All Chapters of Bound by the Cursed Moon: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Lead POV: Kieran Ashveil“Lord Duskmoor is claiming he had no knowledge of the hunters his daughter’s own guard let through the border, and I need you to understand that if we cannot prove otherwise, this treaty dies with a lie standing on top of it.”My father said it standing at the head of the war table, both hands braced flat against old wood, and around him the room had gone the particular kind of quiet that meant everyone present already suspected the answer and did not want to be the one to say it first. I sat with the wound in my shoulder still stitched tight beneath my shirt, sore in a way that made every breath a small negotiation, and watched the faces of men who had spent decades building a peace now deciding whether to let it burn.“He is lying,” Dorian said flatly. “I questioned two of the hunters we captured myself. They named a Duskmoor guard by rank and post. That is not the kind of detail men invent under pressure.”“Detail is not proof my father’s court will accept

Male Lead POV: Kieran Ashveil“Your father has moved two hundred soldiers to the border in the middle of the night, and he is telling my scouts it is a defensive measure against the very hunters his own guard let through the gate.”I said it to Elara across the war table, watching her face while I said it, because I needed to know in that instant whether the woman standing beside me had known this was coming or was learning it in real time alongside the rest of us. What I saw was fury, clean and immediate, the kind that could not have been faked even by someone as practiced at composure as Lord Duskmoor’s daughter had been raised to be.“He is not defending anything,” Elara said. “He is positioning himself to claim he stopped an attack he orchestrated in the first place. If soldiers die tonight on that border, he will stand in front of both packs tomorrow and call himself a hero for it.”“Can you stop him,” my father asked her directly, no softness in the question, because there was

Male Lead POV: Kieran Ashveil“If you take one more step toward my daughter, I will consider it the first act of a war you started, and I will make certain every pack from here to the coast knows exactly whose hand struck first.”My father’s voice carried across the frozen field with a weight that stopped even Lord Duskmoor’s front line from advancing further, two hundred soldiers and a night already balanced on the thinnest possible edge between peace and something none of us would survive cleanly. Elara stood alone in the open ground between the two lines, refusing every silent signal from me to fall back, her spine straight, her father’s gaze fixed on her like she was the only person on that field worth looking at.“I am not your daughter tonight,” Elara said, loud enough to carry. “Tonight I am the woman who found your ledgers, Father. Every payment to the hunters. Every order to your border guard to look away when Malachi Vane’s men crossed our land. I have copies with the Ashve

Male Lead POV: Kieran Ashveil“The rider we sent north has not returned, and it has now been two full days since anyone heard a single word from the road past Hollow Reach.”I said it to my father across the same war table that had barely gone quiet since Lord Duskmoor’s soldiers stood down at the border, and I watched the careful patience on his face finally give way to something closer to real worry. Around us, the compound was still absorbing the aftershocks of Elara’s public accusation, ledgers being reviewed by both packs’ elders, a fragile peace holding together by threads none of us fully trusted yet.“Riders get delayed,” my father said, though even he did not sound convinced by his own reassurance. “Rough terrain, bad weather, a dozen ordinary reasons that have nothing to do with danger.”“Or Malachi Vane never actually died in that fire,” I said, “and he has spent every day since then hunting exactly the kind of lead Rhen just rode straight toward.”I had not slept properly

Male Lead POV: Kieran Ashveil“There is smoke rising from the ridge ahead, and it is not the kind of smoke that comes from someone stopping to rest.”The lead scout said it low, urgent, pointing toward a thin gray column climbing into the pale morning sky above the tree line, and something in my chest went cold and certain at once, the mate pull pulling so hard toward that ridge that I nearly lost my seat in the saddle turning my horse toward it. We had ridden through most of the night without stopping, and every mile since dawn had sharpened the ache in my chest into something closer to real physical pain.“That is the direction the pull is pointing,” I said. “She is there. Or she was.”“Then we do not slow down until we know which,” the scout said, already spurring his own horse faster, the rest of the guard falling into formation around me without needing further instruction.We crested the ridge at a dead run, and what met us was not the battle I had braced myself for the entire