’ Three words. Calmly spoken. Almost amused. Almost mocking. Not enough disrespect for me to call it insult, but enough truth beneath it to sit under my skin like a blade that had not yet been pulled free. I did not look back when the door closed behind us. I did not give the guards the satisfaction of seeing anything on my face. I did not let my jaw tighten too hard or my hand curl into a fist where anyone could read it. Spiro was still behind that door, still too calm for a dragon sitting in guarded accommodation inside a wolf pack that did not know what to do with him. He had smiled at me like he knew things about the Outlands that my wolf would hate learning.He was right. That was the worst part. The Outlands would not welcome me. Not as Ronan Whitewolf. Not as Alpha. Not as Nyra’s mate. Especially not as Nyra’s mate. A wolf bonded to a dragon-blooded princess of House Viremont. A wolf

Ronan’s POVNyra’s hand in mine trembled once, then stilled. Through the bond came something that nearly broke my anger open. Not gratitude exactly. Something deeper. Relief. Pain. Love. She had defended herself. She could defend herself. But there were wounds that came from having to do it every time alone. She was not alone now.The elder looked down. After a moment, his voice came again, smaller. “What will happen to us?”There it was. The child inside the elder. The honest fear beneath the unfair demand. What will happen to us? I looked at him, then at Jorren, Barrow, Maelin, Ingrid, my mother, Ethan. I saw leaders, parents, failures, frightened people, old systems trying to survive a new kind of war.“You will have to figure it out without us,” I said.The words were brutal. They had to be. My mother made a small sound. Nyra turned slightly toward her. Jorren closed his eyes for a second. Barrow muttered a curse. No one protested immediately. Maybe because there was nothing soft

Ronan’s POVI felt it through the bond. Not surprise. Not softness toward Keiran. Something harder. A memory being touched too openly in a room full of people who had helped create it by doing nothing. My anger rose in answer, but I stayed silent. For now. This was Keiran’s guilt speaking, and maybe it needed to. Not because it could fix anything. It could not. But because too many people in this room had spent too long pretending Beverly was only ambitious, only proud, only cruel in the way pretty high-born girls were allowed to be cruel. Keiran turned back to Ingrid. “She is not gentle,” he said. “She is not misunderstood. She is not some frightened girl who tried to prove herself in battle and died nobly. If she left before the invasion, then she knew something. And if she knew something, I want to know why.”Ingrid’s eyes filled, but she said nothing. Ethan’s voice came low. “You will not jump to conclusions.” Keiran’s head snapped toward him. “Are you serious?” Ethan did not flin

Keiran’s POVThe cabin looked smaller than memory. Older. Sad in a way wood should not be able to look. I opened the door. The air inside was stale. Cold. A little damp. The room held itself the way abandoned places do, not empty exactly, but full of what had been left behind. Dust lay along the small table. The narrow bed stood against the wall, its old blanket folded badly at one end. A cracked cup sat near the shelf. The chair by the window was still there, the one Nyra used to sit on when she wanted to pretend she was not waiting for me too eagerly.I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. The sound was soft. Too soft. For a while, I just stood there. My eyes moved over everything. Here was where she had asked me if I was ashamed of her. Here was where I had said no while still living like the answer was yes. Here was where she had asked me to reject her because she could not bear being my secret anymore. Here was where I had refused to let her go, not because I was ready to

Nyra’s POVEvening came too quickly. All day, time had felt strange. Slow in some places and cruelly fast in others. Morning had dragged with fear sitting at the breakfast table beside us. Noon had passed in broken pieces, with messages moving in and out of the house, guards changing posts, distant orders carrying from the training field, and the smell of smoke still clinging to the air no matter how many windows were opened. Every sound outside made my body pause. Every shout made me think another attack had begun. Every silence after that felt worse, because silence meant waiting, and waiting had become its own kind of terror. Now the sun had started to sink, and the house felt like it knew we were leaving.It was a foolish thought. Walls did not know anything. Furniture did not mourn. Lamps did not understand journeys into broken barriers and dragon lands. But the house was quieter than usual, and the quiet felt different from the one that had greeted us after the battle. That one