Chapter 56

Chapter 56: Chapter 56

Nyra opened her eyes.

The world was blurry and bright and smelled of herbs and medicine. She blinked, trying to focus, trying to remember where she was and how she’d gotten here. The ceiling above her was stone, not the crumbling roof of the hut. The bed beneath her was soft, not the rough pile of furs. And the warmth surrounding her was not from a fire but from thick wool blankets.

"Soren," she whispered. His name came out as a reflex, the first word her lips remembered how to shape.

"I’m here."

He was beside her bed, bandaged and pale but alive. His dark eyes were fixed on her face, and there was something in them—relief, joy, fear, tenderness—that made her heart ache. He looked terrible. He looked beautiful.

"You’re hurt," she said, her eyes dropping to the bandages wrapped around his ribs.

"It’s nothing. A scratch."

"You’re a terrible liar."

"So you keep telling me." He took her hand. His grip was warm and steady, grounding her in the reality of the moment. "You’ve been unconscious for hours. The healers said your fever broke around dawn. You’re going to be fine."

"The rogue. I remember—there was a howl. You went outside."

"I killed it. It’s dead. It won’t bother us again."

She exhaled slowly, relief flooding through her weakened body. Then her brow furrowed as fragmented memories surfaced—the hut, the rain, the sound of his voice in the darkness. "You were talking to me. When I was unconscious. I heard your voice. You said... you said something important."

Soren’s expression flickered. "You heard that?"

"Some of it. Bits and pieces. I don’t know what was real and what was a fever dream." She squeezed his hand, her grip weaker than she would have liked. "Tell me. Please."

He was quiet for a long moment. The words he wanted to say—about Selene, about the betrothal, about the contract that bound him to a woman he didn’t love—pressed against his lips, demanding to be spoken. But when he opened his mouth, different words came out.

"I said that I’ve never felt this way before. About anyone." His voice was low, rough with emotion. "I said that you terrify me. Not because of who you are or what you’re hiding, but because of what you make me feel. I’ve spent my whole life keeping people at a distance. Building walls. Being the Ice Wolf everyone expects me to be. And then you came along, and you shattered all of it."

Nyra’s eyes glistened. "Soren..."

"You make me want things I never thought I could have. You make me feel things I didn’t think I was capable of feeling. And when you were lying in that hut, burning with fever, I thought—" He stopped, his voice cracking. "I thought I was going to lose you. And I’ve never been so afraid in my entire life."

"You didn’t lose me."

"No. But I came close. Too close." He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I care about you, Nyra. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. More than I know how to say."

She smiled, weak but genuine. "That’s a lot of words for someone who used to communicate entirely in grunts and glares."

"I’ve been practicing."

"It shows."

Coward, Kael said in his mind, his voice flat. You had the perfect opportunity to tell her everything. About Selene. About the betrothal. About the contract. And you said nothing.

I know, Soren replied silently.

You confessed your feelings, but you couldn’t say the three words she deserves to hear. You couldn’t tell her the truth about what’s waiting for you back at the palace.

I know.

Why?

Because I’m not ready. Because she just woke up from a fever that nearly killed her. Because if I tell her now, it will break her heart, and she’s been through enough. Soren looked at Nyra’s face, her silver eyes, her tired smile, the way she was looking at him like he was the only thing in the world worth seeing. I’ll tell her. Soon. But not today.

Kael was silent for a moment. Then: You’re still a coward.

I know.

But I understand.

Soren didn’t argue. He accepted it, the weight of his cowardice settling onto his shoulders like an old, familiar cloak. He would tell her the truth. Just not now. Not yet.

"Are you talking to Kael?" Nyra asked, her voice amused. "You get this little furrow between your eyebrows when you’re arguing with your wolf."

"I wasn’t arguing."

"You were. You always are." She reached up and smoothed her thumb over the crease between his brows. "What were you arguing about?"

"Nothing important."

"Liar."

"Terrible liar," he agreed. "You’ve mentioned."

The door opened. Corvin stood in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral.

"Am I interrupting?"

Nyra smiled weakly. "Corvin. You’re alive."

"Disappointed?"

"Relieved."

He crossed the room and stood at the foot of her bed. His sharp eyes took in her pale face, the dark circles under her eyes, the way her hand was intertwined with Soren’s. "You look terrible."

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"It’s true." He glanced at Soren. "Truce still holding?"

"Truce is holding."

"Good." Corvin looked back at Nyra. "When you’re feeling better, we need to talk. All three of us. About the bond. About what happens next."

Nyra nodded. "I know. But later. Right now, I just want to rest."

"Then rest." Corvin turned to leave, then paused at the door. "I’m glad you’re alive, Thorne. Don’t do that again."

"I’ll try."

He left. Soren and Nyra were alone again.

"There’s one more thing," Soren said quietly. "My father. The King. He’s coming to the academy for the talent showcase. A month from now."

Nyra’s eyes widened. "Your father? The King of the entire kingdom? Here?"

"Yes."

"Does he know about me? About who I really am?"

"No. He knows nothing. And if he finds out—" Soren hesitated. "My identity as the crown prince has been a secret since birth. Only a handful of people know. The Proctor. Ragnar. Corvin. Now you. If my father comes here and sees me with you, if he realizes I’ve... formed an attachment he didn’t approve..."

"It could be dangerous."

"Yes."

Nyra was quiet for a long moment. Then she lifted his hand and pressed it to her cheek. "Then we’ll face it together. Whatever comes. You and me."

Soren looked at her this impossible woman who had survived assassins and poisonings and rogue attacks and fever, who had faced every challenge with courage and grace, who had stolen his heart without even trying.

"Together," he agreed.

And for the first time in days, the future felt possible.

The healer cleared Nyra for release the following morning, though her instructions were delivered with the sternness of a general issuing battle orders.

"Light activity only. No training for at least three more days. No combat drills. No running. No shifting—" She paused, frowning at her own notes. "Actually, your charts indicate you can’t shift anyway. Unusual for an Alpha, but given your recent fever, perhaps it’s a blessing. Your body needs rest, not transformation stress."

Nyra nodded meekly, though Luna was grumbling in the back of her mind. I could shift if I wanted to. I just haven’t yet. There’s a difference.

Hush.

"Drink the tonic I’ve prepared twice daily. Eat regular meals—actual meals, not the scraps you’ve been surviving on. And if you feel dizzy, sit down immediately. Do not push yourself." The healer fixed her with a pointed stare. "I’ve heard about your tendency to overexert, Prince Thorne. The Sword Sovereign’s training regimen is infamous. But if I see you back in this wing before the week is out, I’ll confine you to bed for a month. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Good. Your friends are waiting outside. Try not to let them exhaust you."

Nyra dressed slowly, still feeling the lingering weakness in her limbs. The binding around her chest felt tighter than usual or perhaps she was simply more aware of it now, after days of wearing loose clothing in the hut. She adjusted it carefully, checked her reflection to ensure Thorne’s face was firmly in place, and stepped out of the healer’s wing.

Finn launched himself at her before she’d taken three steps.

"You absolute idiot," he said, his arms wrapped around her so tightly she could barely breathe. "Do you have any idea how worried we were? Three days. Three days we thought you might be dead in that forest. Marek didn’t sleep. Jasper didn’t read—which, if you know Jasper, is basically the same as a normal person having a complete mental breakdown. And I—" His voice cracked. "I thought I’d lost my best friend."

Nyra hugged him back, her throat tight. "I’m sorry."

"Don’t apologize. Just don’t do it again." He pulled back, his eyes suspiciously bright. "You’re not allowed to die. That’s an order from your future king."

"I thought I was the prince."

"You’re the prince in this room. I’m the king in my heart."

"That doesn’t make any sense."

"Grief has made me irrational. Deal with it."

Marek appeared behind Finn, his solid presence a quiet comfort. He didn’t say anything—he never did—but he clasped Nyra’s shoulder with a grip that said everything words couldn’t. Then he took her bag from her hands and slung it over his own shoulder without asking.

"Marek—"

"You’re still recovering," he said. "Let me carry it."

"But—"

"No arguments."

Jasper was last, hanging back with his ever-present book tucked under his arm. His sharp eyes swept over her assessing, cataloguing, noting every sign of exhaustion and illness. But his expression was softer than usual. Almost gentle.

"You look better than when they brought you in," he said. "Still terrible. But better."

"Thank you, Jasper. Your honesty wounds me."

"It’s a gift." He fell into step beside her. "The dorm has been too quiet without you. Finn talks too much when he’s worried."

"I do not!"

"You recited the entire history of the Astrlyn pack from memory yesterday. It took three hours."

"That was educational!"

"It was desperate."

They bickered all the way back to the Undercroft dorm, and Nyra felt something warm bloom in her chest. These boys—these ridiculous, loyal, wonderful boys—had become her family in ways she never expected. And as she looked at their faces, at the genuine relief and affection written across each of them, a pang of guilt twisted in her stomach.

They didn’t know. They thought she was Thorne, their roommate, their friend, their prince. They had no idea she was a woman. They had no idea that every secret they’d shared, every late-night conversation, every moment of trust had been built on a lie.

You’ll tell them, Luna said softly. When the time is right. They’ll understand.

Will they?

They love you. Not your title. Not your gender. You.

Nyra wasn’t so sure. But she tucked the guilt away and let Finn’s chatter wash over her as they walked.

The Undercroft dorm was exactly as she’d left it—cramped, cold, and smelling faintly of damp stone. But it felt like home in a way the palace never had. Her bunk was still rumpled from the morning they’d left for the Mistwood. A half-empty water skin sat on the table beside it. Everything was frozen in time, waiting for her return.

Marek set her bag down gently. Jasper returned to his book, though his eyes moved slower than usual. And Finn hovered adjusting her blankets, offering her food, asking if she needed water, if she was too warm, if she was too cold.

"Finn," she said finally, catching his wrist. "I’m fine. Really."

"I know. I just—" He sat down heavily on the edge of her bunk. "When they told us you were missing, I thought about all the things I never said. All the things I should have told you. And I promised myself that if you came back, I wouldn’t hold back anymore."

"Finn—"

"You’re my best friend, Thorne. I know we haven’t known each other long. I know there are things about you that you keep hidden things you’re not ready to share. And that’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything until you’re ready. But I need you to know that whatever it is, whatever you’re carrying, I’m on your side. Always."

Nyra’s eyes burned. "Even if my secrets are big? Even if they change the way you see me?"

"Nothing could change the way I see you."

"You don’t know that."

"I do." He squeezed her hand. "You’re my friend. My brother. My prince literally, I suppose, which is still weird to think about. Whatever you’re hiding, it doesn’t matter. You’re stuck with me."

Nyra blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. "You’re going to make me cry."

"Good. Crying is healthy. I read it in one of Jasper’s books."

"You read?"

"I was desperate. We’ve established this."

Marek appeared at her side with an extra blanket, draping it over her shoulders without a word. Jasper set down his book and walked over, his expression unreadable.

"We’re glad you’re back, Thorne," he said quietly. "The room felt wrong without you."

"Jasper, was that an emotion?"

"No. It was an observation."

"It sounded like an emotion."

"You’re still feverish. You’re hallucinating."

Nyra laughed—a real laugh, the first one she’d managed since waking up in the healer’s wing. And for a moment, surrounded by her friends in the cramped, cold dormitory, everything felt almost normal.