Chapter 65: Run With Me

Naya woke before sunrise to sounds she rarely heard inside the palace walls, distant howls carrying through the open window, running feet already crossing the grounds below, the excited chatter of young wolves gathering for the ceremonial run.

She dressed in practical riding clothes instead of another elaborate gown, and Serena nodded her approval while adjusting the final strap.

“Someone will complain about the choice,” Serena said.

“Someone always complains about something.”

“Which is why I prepare several responses.”

Ronan entered while Naya was still fastening her boots, and he stopped in the doorway, something open and appreciative crossing his expression before he could mask it.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m allowed.”

She smiled, returning her attention to her boots, hiding how much she enjoyed being looked at that way. For once, neither of them had a single council decision to discuss before breakfast.

At the ceremonial grounds, visiting Alphas gathered their families near the starting line while local pack members took the positions they’d held for generations. Naya assumed she’d begin alongside the other royal guests near the formal markers.

Instead, Ronan approached and held out his hand.

“Run with me.”

She looked at his hand, then at him. “Is that an order?”

“No.”

“A royal request?”

“An invitation.”

She made him wait a moment before accepting, enjoying the small flicker of uncertainty that crossed his face. “Do you expect me to keep up with you?”

His smile turned challenging. “I expect you to try.”

“I’m not letting you win simply because you’re King.”

“Good,” he said. “I’d be disappointed if you did.”

Their exchange drew a few curious glances, but Ronan didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He wanted the pack to see her beside him because he wanted her there, nothing about the ceremony demanding it.

A horn sounded, and the runners surged forward along the wooded route. Ronan matched Naya’s pace rather than pulling ahead, and when she pointed out that she didn’t need special treatment, he told her he was running with her, not against her.

“Prove it,” she said, and they picked up speed together.

The damp earth carried the scent of moss and crushed leaves beneath their feet, distant footsteps marking the route ahead of them, the wind shifting as they broke into a more open stretch of forest. Naya let herself sink into the rhythm of it, every sense sharpening without effort.

At a narrow, rocky section, Ronan reached for her hand, and she took it without hesitation, releasing it the moment the ground leveled out again. No dramatic rescue. No stumbling she needed saving from. Just two people adjusting to each other, naturally, without either one needing to be the stronger one.

When Naya finally edged ahead, Ronan laughed, a genuine, unguarded sound she rarely heard from him in public.

“Having trouble keeping up, Your Majesty?” she called over her shoulder.

“Enjoy your lead while it lasts.”

They emerged from the wooded route into the open grounds together, families already gathered to cheer the runners home, and Naya crossed the finish line just ahead of him.

“I won,” she said, turning to face him, triumphant.

Ronan looked at the marker, then at her. “You did.”

She’d braced herself for an argument about the route, some technicality meant to soften his loss. The immediate agreement surprised her more than any denial could have.

He reached up and brushed a stray leaf from her hair. “I’m proud of you.”

The words were quiet enough that only she heard them, and her victory suddenly mattered less than the way he looked at her in that moment, not as a replacement bride or a political obligation or a woman whose secrets needed uncovering, but as someone whose happiness genuinely mattered to him.

Lyra arrived moments later, insisting loudly that Naya’s win didn’t count because she’d had a better starting position.

“You weren’t even running in our group,” Naya pointed out.

“Details.”

Ronan looked between them. “I see you’ve both become unbearable.”

“She’s a bad influence,” Naya said.

Lyra pressed a hand to her chest in mock offense.

The pack gathered for food and informal celebration afterward, children darting between tables, young wolves comparing their times, elders debating whether the younger generation had lost its endurance since their own day. Naya sat beside Ronan rather than retreating to a separate royal table set apart from everyone else.

A local woman approached partway through the meal, thanking Naya for preserving the traditional route. Her family had participated in the run for generations, she explained, and her youngest son had feared the ceremony might change beyond recognition.

“Traditions should be allowed to grow,” Naya told her, “without forgetting the people who keep them alive.”

Ronan listened without interrupting, without taking any credit for the decision himself. Once the woman left, he rested a hand against Naya’s back.

“You handled that well.”

“You’re becoming very generous with compliments,” she said.

“Don’t become accustomed to it.”

“Too late.”

He leaned closer, murmuring that she’d always been difficult.

“You married me anyway,” she reminded him.

His smile told her plainly that he didn’t regret a single moment of it.

Later, Naya slipped away from the gathering to catch her breath near the edge of the grounds, and Ronan followed once the organizers finished their final announcements.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked.

“I did,” she admitted. “I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed doing something without worrying about the consequences.”

He didn’t promise her the past was over, didn’t pretend life would become simple from here forward. He knew better than to make promises he couldn’t keep.

“I want you to have more days like this,” he said instead.

“Will you run with me again?”

“Whenever you ask.”

“And if I beat you again?”

“Then I’ll have to live with the humiliation.”

She laughed, and he drew her closer, the kiss that followed beginning gently, the warmth of the day still lingering between them. Her arms slipped around his neck, his hands settling at her waist, giving her every chance to pull away.

She didn’t.

When they finally separated, he brushed his lips against her forehead.

“Run with me again tomorrow,” he murmured.

“Ask me nicely.”

“Please, Naya.”

She smiled. “Now I’ll consider it.”

As they made their way back toward the celebration, Naya reached for his hand before he could offer his arm. He glanced down at their joined fingers, then at her, and she knew the pack would notice. She also knew, with a certainty that settled warm in her chest, that she wasn’t holding his hand to prove anything to any of them.

She wanted to.

Together they walked back toward the waiting crowd, where Lyra was already arguing with someone about the race results, loud and animated as ever.

Ronan squeezed her hand. “Still glad you accepted my invitation?”

Naya leaned closer. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

His quiet laugh followed them straight back into the celebration.