Todos los capítulos de The Alpha’s Rejected Luna and Her Five Daughters: Capítulo 171 - Capítulo 180

Weeks passed with Drogo’s careful, supervised freedom continuing without incident, his conduct consistently respectful of every boundary established, his daily rounds through the settlement grounds becoming something almost ordinary despite the watchful guards perpetually at his side. Rosa, who’d remained firmly resistant to any contact since first learning of his release, found herself unexpectedly confronted with the question of his presence when she came to visit her mother one afternoon and spotted him from across the training yard, standing quietly near its edge, watching the younger warriors practice. She stopped walking entirely, old tension gripping her shoulders the moment she recognized him properly. Drogo noticed her immediately — the guards flanking him ensured he missed little within his limited range — and he stepped back deliberately, putting visible distance between himself and her path before she’d even fully processed the encounter. “I won’t come closer,” he said

Six months passed with Drogo’s careful, bounded freedom continuing without a single incident of concern, his daily patterns settling into something genuinely consistent — supervised work in the small woodshop where he’d gradually rediscovered the carpentry skills he’d once mentioned to Bonita, quiet mornings in the garden when its paths stood empty, careful respect maintained toward every boundary his daughters had individually established. Bertram called for formal council review at the half-year mark, exactly as originally stipulated when the limited freedom had first been granted. “Six months is sufficient time to properly assess pattern,” he said, his aged voice carrying the particular weight of someone whose own health had continued declining steadily across this same period, making this review feel, to Bonita, considerably more urgent than simple procedural formality. “What has this council actually observed, regarding Drogo’s conduct during this trial period?” “Consistent,”

The difficult news arrived on an otherwise ordinary morning, a breathless messenger finding Bonita in the garden with word that sent her rushing immediately toward the healer’s quarters — Bertram had collapsed during his morning walk, his advanced age and failing health finally catching up with the body that had carried him faithfully through decades of dedicated service to this territory. She arrived to find Kael already present, kneeling beside the old advisor’s bed, Freya the healer working with careful, practiced urgency despite her evident understanding that whatever treatment she offered now served comfort more than genuine cure. “How is he,” Bonita asked, though Freya’s grave expression already answered the question before words properly could. “His heart,” Freya said quietly. “Weakened considerably these past months, though he insisted on continuing his duties regardless of my repeated warnings. I don’t believe there’s considerable time remaining, Luna. Perhaps days, perhap

Mira’s visit coincided, by fortunate circumstance, with the completion of the careful project Drogo had been quietly working on for months, and Bonita found herself present when he finally, nervously, requested permission to properly present it. “I understand if you’d prefer I simply leave it with you to pass along,” he told Bonita, the small wooden box held carefully in his weathered hands, considerably more polished and detailed than when she’d first glimpsed its unfinished state months earlier. “I don’t want to presume more welcome than circumstances actually warrant.” “Ask her yourself,” Bonita said. “If you’re genuinely hoping to properly connect with her, Drogo, this seems exactly the kind of direct, honest gesture that might matter more than anything offered secondhand.” They found Mira in the garden, reviewing some Blackthorn correspondence while enjoying a rare quiet afternoon away from her usual demanding responsibilities, and Drogo approached carefully, his guard maintai

The weeks following Mira’s engagement celebration brought a gradual, welcome return to ordinary rhythm, though Bonita found herself, nearly a month later, growing increasingly concerned by something she’d initially dismissed as simple, temporary fatigue affecting Kael. “You’ve seemed tired lately,” she observed, finding him resting longer than usual one afternoon rather than attending his typical council duties. “More than ordinary exhaustion should properly explain.” “Simply the accumulated weight of recent months,” Kael said, though something careful in his tone suggested he was downplaying genuine concern. “Bertram’s passing, the council’s restructuring, Mira’s engagement preparations — considerable demands, Bonita, for anyone regardless of age.” “You’re not that old,” Bonita said, though old worry was already building sharp and immediate beneath her careful attempt at lighter conversation. “Kael, please — let Freya properly examine you, if only to ease my own concern.” Kael re