71. King's Wife

The morning sun broke through the frosted glass windows of the grand dining hall, casting a crisp, bright light across the long mahogany table. The room was quiet, save for the crackling of the perimeter fireplaces and the soft, rhythmic clink of silver utensils.Rosalie sat quietly in her elevated chair, her posture elegant but her body aching with a deep, thoroughly satisfied exhaustion. She wore a high-collared, structured gown of deep forest green. The heavy velvet fabric felt luxurious against her skin, but its primary purpose was functional; the exceptionally high collar was intended to hide the dark, possessive marks Dominic had painted across her throat and collarbones during the frantic, steamy hours of the night.Yet, no amount of heavy velvet could mask the sheer intensity of the scent clinging to her. The sweet vanilla of her Omega aura was completely drenched, dominated, and claimed by the cold winter frost and dark cedar of the Northern King. It was a suffocating, heavy

72. The Fragile Mirror

The afternoon shadows stretched long and gray across the stone corridors of the Amber Court. Following the tense morning breakfast, Ezekiel had requested a private tour of the palace’s historic grand library before the final evening signing of the border treaty. Dominic, preoccupied with sudden unrest reported at the western outposts, had reluctantly permitted it under the condition that Shane guard the library entrance.But Ezekiel was a master tactician, a king who had navigated fractured southern courts teeming with assassins. He knew the hidden architecture of the palace.While Shane stood watch outside the massive double doors of the main library archive, Ezekiel had subtly followed Rosalie toward the rear, narrow rows of ancient, towering bookcases. The air here smelled of dust, old vellum, and forgotten histories. Before Rosalie could turn back toward the light of the main hall, a tall, commanding shadow stepped seamlessly around a corner, completely cutting off her exit.Rosali

73. Grief

The descent from the stone balcony felt like falling through a bottomless, frozen abyss. Ezekiel’s powerful arm remained wrapped securely around Rosalie’s waist, anchoring her trembling frame against his chest as he navigated the shadowed stone facade of the palace with practiced, silent agility. Rosalie didn't move. She didn't breathe. Her body was entirely rigid, a hollow shell containing a catastrophic, silent explosion. The image of the dark leather sofa, the flickering firelight, and Samantha’s bare skin against Dominic’s massive thighs was permanently seared into the backs of her eyelids. Every time she blinked, the glass shattered all over again.Ezekiel slipped through the open balcony doors of her private bedchamber, his boots making no sound as they met the plush, dark rug. He set her down gently, stepping back to give her space.The moment his support left her, Rosalie’s knees completely gave out.She collapsed onto the floor, her heavy emerald velvet skirt pooling around he

74. The Crown of Sorrow

The heavy bedroom doors opened late into the night, the sound cutting through the dark silence of the chamber like a knife.Rosalie lay perfectly still beneath the silk sheets, her eyes wide open, staring blankly at the dark wall. Her body was completely rigid. Her heart did not jump with excitement as it usually did when he came back to her. Instead, it shrank into a tight, aching knot.Dominic stepped into the room. He moved quietly, trying not to disturb his sleeping wife. He shed his heavy, fur-lined cape and dark tunic, leaving them in the shadows before sliding into the bed beside her.As soon as he climbed under the covers, a wave of heat rushed over Rosalie’s back. He smelled of cold winter wind, dark cedar, and heavy pine. But to Rosalie, her broken mind could only imagine the phantom scent of another woman clinging to his skin. The thought made a sudden, violent wave of nausea rise in her throat. She had to squeeze her eyes shut and bite her inner cheek to keep from vomiting

75. The Last Feast

The figure that slowly stepped out from the dark, towering hedges of the glass garden was not Dominic, but a low-ranking guard patrolling the perimeter. Ezekiel’s hand remained on the hilt of his hidden dagger, his broad chest shielding Rosalie until the guard offered a hurried, respectful bow to the Luna and moved along into the snow.Rosalie let out the breath she had been holding, her hand trembling as she pulled away from Ezekiel."Go," Ezekiel whispered, his blue eyes filled with a fierce, protective urgency. "Do not let him see the fear in your eyes tonight, Rosalie. Tomorrow, you will be free."The formal dinner that evening was a slow, suffocating torture.The grand dining hall was filled with the chatter of the court and the clinking of silver, celebrating the final night of the southern delegation’s visit. Rosalie sat stiffly in her velvet chair, her face painted with the false rose tint to hide her ghostly paleness.Dominic sat beside her, his mood dark, volatile, and highl

76. The Tearing of the Bond

The rhythmic clacking of the wooden carriage wheels against the frozen cobblestones sounded like a death knell. Inside the dark, velvet-lined interior of the carriage, the air was heavy, cold, and thick with the suffocating scent of fresh, unending grief.Rosalie pressed her forehead against the frost-covered glass of the carriage window, staring out into the dark, swirling blizzard. The high, jagged stone towers of the Amber Court were shrinking into the distance, slowly swallowed by the unforgiving white storm.With every inch of ground they gained, the fragile dam holding back her emotions completely shattered.A low, broken sob escaped her lips, sounding so hollow and ruined that it didn't even feel like her own voice. She curled her knees up to her chest, burying her face in the dark wool of her cloak, and wept. She wept for the girl she had been only two days ago, the girl who had lain in Dominic’s arms, believing his sweet, deep whispers of forever. She wept for the trust she h