Chapter 111
Damon
The heavy oak doors of my war room shut behind me with a final, echoing thud. I didn’t lock them, but that’s a decision I’d regret in a minute.
I wanted no audience. No judgmental eyes. No false diplomacy. Just stone, silence, and the chill of twilight pressing in through the leaded glass
windows.
I yanked off my jacket and tossed it over the nearest chair, then reached for the circlet still resting like a noose at my temples. I had worn it too long today. It came off with a muted scrape, and I set it on the polished table like it had burned me.
Lila’s voice still echoed in my ears–not the words, but the tone. Steady. Cold. A blade in her hand that she didn’t flinch from using
And now the court was bleeding from the cut.
The fire crackled low in the hearth. I paced once, then twice, before forcing myself to still. Waiting.
The door creaked open again.
Ronan entered first, his expression resigned. His cloak was still damp with garden dew, the scent of moss and pine trailing faintly behind him. He said nothing, only gave a nod and took his usual place at the long table.
Moments later, Jackson followed, moving slower than usual. The weight of years sat heavier on his shoulders tonight.
“Sit,” I said quietly.
They obeyed. I remained standing, fingers braced against the edge of the table as I leaned forward.
“Well?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“No formal move yet,” Ronan said. “But several Pack envoys have reached out. Requests for private audiences. Clarification. Assurances.”
“Clarification,” I repeated, voice flat. “Because the sight of my mate not groveling for their approval must’ve shaken something loose in their little brains.”
Jackson cleared his throat. “It’s not her defiance they fear, Your Majesty. It’s what it represents. Change. Independence. A Luna who cannot be controlled or shaped.”
I looked at him sharply. “They think I can be shaped?”
Jackson met my gaze without blinking. “No. But they always hoped your Luna would be more…malleable.”
I let the silence stretch for a moment, then pushed off the table and began pacing again. My boots thudded against the ancient stone with measured rhythm.
“What are they planning?” I asked.
Ronan folded his arms. “Tradition. That’s their weapon. They’ll argue that Lila’s place was never truly granted. That the bond was a mistake. That she lacks the pedigree, the spiritual legitimacy, the approval of the Elders.”
I stopped pacing. “Do they forget who wears the crown?”
“They’re hoping you forget what wearing it costs,” Ronan muttered.
A growl built low in my throat, but I choked it down. I wasn’t my father. Rage wouldn’t fix this.
I turned back to the table, voice quiet but pointed. “Then we dismantle their weapons. Start mapping loyalties. Find out which nobles are feeding the flames and who’s waiting for the smoke to clear before choosing a side.”
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Chapter 111
Jackson tilted his head. “That’s a dangerous move. Exposing hidden loyalties makes enemies real*
“They were already real,” I said. “I’d rather face them in the daylight.”
Ronan nodded. “I’ll begin tonight.
“And increase Lila’s guards,” I added. “Discreetly. No shadows lurking in her quarters.”
My Beta’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t argue. Just nodded again and rose from his seat.
The fire behind me snapped sharply, as if in agreement.
“Dismissed,” I said, softer now. Ronan left first, silent as a blade. Jackson paused at the threshold, eyes heavy with thought.
“She shook the court today,” he said. “And you shook it by letting her.”
“I didn’t let her,” I replied. “She did it on her own.”
Jackson gave a slight bow. “Then we’d best be ready when the ground starts to crack.”
He was gone before I could answer.
I stood alone in the flickering dark, staring down at the crown resting on the table. It looked harmless now. But I could feel the weight of it still pressing against my skull.
They would come for her again. And this time, I’d be ready to meet them with fire.
Later I stood staring at the moon; it reminded me of
wound in the sky.
I leaned against the balcony’s stone railing, elbows braced,
$ open to the cold. Below me, the gardens stretched–shadowed, silver–edged.
I could almost see her standing there again. Spine straight. Voice steady. Eyes blazing like something ancient had stirred in her bones.
And the court? They’d flinched. Even the ones who didn’t move had shown it–in the twitch of a jaw, the clench of a fist, the refusal to meet her gaze when it was over.
She had faced them alone.
Because I let her.
I exhaled sharply and watched the breath cloud in the air, white and fleeting. My rooms were quiet, fire dying low behind me. I hadn’t bothered to change out of my black undershirt and trousers.
The formal layers had been peeled away earlier like armor shed after a battle–but it still felt like I was bleeding somewhere beneath the skin.
I didn’t know what I had expected when she stood in that chamber. Defiance, yes. A fight, probably. But not that.
Not grace sharpened by a will to match my own. Not words spoken like verdicts from a woman who had survived every blow they’d tried to land and still refused to kneel.
Gods help me, she’d been more regal than I’d ever been.
And I hadn’t moved. Hadn’t pounced. Hadn’t silenced the bastard who dared call her an impostor.
Because part of me had wanted to see if she would.
And she had.
WA
I turned and stepped back into the room, the cold air following me into the space. I poured a drink and took one long swallow–but the whiskey tasted
Chapter 111
Sour tonight.
She had stood in fire for me, and I had just stood by her,
What kind of male did that make me?
I set the glass down, too hard. The crystal clinked against the edge of the table but didn’t shatter. A mercy.
I rubbed a hand over my face, jaw tight. My muscles ached–from the tension, from restraint, from everything I hadn’t said when she needed to hear it
most.
If I had touched her then–what? Would it have helped? Would it have looked
was.
pity? Sh
Whave wanted that. She would have seen it for what it
An apology I wasn’t brave enough to say out loud.
I crossed the room, letting instinct guide me, and stopped by the sideboard where her gloves still sat. The grey ones, leather soft from wear, forgotten after the last storm when she’d come in soaked and breathless.
I hadn’t returned them. I didn’t know why.
Maybe I just wanted some piece of her I could hold when everything else felt like it might fall away.
The silence closed around me like a second cloak.
I didn’t miss the crown. Not the way it pinched. Not the weight. But tonight, it wasn’t the metal that was heavy–it was everything else.
The responsibility. The judgment. The sharp eyes of men waiting for me to falter. The wolves who would gladly see me fall if it meant preserving their vision of order.
And then there was her.
My mate. Not by politics. Not by selection. But by bond. By choice. And every time I looked at her, I felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff–one step forward and it would all change.
She didn’t need saving.
She needed someone who would stand beside her when the world tried to knock her down again.
I walked back to the balcony and looked up at the moon. The sky was cloudless. The stars were distant and cold.
She was down there somewhere. Breathing the same air. Carrying the same scars I’d let them inflict.
I didn’t know if I could keep her safe from what came next.
But I knew this: I would never let her stand alone again.
AD
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