Chapter 63

Chapter 63: Chapter 63

They stayed like that for a long moment foreheads pressed together, breath mingling in the cold morning air, hearts hammering in tandem. The mist swirled around them, and the first pale rays of dawn were beginning to break over the eastern towers, painting the training ground in shades of rose and gold.

"We should stop," Soren said finally, his voice rough and reluctant.

"I know."

"Before someone walks by."

"I know."

He didn’t move. Neither did she.

"The sun is coming up," he tried again.

"I can see that."

"Nyra."

"Soren."

He laughed that rare, surprised sound that still made her heart flutter and pressed one last kiss to her forehead. "You’re impossible."

"You’re the one who started this."

"You’re the one who said ’then don’t.’"

"Because you said you couldn’t concentrate. I was being supportive."

"Supportive." He pulled back and looked at her disheveled, flushed, her chest binding hanging loose around her shoulders. "Is that what we’re calling it?"

"Would you prefer ’impatient’?"

"I’d prefer ’irresistible.’"

She shoved his chest, but there was no force behind it. "Arrogant."

"Honest." He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. "We should get dressed. Before the entire academy wakes up and finds the Sword Sovereign half-naked with the prince."

"The scandal would be legendary."

"It would be inconvenient."

She laughed and reached for her fallen binding. Soren turned his back politely a gesture that made her roll her eyes even as it warmed her heart. "You’ve already seen everything," she pointed out.

"I’m being a gentleman."

"A little late for that."

"I’m being a gentleman now. There’s a difference."

She finished binding her chest and pulled her tunic back into place. Her hair had come loose from its tie, silver strands falling around her shoulders. She didn’t bother pulling it back. The sun was rising, the academy was waking, and she felt more like herself than she had in weeks.

"Done," she said.

Soren turned around. He had pulled his tunic back on, though it hung open at the collar, revealing the intricate lines of his Lycan tattoo. His dark hair was disheveled, and there was a softness in his expression that he rarely allowed anyone to see.

"Walk with me," he said. "Before the day starts and we’re both too busy to breathe."

She took his hand. "Where are we going?"

"Nowhere. Anywhere. Just... walk."

They walked.

The garden was empty at this hour, the flowers still closed against the cold, the paths slick with morning dew. They found a stone bench near the old oak tree where Soren had once sat with Ragnar, watching leaves fall and refusing to admit he had feelings for the silver-haired prince. It felt like a lifetime ago. It felt like yesterday.

"I’ve been thinking," Nyra said, breaking the comfortable silence. "About what you said. About my secret. About your father."

"That’s a lot of thinking."

"I’m a thorough thinker."

He smiled faintly. "So I’ve noticed."

She pulled her hand from his and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the rising sun. "When your father comes—when he sees you—will he know? About us? About the bond?"

"I don’t know. He’s perceptive. He’s also... traditional. He believes in duty above all else.

"And if he finds out about me? About who I really am?"

Soren was quiet for a moment. "He’ll see you as a threat. The Astrlyn pack is the third largest in the kingdom. Your father was a powerful king, and your brother was the heir. If it became known that you’re alive—that you’re the true heir and not Thorne—it could destabilize the political balance. Your uncle would fight to keep the throne. Other packs might take sides. It could mean war."

"And if he finds out I’m your mate?"

"Then he’ll see you as an even bigger threat." Soren’s jaw tightened. "A hidden princess, bonded to the crown prince, with a legitimate claim to a powerful throne. It’s the kind of complication my father has spent his entire reign avoiding."

Nyra stared at the frost-covered ground. "So I’m a complication."

"You’re not a complication. You’re my mate. But to my father—to the court—you would be seen as one." He turned to face her, his dark eyes fierce. "That’s why we have to be careful. Why your secret has to stay hidden until after the showcase. Until I can figure out a way to handle my father."

"And if we can’t handle him?"

"Then I’ll choose you." The words came out without hesitation. "I told you in the hut. I don’t care about the contract. I don’t care about the politics. I’ll break the betrothal. I’ll face the consequences. Whatever it takes."

Nyra’s eyes burned. "You’d give up everything? Your title? Your inheritance?"

"I’d give up everything for you." He reached out and cupped her cheek. "I’ve never had a choice in my life. My father decided my future before I was born. My wolf decided my mate the moment you fell into my arms. But this choosing you—is the first real choice I’ve ever made. And I don’t regret it."

She leaned into his touch. "I don’t regret it either."

They sat in silence for a moment, the sun climbing higher over the towers, the academy stirring to life around them.

"What was it like?" Nyra asked quietly. "Growing up as the first Lycan in centuries?"

Soren’s expression flickered. "Lonely."

"Lonely?"

"My father was proud. The kingdom rejoiced. A Lycan heir, the first in generations. They thought it was a blessing. A sign of the Moon Goddess’s favor." He paused. "But it was also a burden. I shifted for the first time when I was seven. Most wolves don’t shift until they’re twelve or thirteen. I was too young. Too powerful. I couldn’t control it. I hurt people. People I cared about."

"Who?"

"My mother. She tried to calm me during my first full shift, and I lashed out. Clawed her across the arm. The scar is still there." His voice was hollow. "She never blamed me. She said it wasn’t my fault. But I saw the fear in her eyes every full moon after that. She was afraid of me. Her own son."

Nyra reached for his hand. "You were a child. You couldn’t control it."

"I know. But that doesn’t change what happened." He stared at the ground. "My father saw it differently. He saw power. Potential. A weapon to be shaped. He brought in trainers, tutors, specialists. They pushed me harder than any child should be pushed. By the time I was ten, I could fight better than most adults. By twelve, I could shift on command. By fifteen, I was the youngest Sword Sovereign in the academy’s history."

"That’s impressive."

"It’s exhausting." He looked at her. "I’ve spent my whole life being what everyone else needed me to be. The perfect heir. The perfect warrior. The perfect Lycan. But with you—" He paused. "With you, I don’t have to be perfect. I can just be Soren. I don’t think I’ve ever been just Soren before."

Nyra squeezed his hand. "I like just Soren."

"Just Soren likes you too."

They sat together as the sun rose, and for a little while, the weight of the world felt lighter.

"What about you?" Soren asked after a while. "What was it like? Growing up as the hidden princess?"

Nyra laughed, but it was a hollow sound. "Hidden. Invisible. My father loved me, I think. In his own way. But he was ashamed of me. A daughter who couldn’t shift. A princess who bore the silver hair of the old magic but none of its power. I was a reminder of everything the kingdom had tried to erase."

"And Thorne?"

"Thorne was the opposite. He could shift at ten. He was strong and handsome and charming. Everyone loved him. Especially me." Her voice softened. "He never made me feel like I was less. He used to sneak into my room at night and tell me stories about the Moon Goddess. About the Sacred Moonblood. He said I was special—that my power would awaken someday, and when it did, I would be stronger than any Alpha in the kingdom."

"He was right."

"I know. But he didn’t live to see it." She blinked hard against the tears that threatened. "Sometimes I feel guilty. For surviving. For being here when he’s not. For wearing his face and his name and pretending to be him while he’s dead and buried and—"

"Nyra." Soren pulled her into his arms. "He would be proud of you. You’ve done the impossible. You’ve survived assassins and poisonings and rogue attacks. You’ve fooled an entire academy. You’ve awakened a power that hasn’t been seen in centuries. Thorne didn’t die for nothing. He died so you could live. And you’re living. That’s what he would have wanted."

She pressed her face into his chest and let the tears fall. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were red but her smile was genuine.

"When did you get so good at comforting people?"

"I’ve been practicing."

"On who?"

"Kael. He’s very needy."

I am not needy, Kael protested in his mind. I am emotionally available. There’s a difference.

Sure there is.

Nyra laughed—a real laugh, bright and warm. "I can hear him arguing with you."

"He does that constantly. It’s exhausting."

"Sounds familiar."

"Luna?"

"Non-stop. She’s been singing love ballads in my head since we kissed."

They’re romantic, Luna said defensively. And appropriate for the moment. Unlike some wolves who just growl all the time.

Kael made a sound that might have been a huff. Growling is romantic.

It really isn’t.

It is when I do it.

Nyra and Soren looked at each other, and suddenly they were both laughing—genuine, helpless laughter that echoed through the quiet garden and startled a flock of birds from the old oak tree.

"We’re arguing about our wolves," Soren said.

"I know. It’s ridiculous."

"Completely ridiculous."

They laughed until their sides ached, and by the time they finally stopped, the sun was fully up and the academy bells were ringing for the morning meal.

"We should go," Nyra said reluctantly.

"I know."

"Before someone notices we’re both missing."

"I know." He stood and offered her his hand. "But tonight—after training—come to my suite. We’ll continue this conversation. About my father. About the showcase. About everything."

"Just conversation?"

He almost smiled. "We’ll see."