Chapter 77

Chapter 77: Chapter 77

Nyra was crying too. Her heart was shattering and mending all at once. She wanted to push him away. She wanted to hold him closer. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to kiss him. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore.

Soren lifted her chin with gentle fingers, his thumb brushing the tears from her cheeks. "I love you so much, Nyra. I am so sorry for not telling you about Selene. No words can fathom how much I have hurt you and what I have done to you. That’s why I will keep trying to earn your forgiveness. Please, I am begging you. Don’t leave me. Please."

His dark eyes searched hers, desperate and hopeful and terrified all at once.

"Punish me all you want. I don’t mind. I am so sorry, my love."

Nyra looked at him—the man who had trained her and challenged her and protected her and lied to her. The man who had carried her through a cursed forest. The man who had given her his mother’s pendant. The man who had broken her heart and was now begging her to let him mend it.

She nodded.

It was a small movement, barely perceptible. But Soren saw it. His eyes widened, and then his lips were on hers, claiming her mouth with a desperation that bordered on worship. He kissed her like a drowning man gasping for air, like a sinner seeking absolution, like a man who had been starved of the only thing that mattered.

Nyra kissed him back.

Her hands fisted in his wet shirt, pulling him closer. Her mouth opened beneath his, granting him access, and his tongue slid against hers, hot and demanding. He cupped the back of her neck, tilting her head for a better angle, and she moaned into his mouth—a sound that was half sob and half surrender.

The water lapped around them, cool against their heated skin. The moon shone down, silver and serene. And for a long moment, there was nothing else in the world—no Selene, no betrothal, no King, no showcase. Only the two of them, tangled together in the lake, kissing like they would never get another chance.

Soren’s hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, and she could feel every line of his body through their wet clothes. The thin fabric of her nightshirt was transparent now, clinging to her curves, revealing the outline of her chest binding and the soft swell of her hips. His shirt was equally transparent, plastered to the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen.

When they finally broke apart, gasping for air, Soren pressed his forehead to hers.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you so much. I’ll never lie to you again. I swear it on my life. On my wolf. On everything I am."

"I love you too," she whispered back. "Even though you’re a jerk. Even though you broke my heart. I still love you."

"I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

"You’d better."

He kissed her again—slower this time, softer. A promise instead of a plea.

The forest at the edge of the academy grounds was dark and silent, the trees casting long shadows in the pale moonlight. Xavier moved through the underbrush with practiced stealth, his footsteps silent on the moss. He had slipped out of his dormitory an hour ago, careful not to wake Nikolai or any of the other students. The meeting had been arranged days in advance. The instructions were clear.

A figure stood in the shadows of an ancient oak, cloaked and hooded, their face hidden in darkness.

"Everything is set already," Xavier said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We just need to sit back and watch as it unfolds on the talent showcase day."

The figure nodded slowly. "Perfect. Make sure there are no mistakes this time around. And keep an eye on Killian. Don’t let him do anything foolish."

"Noted. We will make sure there’s no mistake. And Killian will know his place and be focused this time around."

"Good." The figure paused. "You can go now, before your roommates notice you’re not in your room."

Xavier nodded once and melted back into the shadows, his footsteps fading into the silence of the forest.

The figure remained beneath the oak for a long moment, staring at the distant towers of the academy. Then they, too, turned and vanished into the darkness.

Proctor Kane sat alone in his study, the candles burning low, a stack of documents spread across his desk. The final preparations for the showcase. The security arrangements for the King’s arrival. The incident reports from the cafeteria brawl. The list of punishments. The letters from concerned parents. The requests from the Silvermoon delegation.

It was endless. It was exhausting. And it was far from over.

He rubbed his temples and reached for his cup of tea, which had gone cold hours ago. The clock on his mantel chimed three in the morning. He should have been asleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the night.

Just a few more weeks, he told himself. Just a few more weeks, and it will all be over. The showcase. The King. The delegation. Everything.

But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t true. The showcase was not an ending. It was a beginning. And whatever happened in the coming days would shape the future of the academy—and the realm—for years to come.

He picked up his quill and returned to his work.

The royal bedchamber was vast and luxurious, its walls hung with tapestries depicting the great battles of the realm, its windows overlooking the moonlit gardens. King Aldric Thornridge sat propped against a mountain of silk pillows, a book open in his lap, though he hadn’t turned a page in nearly an hour. His dark hair was streaked with silver now, and lines of care had etched themselves around his eyes, but he was still a commanding presence—broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, every inch the Alpha who had united the Seven Packs.

Queen Seraphina lay beside him, her silver-streaked dark hair loose around her shoulders, her head resting against his chest. She had been talking for the past twenty minutes, and the King had been listening with the patient indulgence of a man who had learned long ago that his wife was always right.

"The showcase is in less than two weeks," she was saying. "The Silvermoon delegation has already arrived. Everything is proceeding according to plan. But there’s one more thing."

"Only one?" The King’s voice was dry. "You’ve already told me seventeen things."

"This one is important." She sat up slightly, looking at him. "Freya wants to come with us."

The King’s expression flickered. "Freya? To Shadowmoon? She’s too young."

"She’s thirteen. The same age Soren was when he first enrolled." The Queen’s voice was gentle but firm. "She misses her brother, Aldric. She hasn’t seen him in nearly two years. She writes him letters every week, but it’s not the same."

"The showcase is dangerous. There will be dignitaries from every pack. Political tensions. Security risks. It’s no place for a child."

"She’s not a child anymore. She shifted three weeks ago."

The King’s eyebrows rose. "She shifted? Why wasn’t I informed?"

"Because she wanted to tell Soren in person. She wanted it to be a surprise." The Queen reached up and touched her husband’s cheek. "She’s growing up, my love. Faster than either of us wants to admit. And she wants to see her brother. Can you truly deny her that?"

The King was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed a deep, weary sound that seemed to come from somewhere far inside him.

"She has your stubbornness."

"She has yours. I’m merely the vessel."

He laughed—a low, warm rumble—and pulled her closer. "Fine. She can come. But she stays close to you at all times. And the moment anything seems amiss, she returns to the palace under heavy guard. Agreed?"

"Agreed." The Queen smiled and pressed a kiss to his jaw. "You’re a good father, Aldric. Even when you pretend not to be."

"I don’t pretend. I’m genuinely terrifying."

"To everyone except me."

"Especially to you."

She laughed and settled back against his chest. "What are you reading?"

"A history of the Northern Wars. It’s terribly dull."

"Then why are you reading it?"

"Because I’ve already read everything else in the library."

She reached up and took the book from his hands, setting it aside. "Then stop reading. It’s the middle of the night. Even kings need sleep."

"I’m not tired."

"Then hold me until you are."

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest. She fit perfectly there, as she always had, her head tucked beneath his chin, her hand resting over his heart.

"Do you ever worry?" she asked quietly. "About Soren? About what he’s becoming?"

"Every day. He’s my son. I’ll always worry."

"He’s strong. Stronger than both of us."

"I know. But strength isn’t everything. A king needs wisdom. Compassion. The ability to trust others." The King paused. "I fear I didn’t teach him those things. I was so focused on training him to be a warrior that I forgot to teach him how to be a man."

"You taught him more than you know. And he has good people around him. Ragnar. The Proctor. He’ll be fine."

"I hope so."

They lay together in the darkness, the candles flickering low, the moon shining through the window.

"I miss him," the Queen murmured. "Two years is too long."

"We’ll see him soon. And Freya will see him too. It will be a reunion worthy of the bards."

"A happy one?"

"A happy one." The King pressed a kiss to her hair. "I promise."