Chapter 69

Chapter 69: Chapter 69

The board meeting was interminable.

Soren sat at the long oak table in the council chamber, his arms crossed, his jaw tight, his knee bouncing with barely contained impatience. Beside him, Selene sat with perfect posture, her hands folded demurely in her lap, her expression serene and attentive. She looked like she belonged here. She looked like she belonged beside him.

The thought made his stomach turn.

"...and the joint training sessions will commence tomorrow morning," Lady Isolde was saying, her silver hair gleaming in the torchlight. "Our students have been instructed to work alongside yours in preparation for the showcase. I trust there will be no... difficulties."

"Of course not," Proctor Kane replied smoothly. "Shadowmoon welcomes the opportunity to train alongside Silvermoon’s finest. The showcase will be all the stronger for it."

"And the King’s arrival?" one of the board members asked. "Have we received confirmation of his retinue?"

"He will arrive the day before the showcase with a full complement of guards and advisors. Security arrangements are being finalized as we speak."

Soren wasn’t listening. His mind was elsewhere—in the garden, in the corridor, on the devastated look on Nyra’s face as she turned away from him. He had seen her heart break in real time, and he had been powerless to stop it.

You should have told her, Kael said, his voice flat with disappointment. Weeks ago. Months ago. The moment you knew she was your mate.

I know.

You should have told her before you touched her. Before you kissed her. Before you made her fall in love with you.

I know.

She’s not going to forgive you easily. You know that, right?

I know.

Then what are you going to do about it?

Soren had no answer.

"Soren?" Selene’s voice cut through his thoughts. She was looking at him with those calm amber eyes, her head tilted slightly. "Lady Isolde asked you a question."

He blinked. "My apologies. I was... distracted."

"I asked how your training has been progressing," Lady Isolde said, her pale eyes sharp. "The Sword Sovereign is the pride of Shadowmoon. The King will expect a demonstration of your skills."

"My training is fine."

"Just fine?"

"It’s been a challenging few weeks. The Mistwood mission took a toll."

"Ah, yes. The Mistwood." Lady Isolde’s expression flickered with something that might have been curiosity. "I heard you were separated from your team during an earthquake. You and the young prince Thorne Astrlyn, is it? You survived together in the forest for three days."

Soren’s jaw tightened. "Yes."

"Remarkable. The prince must be quite resilient."

"He is."

The meeting dragged on. Schedules were reviewed. Security protocols were debated. The ball was discussed—the King and Queen of the showcase would be crowned at midnight, chosen by vote from both academies. Selene’s name was mentioned as a likely candidate for the female crown. Soren’s name was mentioned for the male.

He barely heard any of it.

When the meeting finally ended, nearly two hours later, Soren was the first one on his feet. Selene’s hand caught his arm before he could leave.

"Going somewhere, darling?"

"I need to find someone."

"The prince?" Her amber eyes were unreadable. "The one who looked at you like you’d just stabbed him in the chest?"

Soren’s voice was ice. "That’s none of your concern."

"I think it is. We’re betrothed, Soren. What affects you affects me. And whatever is happening between you and Prince Thorne—" she paused, her smile returning, "—it clearly affects you very much."

"Selene—"

"Go." She released his arm. "Find your prince. Explain yourself. But remember—the King is coming. The contract still stands. And whatever you feel for Thorne Astrlyn, you are still promised to me."

She walked away, her footsteps echoing on the stone floor.

Soren stood alone in the empty council chamber, his heart pounding, and wondered how everything had fallen apart so quickly.

The Undercroft dorm was quiet that evening.

Nyra sat on her bunk, her knees drawn up to her chest, her silver hair falling loose around her shoulders. She had stopped crying hours ago, but the hollow ache in her chest remained. Finn sat beside her, unusually silent. Marek stood guard near the door as if he could physically block out the world. Jasper had abandoned his book entirely, his sharp eyes fixed on Nyra with quiet concern.

"You need to eat," Finn said, pushing a plate of bread and cheese toward her. "You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast."

"I’m not hungry."

"I don’t care. You’re eating something. Even if it’s just one bite. Even if I have to feed you myself."

"Finn—"

"I mean it, Thorne. I will sit here and wave bread in your face until you take a bite. Don’t test me."

Despite everything, a ghost of a smile flickered across Nyra’s lips. "You’re ridiculous."

"I’m persistent. There’s a difference." He pushed the plate closer. "One bite. For me. Your best friend who loves you and is very worried about you."

Nyra took a small bite of bread. It tasted like ash, but she swallowed it anyway.

"Good," Finn said, his voice softening. "Now another one."

"Don’t push your luck."

"I’m literally always pushing my luck. It’s my defining character trait."

Marek spoke from his position near the door. "You don’t have to talk about what happened. But if you want to, we’re here."

"I don’t want to talk about it."

"Then we won’t."

Jasper closed his book. "The Silvermoon girl. Selene. She’s the daughter of one of the pack kings. The betrothal has been in place since childhood. It’s political—an alliance between the Crown and her father’s territory."

Nyra looked at him. "How do you know that?"

"I pay attention. It’s what I do." Jasper’s sharp eyes met hers. "I also know that Soren has never looked at her the way he looks at you. Whatever that contract says, it’s not where his heart is."

"His heart doesn’t matter if he can’t be honest with me."

"No. It doesn’t." Jasper paused. "But it might matter if he’s willing to fight for you."

The knock on the door made all of them tense.

Marek opened it a crack. His broad shoulders blocked the view, but Nyra heard the voice on the other side—low, rough, desperate.

"I need to see him."

"He doesn’t want to see you."

"I know. But I need to. Please, Marek. Just five minutes."

Finn looked at Nyra. "It’s him."

"I know."

"Do you want me to tell him to leave? Because I will. Happily. With great enthusiasm."

Nyra was quiet for a long moment. The hurt was still there, raw and bleeding. But beneath it was something else—anger. A cold, furious anger that had been building all day.

"I’ll talk to him," she said.

"Thorne, you don’t have to—"

"I know. But I want to." She stood, her legs surprisingly steady. "I want to hear what he has to say."

She walked to the door, and Marek stepped aside. Soren stood in the corridor, his dark hair disheveled, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion and guilt. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He looked like he was drowning.

"Thorne—"

"Not here." Her voice was cold. "Outside. The garden."

She walked past him without another word.

The look in her eyes was furious.

Soren opened his mouth to speak. No words came. He had faced down rogues and assassins and his father’s impossible expectations without flinching. But standing in front of the woman he loved, seeing the betrayal burning in her silver eyes, he had never been more terrified in his life.

He knew he was in deep, irredeemable trouble.

And he had no idea how to fix it.

The garden was silent save for the whisper of the wind through the bare branches and the distant hoot of an owl somewhere in the darkness. The moon hung overhead, pale and indifferent, casting silver light across the frost-covered grass. Nyra stood beneath the old oak tree, her arms wrapped around herself, her back rigid, her eyes burning with a fury that Soren had never seen before.

He stopped a few feet away from her, close enough to speak but far enough to give her space. He didn’t know what to say. Every word that came to mind felt inadequate, pathetic, too small to bridge the chasm that had opened between them.

"Nyra—"

"Don’t." Her voice was ice. "Don’t say my name like that. Like you have any right to it."

He flinched. "I know you’re angry."

"Angry?" She turned to face him, and the tears she had been holding back were streaming down her cheeks, silver in the moonlight. "You think I’m angry? I’m beyond angry, Soren. I’m devastated. I’m humiliated. I stood in that training hall and watched another woman claim you as hers, and I had to pretend I didn’t care because no one is supposed to know what we are to each other. Do you have any idea what that felt like?"

"I can explain—"

"Then explain!" Her voice cracked, raw and desperate. "Explain why you never told me. Explain why I had to find out from her, in front of the entire academy, instead of from you. Explain why you held me last night and told me I was everything to you when you’ve been promised to someone else since childhood."

Soren opened his mouth. Closed it. The words he had rehearsed—the careful explanations, the political justifications, the promises he wanted to make—all of them evaporated in the face of her pain.

"I was going to tell you," he said finally.

"When? After the showcase? After your father arrived? After I’d already fallen in love with you and couldn’t walk away?"

"I was afraid."

"Afraid of what? Afraid I’d be angry? Afraid I’d leave?" She laughed, but it was a hollow, broken sound. "I would have been angry. I am angry. But I would have understood. I know what it means to be trapped by duty. I know what it means to have your future decided for you before you’re old enough to have a say. If you had told me—if you had trusted me—we could have faced it together."

"I know."

"But you didn’t trust me. You didn’t think I was strong enough to handle the truth. You let me find out in the worst possible way, in front of everyone, and now I look like a fool."

"You’re not a fool—"

"I feel like one!" She pressed her hand to her chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of her tunic. "I gave you everything, Soren. I trusted you with my secret. I trusted you with my body. I trusted you with my heart. And the whole time, you were hiding this from me. The whole time, you were lying."

"I never lied about how I feel about you." His voice was rough, desperate. "Everything I said—everything we shared—that was real. That was true."

"Was it? How can I believe anything you’ve said when you kept something this important from me? How can I trust that there aren’t other secrets? Other lies?"

"There aren’t—"

"I don’t believe you." The words hit him like a physical blow. "I don’t believe you, Soren. And that’s what hurts the most. Not the betrothal. Not Selene. The fact that I can’t trust the one person I thought would never deceive me."