“And what does that have to do with us?” He comes to stand beside me, his reflection appearing in the window. Despite the silver that now shows in my hair, Artisem still looks at me with the same admiration he had as a child. “Our sanctuary has remained untouched for hundreds of years. Let the lowlanders sort out their own problems.”
“If this kingdom falls, we’re next,” I say, my voice hardening. “The threat may seem distant now, but once this realm crumbles, the chaos will spread to our mountains.”
Artisem sighs, a sound laden with the weight of having served as my right hand for too long. “Are you certain you’re here to stop the prophecy from being fulfilled? Or is it because of that female shifter your eyes keep following?”
My spine stiffens. “She is not part of anything.”
“I’ve been by your side since I was a child,” Artisem says, his voice softening. “In all these years, I have never seen you look at a woman the way you look at her. Not once. But you can hardly take your eyes off this one.” He clasps my shoulder. “If you want her, woo her. You’re not too old for that.”
I glance down at my wrist, at the intricate tattoo that marks my skin—symbols of ancient magic intertwined with the phases of the moon. The mark of my burden. My curse.
“Our destinies, if entwined, will lead to tragedy,” I say quietly. “I won’t make the same mistake again.”
Artisem’s frustrated exhale fills the room. “You believe you can change the outcome of a prophecy, but you can’t change the destiny you’ve foreseen? That makes no sense, Kieran.”
“You cannot outrun your destiny,” I whisper, more to myself than to him.
Artisem stares at me for a long moment, then shakes his head. “I’ll attend the Council meeting in your stead. Try not to brood yourself to death while I’m gone.” He leaves, the door clicking shut behind him.
Alone once more, I sink into a chair at the table, staring blankly at the polished surface. The emptiness in my chest expands, a familiar void I’ve carried for lifetimes. The pain of loss echoes through me, but I know this ache is nothing compared to what my past selves have endured.
I close my eyes and see her face. Daciana, with her direct gaze and fearless words. The way her eyes lingered on mine when our delegation arrived, that flash of interest she couldn’t quite disguise. The subtle shift in her scent when our gazes locked, betraying an attraction she likely wishes she could hide from a wolf’s keen senses.
“Never again,” I whisper to the empty room. “I will not ruin your happiness again.”
My wolf stirs restlessly beneath my skin, disagreeing with my decision. He wants to claim, to mark, to possess. But I’ve lived too many lives, seen too many endings to give in to his primal demands.
The prophecy speaks of the Wolf Kingdom’s downfall, but my personal torment has always been her.
I clench my fist, feeling the magic pulsing beneath my skin. Ancient power thrums in my veins, a reminder of what makes my pack both feared and coveted. Power that has been both blessing and curse through the centuries.
My wolf growls at my hesitation, but I’ve been down this path before. I know where it leads.
I stand abruptly, needing to move, to breathe. The walls of this palace are suffocating me with their opulence and political games. Yet I must remain. Not just for the prophecy, but because leaving now would mean abandoning her to whatever darkness the future holds.
Even if I can never have her, I can at least ensure she survives this time.
I move to the window again, looking toward the far-off mountains. My territory calls to me, but my duty and my heart chain me here.
“I will save you,” I whisper. “Even if it means you’ll never be mine.”
The pain in my chest is familiar, almost comforting in its consistency.
I’ve seen how this story ends. But this time, I’ll write a different ending—even if it breaks me in the process.
I notice it happening gradually.The shadows beneath her eyes deepening day by day. The slight lag in her reflexes when she passes me in the corridors. The way she stifles yawns during her guard shifts.
Daciana is exhausted.
I shouldn’t be watching her this closely. I shouldn’t know the exact shade of purple beneath her eyes or count how many times she catches herself mid-yawn. But I do.
My wolf growls its dissatisfaction when I spot her staggering slightly after her patrol shift ends. I clench my jaw, fighting the primal urge to intervene, to care for her, to protect her.
“She’s not ours to look after,” I mutter to myself, but my wolf disagrees vehemently.
Today, with diplomatic meetings concluded and Artisem handling correspondence, I find myself alone, wandering the palace grounds, restless energy driving me outside despite the afternoon heat. The pompous nobles questioning the place of shifters with magic in their society have worn my patience thin. As if our kind haven’t existed since before their stone walls were erected.
My legs carry me toward the forest’s edge. I am drawn by the scent of pine and earth. It calms me, reminds me of home. I’m following a narrow trail, breathing deeply, when another scent catches my attention.
