Chapter 70

Chapter 70: Chapter 70

Soren stepped toward her, his hands reaching out. "Nyra, please. Let me explain properly. Let me—"

"No." She stepped back. "Don’t touch me."

"I’m not trying to—"

"Don’t touch me!"

He reached for her anyway not to restrain her, not to force her, just to hold her, to ground her, to somehow bridge the impossible distance between them. His fingers brushed her arm.

She turned and slapped him.

The crack of her palm against his cheek echoed through the silent garden. Soren’s head snapped to the side, his eyes wide with shock. He had been struck before—in training, in combat, in the brutal sparring matches that had earned him his title. But never like this. Never by someone he loved.

"You don’t get to touch me," Nyra said, her voice shaking. "You don’t get to hold me and make it better. You don’t get to pretend everything is fine when it’s not."

She hit his chest with her fists—weak, ineffective blows that had no real force behind them. She was crying too hard to do any damage. Her fists pounded against his chest over and over, and each strike was less about hurting him and more about releasing the storm of grief and betrayal that had been building inside her all day.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" she sobbed, her fists still beating against him. "Why didn’t you trust me? Why did you let me fall in love with you when you knew—when you knew—"

"I’m sorry." His voice was broken. "I’m so sorry, Nyra."

"Sorry isn’t enough. Sorry doesn’t fix this. Sorry doesn’t make it stop hurting."

She hit him again, but her strength was fading, her blows growing weaker, her sobs growing louder. She was falling apart in his arms, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He couldn’t hold her. He couldn’t comfort her. He could only stand there and take it, because he deserved every ounce of her pain.

"I trusted you," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I trusted you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone. And you broke that trust. You broke me."

"Nyra..." His voice was barely a whisper. "Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll fix this. Just tell me how to fix this."

"You can’t." She stepped back, her eyes red and swollen, her cheeks wet with tears. "You can’t fix this, Soren. Not with words. Not with promises. You should have told me the truth from the beginning. You should have trusted me the way I trusted you."

"I know. I know I should have. I was a coward. I was afraid of losing you."

"And now you have."

The words hung in the air between them, final and devastating.

Soren reached for her again—an instinct, a reflex, the desperate need to hold onto something that was slipping through his fingers. "Nyra, please—"

"Don’t."

A voice cut through the darkness. Calm. Cold. Furious.

"That’s enough."

Corvin emerged from the shadows of the garden, his dark hair disheveled, his whiskey eyes burning with quiet rage. He had been watching from a distance, giving them space to talk, but when he saw Nyra’s tears and Soren’s desperate attempts to hold her, something inside him had snapped.

"Eldritch." Soren’s voice was hollow. "This doesn’t concern you."

"It concerns her. Which means it concerns me." Corvin stepped between them, his body a shield between Nyra and the man who had hurt her. "She asked you not to touch her. Respect that."

"Corvin—" Nyra started.

"Not now." He didn’t look at her. His eyes were fixed on Soren, cold and hard. "You’ve done enough damage for one night, Thornridge. You lied to her. You humiliated her. You made her cry in front of the entire academy. And now you’re standing here, trying to hold her like you have any right to her forgiveness."

"I’m trying to explain—"

"She doesn’t want your explanations. She wants you to leave." Corvin stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "So leave. Before I make you."

Soren’s hands curled into fists at his sides. The wolf in him—Kael, wounded and angry—was howling for release, demanding that he fight back, that he defend his mate, that he tear Corvin apart for daring to come between them. But he couldn’t. Because Corvin was right. He had done this. He had broken her trust. He had made her cry.

And now he had to live with the consequences.

He looked past Corvin, toward Nyra. She was standing with her arms wrapped around herself, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She looked so small. So broken. So utterly, devastatingly hurt.

And he had done that to her.

"Nyra," he said, his voice cracking. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

She didn’t look up. She didn’t answer.

"Go," Corvin said. "Now."

Soren hesitated for one more moment, his heart screaming at him to stay, to fight, to do something—anything—to make this right. But there was nothing he could do. Not tonight. Not when she couldn’t even look at him.

He turned and walked away.

His footsteps echoed on the frozen grass, each one heavier than the last. The garden gate creaked open and shut. And then he was gone, swallowed by the darkness, leaving behind only the silence and the cold and the woman he loved sobbing in another man’s arms.

Corvin watched him go. Then he turned to Nyra, his expression softening.

"Come on," he said quietly. "Let’s get you inside. It’s cold."

She didn’t resist when he put his arm around her shoulders. She didn’t speak. She just let him guide her out of the garden, away from the old oak tree, away from the place where her heart had shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces.

Behind them, the moon continued to shine, indifferent and eternal.

And somewhere in the darkness, Soren stood alone, his cheek still stinging from her slap, his chest aching with the knowledge that he had broken the most precious thing he had ever been given.

She’ll forgive you, Kael said, but his voice was uncertain. She has to.

What if she doesn’t?

Kael had no answer.

Neither did Soren.

Selene stood at the window of the east wing corridor, her amber eyes fixed on the garden below. The scene had unfolded like a perfectly staged play the silver-haired prince weeping, the Sword Sovereign reaching for her, the dark-haired Alpha intervening and pulling her away. It was almost too perfect. Almost too revealing.

"Interesting," she murmured to herself, her fingers tapping idly against the cold stone windowsill.

The prince cried like a woman.

She had seen enough women cry in her lifetime to recognize the signs the way the shoulders shook, the way the hands came up to cover the face, the way the body curled inward as if trying to protect itself from the world. Men cried differently. Men tried to hide it, to choke it back, to turn their tears into anger. But the prince—Thorne—had wept openly, unashamed, his entire body wracked with sobs.

Realization dawned slowly, then all at once.

A woman. The prince was a woman.

Selene’s smile, which had been cool and satisfied, froze on her lips. She replayed the scene in her mind—the delicate features, the slender frame, the silver hair that gleamed even in the darkness. Silver hair. The mark of the old magic. The mark of the Moonblood lineage.

"Thorne Astrlyn," she whispered. "The heir to the Astrlyn pack. Supposed to be male. But the Astrlyns had twins, didn’t they? A boy and a girl. The boy was the golden heir. The girl was..." She paused, searching her memory. "The girl was hidden away. A disappointment. A princess who couldn’t shift."

Her amber eyes narrowed.

She had visited the Astrlyn pack years ago, accompanying her father on a diplomatic mission. She had been young—twelve, maybe thirteen—but she remembered the palace well. She remembered the twin prince who had greeted them at the gates, all charm and confidence. And she remembered a glimpse of silver hair disappearing around a corner, a girl who had been hurried away by servants before anyone could notice her.

"That was her," Selene breathed. "The girl from the palace. The hidden princess."

And she was here. At an all-male academy. Disguised as her brother.

"Clever," Selene admitted, a grudging respect coloring her tone. "Very clever. Fooling the entire academy. Fooling the Proctor. Fooling Soren..." She paused. "No. Not Soren. Soren knows. Soren has to know."

She thought of the way Soren had looked at the prince—not with the detached professionalism he showed everyone else, but with something deeper. Something fierce and protective and utterly devoted. He had looked at Thorne the way a man looked at the woman he loved.

And Corvin the strategist, the one who never showed his cards—had looked at Thorne the same way.

"Two of them," Selene murmured. "Both of them know. Both of them are hiding her secret. Both of them are..." She trailed off, a cold smile curving her lips. "Both of them are in love with her."

The realization should have stung. She was, after all, Soren’s betrothed. The woman he was supposed to marry. The woman who would one day sit beside him on the throne. But Selene had never been under any illusions about the nature of their relationship. Their betrothal was political. Strategic. A contract signed by their fathers when they were children. Love had never been part of the equation.

But this—this was an opportunity.

"So you covet my betrothed," she said, her voice a cold whisper. "You, a hidden princess playing at being a prince. You’ve fooled an entire academy into believing you’re something you’re not. You’ve wrapped two of the most powerful Alphas in the realm around your finger. And you think you can take what’s mine."

Her smile widened, sharp as a blade.

"Watch how I destroy you. And when I’m done, you’ll watch me walk down the aisle with him."

She straightened, smoothing the front of her immaculate uniform. Her reflection in the window glass showed a woman completely in control—beautiful, poised, utterly certain of her victory.

"They should have been more careful," she murmured. "If you’re going to hide a secret this big, you should make sure no one from your past is watching."

She turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing on the stone floor, her mind already spinning with plans and possibilities. The showcase was only two weeks away. The King was coming. And by the time it was over, Nyra Astrlyn would wish she had never set foot in Shadowmoon Academy.