Chapter 66

Chapter 66: Chapter 66

The lecturers’ meeting had been going on since dawn.

Proctor Kane sat at the head of the council table, his expression grim as the board members debated the final details of the showcase. Schedules. Security. Seating arrangements for the King and Queen. Protocols for the joint training sessions. The sheer volume of logistics was staggering, and every decision felt weighted with consequence.

"The Silvermoon delegation will be housed in the east wing," Elara Voss reported, consulting her notes. "Seventy students, twelve instructors, and Headmistress Isolde. The rooms are prepared. The welcoming committee is assembled. We’re as ready as we’ll ever be."

"And the King’s arrival?" Kane asked.

"Confirmed for the day before the showcase. He’ll be traveling with a full retinue—guards, advisors, dignitaries. The palace has sent ahead a list of security requirements." She slid a thick parchment across the table. "It’s extensive."

Kane scanned the list. "Implement all of it. Whatever the King wants, the King gets."

"Yes, Proctor."

"What of the joint events? Silvermoon sent their activity quota?"

"The combat exhibition, the potions demonstration, and the strategic warfare simulation are confirmed. The ball will be held on the final night, with the King and Queen in attendance. The students will vote for the showcase King and Queen from both academies."

"And the training schedule?"

"Joint sessions will begin the day after the delegation arrives. We’ve assigned instructors to each group. Valeria Morvane will oversee the coordination."

Kane nodded slowly. "Then we’re as prepared as we can be. Keep me informed of any changes."

The board members filed out, and Kane was left alone with his thoughts. He walked to the window and stared out at the darkening sky.

Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow, everything changes.

The tension in the academy was palpable.

Every corridor hummed with nervous energy. Every training ground was packed with students practicing their forms, their spells, their combat techniques. The cafeteria was quieter than usual everyone too focused to make idle conversation. Even the instructors seemed on edge, their usual gruffness sharpened into something harder.

In the Undercroft dorm, Nyra lay awake long after her roommates had fallen asleep. She stared at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the stone with her eyes, and tried to quiet her mind.

Tomorrow, Luna said softly. Tomorrow the Silvermoon students arrive.

I know.

Are you nervous?

Terrified.

Good. Fear keeps you sharp. But don’t let it consume you. You’ve faced worse than a delegation of female students.

Have I?

You’ve faced assassins. Poisonings. Rogue attacks. Fever. The Mistwood. And you’re still standing. Some girls from a fancy academy aren’t going to break you.

Nyra smiled in the darkness. When did you become my personal cheerleader?

The moment you stopped being afraid of me and started treating me like a friend.

You are my friend.

I know. Luna’s voice was warm. Now get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.

Nyra closed her eyes, and eventually, sleep came.

In the Astrlyn pack’s great hall, the council of elders had gathered by torchlight.

The hall was ancient and imposing, its walls hung with the banners of generations past wolves and moons and the silver crest of the Astrlyn bloodline. The elders sat in a semicircle around the great stone table, their faces weathered by age and wisdom, their eyes sharp despite their years.

Lord Varek Astrlyn stood at the head of the table, though he did not sit. He could not sit. The chair at the head of the table was reserved for the blood heir—for Thorne, or for the true heir if Thorne was not present. Varek was merely the acting leader, a placeholder until the rightful ruler returned.

The humiliation of it burned in his chest every single day.

"The talent showcase approaches," Elder Marric said, his voice carrying the weight of his eighty years. "News has spread across the Seven Packs. The King himself will attend this year’s event."

"The King and the Queen," Elder Lyssa corrected. "It is a rare honor. The showcase has never drawn such attention."

"Which means all eyes will be on our pack," Elder Fenris added. "On Prince Thorne. He represents us on that stage. His performance will reflect on the Astrlyn name."

Varek inclined his head, his expression carefully neutral. "My nephew has been training at Shadowmoon for months. He is being educated by the finest instructors in the realm. I have no doubt he will make us proud."

"You have been in communication with him?" Elder Marric asked.

"Regularly. He reports that his training progresses well. He has even been personally mentored by the Sword Sovereign himself—Soren Thornridge."

A murmur of approval rippled through the elders.

"The Sword Sovereign," Elder Lyssa said, impressed. "That is a significant honor. The boy must have potential."

"Indeed. I have ensured he receives the best possible training," Varek said smoothly. "Nothing but the best for the heir to the Astrlyn pack."

"And you will attend the showcase?" Elder Fenris asked.

"I will. As acting leader, it is my duty to represent our pack before the King." Varek paused, a flicker of something dark passing through his eyes. "I will watch my nephew compete. I will cheer for his success. And I will ensure that the Astrlyn name shines as brightly as it ever has."

The elders nodded their approval.

"Then it is settled," Elder Marric said. "Lord Varek will lead our delegation to the showcase. We will show the realm that the Astrlyn pack remains strong, united, and loyal to the Crown."

"Hear, hear," the elders echoed.

Varek smiled—a cold, calculated expression that didn’t reach his eyes. "I will not let you down."

The meeting continued, discussions drifting to trade agreements and border disputes and the thousand other minutiae of running a great pack. But Varek’s mind was elsewhere.

Thorne, he thought. Or whoever you really are. I don’t know how you survived the assassination. I don’t know how you fooled the academy. But your time is running out. The King is coming. The elders are watching. And soon—very soon—you will slip. When you do, I’ll be there to catch you.

He smiled again, and this time, there was nothing cold about it.

It was pure, predatory anticipation.

The evening had settled over the academy like a heavy cloak, the corridors quiet and dim as most students retreated to their dormitories for a few precious hours of rest before the Silvermoon delegation arrived at dawn. The training grounds were empty. The great hall was silent. The only sound was the distant howl of the wind through the towers.

Nyra moved through the shadows with practiced silence, her footsteps light on the cold stone. She had told Finn she was going for a walk to clear her head. It wasn’t entirely a lie—her head did need clearing. But her destination was not the garden or the lake or any of the other places she usually went when she needed solitude.

She was going to Soren.

He was waiting for her at the door of his suite, his broad shoulders filling the frame, his dark eyes finding hers the moment she turned the corner. Neither of them spoke. There was no need for words. The longing that had been building between them since the training ground since the hut in the Mistwood, if she was being honest with herself was a living thing, pulsing in the air like a second heartbeat.

She stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind her.

And then his hands were on her face and his mouth was on hers and she was drowning in him.

The kiss was not gentle. It was not the soft, reassuring press of lips he’d given her in the garden. It was desperate and hungry and weeks overdue. His fingers threaded through her silver hair, tilting her head back, and she gasped against his mouth as his other hand found her waist and pulled her flush against him.

"I’ve been thinking about this all day," he murmured against her lips.

"Only all day?"

"All week. All month. Since the moment I met you."

"Liar. You hated me when we first met."

"I never hated you." He kissed the corner of her mouth, her jaw, the sensitive spot just below her ear. "I was terrified of you. There’s a difference."

"And now?"

"Now I’m terrified of losing you."

She pulled back just enough to look at him the sharp planes of his face, the intensity of his dark eyes, the vulnerability he was letting her see. "You’re not going to lose me."

"I know. But the fear doesn’t go away." He pressed his forehead to hers. "Stay with me tonight. Not for... not just for this. I want to wake up next to you. I want to hold you. I want one night where we don’t have to pretend."

"One night," she repeated. "Before the world crashes down on us."

"One night."

She kissed him in answer.

What followed was not rushed. Despite the weeks of longing, despite the hunger that burned in both of them, they took their time. Soren led her to his bed with a gentleness that belied his size, his hands moving over her body like she was something sacred. He undressed her slowly, pressing kisses to each inch of skin as it was revealed—her shoulders, her collarbone, the curve of her breasts freed from their binding. She shivered under his touch, her hands gripping his shoulders, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

"You’re beautiful," he murmured against her skin. "Every part of you. I don’t tell you that enough."

"You tell me plenty."

"Not enough. Never enough."

She pulled his shirt over his head and traced the lines of his tattoo—the wolves mid-hunt, the moonlight etched in ink. "You’re beautiful too. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that."

"You haven’t."

"Then I’m telling you now. You’re beautiful, Soren Thornridge. Inside and out. Even when you’re being a jerk."

He laughed softly. "I’ll try to be less of a jerk."

"Don’t try too hard. I’ve gotten used to it."

Their bodies came together with the ease of two people who had already learned each other’s rhythms, who had already memorized the maps of each other’s skin. It was not the frantic coupling of the hut—that had been desperation and fear and the need to feel alive in the face of death. This was different. This was slow and deliberate and achingly tender. Soren moved above her with the same focused intensity he brought to everything, but his touch was gentle, his gaze never leaving her face, his whispered words a constant litany of reassurance and devotion.

"Stay with me," he breathed. "Just like this. Don’t let go."

"I’m here," she promised. "I’m not going anywhere."

When they finally lay tangled together in the aftermath, the torches burned low and the moon hung high outside the window. Nyra’s head rested on Soren’s chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin, her body warm and sated and utterly at peace.

"I could get used to this," she murmured.

"Waking up in my arms?"

"Falling asleep in them."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Then sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

She closed her eyes, and within moments, her breathing evened out. Soren held her through the night, his arms wrapped around her like a shield, and for the first time in weeks, he slept without dreaming.