Chapter 75

Chapter 75: Chapter 75

He had never seen Soren like this. Not when they were children. Not during the brutal training that had shaped them both. Not even during the worst battles of the Mistwood.

"Soren," Ragnar said quietly, his voice gentler than before. "She’s going to come around."

"You don’t know that."

"I know her. She’s stubborn and fierce and she loves you. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. That kind of love doesn’t just disappear overnight."

"She slapped me."

"You deserved it."

"I know." Soren took another drink. "I know I deserved it. I deserved every tear she cried. Every angry word. Every time she looked at me like I’d stabbed her in the chest. I did that to her, Ragnar. I broke her trust. I broke her heart. And I don’t know how to fix it."

"You fix it by giving her time. By proving to her that you can be honest. By showing her that you’re not going to hurt her again." Ragnar reached out and took the bottle from Soren’s hand. "And you don’t fix it by drinking yourself into a stupor."

"I wasn’t—"

"You were. I’ve seen you do it before. After the full moon. After the Mistwood. After every time you’ve had to face something you couldn’t control." Ragnar set the bottle aside. "But this isn’t something you can drown. This is something you have to face."

Soren stared at the empty fireplace. "What if she never forgives me?"

"Then you learn to live with it. But I don’t think that’s going to happen." Ragnar leaned back in his chair. "She’s angry right now. Hurt. Betrayed. But she’s also smart. She knows you made a mistake. She knows you’re not a bad person. And eventually—when she’s ready—she’ll give you a chance to explain."

"And if she doesn’t?"

"Then you have to respect that." Ragnar’s voice was firm. "You can’t force her to forgive you. You can’t grab her arm in the cafeteria and demand she listen. That’s what got you into this mess in the first place."

Soren was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached for the bottle again. Ragnar didn’t stop him this time.

"I’m scared, Ragnar," Soren said, his voice barely a whisper. "I’ve never been scared before. Not of my father. Not of the rogues. Not of anything. But losing her—" He broke off, his voice cracking.

"I know." Ragnar’s scarred face softened. "I know."

They sat together in the darkness, the silence stretching between them like a fragile thread. Soren drank until the bottle was empty, until his words slurred and his eyes grew heavy, until the pain in his chest dulled to a distant ache. When he finally slumped forward, unconscious, Ragnar caught him before he could fall.

"Come on, brother," he murmured, hauling Soren to his feet. "Let’s get you to bed."

He half-carried, half-dragged Soren to the bed and laid him down gently, pulling the blankets up to his chin. Soren’s face was slack, peaceful in a way it never was when he was awake. The hard lines of his jaw had softened. The tension in his brow had eased.

Ragnar stood over him for a long moment, his scarred face unreadable.

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown," he murmured. "Even when no one can see it."

He turned and walked to the door, pausing to look back at his friend one last time.

"Rest, brother. Tomorrow will be better."

He closed the door softly behind him.

Valeria had been waiting in the shadows of the corridor for nearly an hour.

She had watched Ragnar enter Soren’s suite. Had listened for the sounds of argument, of comfort, of whatever was passing between the two childhood friends. She had waited for Ragnar to leave, for the door to be unguarded, for the perfect moment to slip inside and offer Soren the comfort he so clearly needed.

But the moment never came.

Ragnar stayed. And stayed. And stayed. And when he finally emerged, his expression was grim and his footsteps were heavy, and Valeria knew that Soren was in no state to receive visitors.

Another time, she thought, stepping back into the shadows. There will be another time.

She turned and walked away, her dark figure melting into the darkness of the corridor.

Selene’s private quarters in the east wing were far more luxurious than anything the Shadowmoon students were accustomed to. Silk curtains hung from the windows. A thick carpet covered the cold stone floor. Candles flickered on every surface, casting warm golden light across the room.

Selene sat in an armchair by the fire, a glass of wine in her hand, her amber eyes fixed on the flames. Across from her, on a velvet settee, sat her two closest friends and most loyal followers: Lady Celeste Ashbourne, a slender blonde with sharp green eyes and an even sharper tongue, and Lady Mira Voss, a curvaceous brunette whose sweet smile masked a mind just as calculating as Selene’s own.

"I still can’t believe you slapped him," Celeste was saying, her voice tinged with admiration. "Corvin Eldritch. One of the most powerful Alphas in the academy. And you just—" She mimed a slap. "In front of everyone."

"He deserved it," Selene said coolly. "He struck my betrothed."

"And the prince!" Mira added, leaning forward eagerly. "You slapped the prince too. Thorne Astrlyn. The heir to the third pack. I thought Proctor Kane was going to have an aneurysm."

"The prince slapped me first. I was merely defending my honor."

"Of course you were." Celeste’s green eyes glittered. "And you were magnificent. Everyone’s talking about it. The Silvermoon girls are all saying you’re the bravest person in the academy."

"I’m not brave. I’m simply unwilling to be disrespected." Selene took a sip of her wine. "The prince has been a thorn in my side since before I arrived. I’m merely... pruning the garden."

Mira giggled. "You’re so clever, Selene. I wish I had half your wit."

"It’s not wit. It’s training." Selene set her glass down. "You don’t survive in the Silverwood court by being weak. You survive by being smarter than everyone else. By seeing the angles they don’t see. By striking before they even know they’re in danger."

"And what angle do you see now?" Celeste asked.

Selene smiled—a cold, calculated expression. "I see a prince with a secret. A secret so dangerous that exposing it could bring down an entire pack. And I see a betrothed who has forgotten where his loyalties lie." She picked up her wine glass again. "By the time the showcase is over, both of them will remember."

Celeste and Mira exchanged a glance—admiration mixed with just a hint of fear.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," Celeste said quietly.

"I always play dangerous games. That’s what makes them interesting."

The royal palace of the Seven Packs was a sprawling fortress of white stone and gleaming towers, its halls hung with tapestries depicting the great battles of the realm. The Queen’s private chambers were in the eastern tower, a suite of rooms decorated in shades of cream and gold, with windows that overlooked the royal gardens.

Queen Seraphina Thornridge sat at her vanity, her silver-streaked dark hair being brushed by one of her handmaidens. She was still beautiful—the kind of beauty that came from good bones and a life of privilege but there were lines around her eyes now, and threads of silver in her hair that hadn’t been there a decade ago. 𝑓𝑟ℯℴ𝓂

"Mother."

The voice came from the doorway. Princess Freya Thornridge stood there, her dark hair braided in a crown around her head, her eyes—the same dark eyes as her brother’s—fixed on her mother with fierce determination. She was thirteen now, on the cusp of womanhood, and she had inherited all of her family’s stubbornness.

"Freya." The Queen smiled. "You should be in bed."

"I couldn’t sleep." Freya crossed the room and perched on the edge of her mother’s vanity stool. "I’ve been thinking."

"A dangerous pastime."

"That’s what Soren always says." Freya’s expression flickered with something that might have been sadness. "Mother, I want to go with you. To the showcase. To see Soren."

The Queen’s brush paused mid-stroke. "Freya—"

"Please. I know Father said I should stay here. I know the showcase is dangerous and there are politics and I’m too young. But I miss him." Her voice cracked slightly. "I haven’t seen Soren in almost two years. He writes letters, but it’s not the same. I want to see him fight. I want to see him win. I want to tell him that I finally shifted—that my wolf finally came—"

"When did this happen?" The Queen turned to face her daughter fully.

"Three weeks ago. I didn’t want to write about it. I wanted to tell him in person." Freya’s dark eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Please, Mother. Let me come with you. I’ll be good. I’ll stay out of the way. I won’t cause any trouble. I just want to see my brother."

The Queen looked at her daughter for a long moment. Then she reached out and cupped Freya’s cheek.

"You’ve grown so much," she murmured. "Sometimes I look at you and I see the baby I held in my arms. And sometimes I look at you and I see the woman you’re becoming."

"Is that a yes?"

"It’s a ’we’ll see.’" The Queen smiled. "Your father will need convincing. And the journey is long and dangerous. But..." She paused. "I think Soren would be very happy to see you."

Freya’s face lit up. "Really? You’ll talk to Father?"

"I’ll try. But you must promise me something."

"Anything."

"If you come—if your father agrees—you must stay close to me at all times. The showcase is not a game. There are dangers there that you don’t understand. People who might wish our family harm."

"I understand." Freya nodded solemnly. "I’ll be careful. I promise."

The Queen pulled her daughter into an embrace. "Then we’ll see. Now off to bed. Even future princesses need their sleep."

Freya hugged her mother tightly, then pulled back and raced out of the room, her footsteps light and eager. The Queen watched her go, her expression a mixture of love and worry.

"She’s so much like him," she murmured to herself. "So much like her brother."

The handmaiden resumed brushing her hair, and the Queen stared out the window at the distant mountains, where Shadowmoon Academy waited.

"Soon," she whispered. "Soon I’ll see my son again. And the Moon Goddess help anyone who has tried to harm him."