And tomorrow, it would fracture.
Zirene would leave with theShadowClaw. V’dim and Z’fir would follow within days. The constellation Selena had built so carefully—woven together thread by thread, bond by bond, with patience and love and stubborn refusal to let any of them go—would scatter across the Aldawi Empire while war raged at the borders.
Xylo couldn’t heal that wound. No compound in his medical wing could knit together a family torn apart by circumstance. All he could do was tend the pieces that remained.
And prepare for the injuries yet to come.
“You’re thinking loudly,” Odelm murmured.
“Occupational hazard.” Xylo’s gaze tracked Selena ahead of them—the way she leaned into Zirene, the way her hand reached back to brush Kaede’s arm, the constant small touches that anchored her to her mates. “She’s going to struggle when he leaves.”
“She’s stronger than most give her credit for.”
“Strength doesn’t prevent pain. It just helps you survive it.” Xylo’s jaw tightened. “We need to be her foundation. Her stability. Whatever she needs to get through what’s coming.”
“That’s what we’ve always been.”
True. From the beginning, the Favored had served this purpose—not as warriors, not as rulers, but as anchors. The ones who held her steady when the galaxy tried to pull her apart.The ones who loved without demanding, supported without competing, gave everything and asked only for her happiness in return.
Tonight, that role mattered more than ever.
They reached the villa’s entrance, and the cubs scattered toward their rooms with promises of baths and dinner. The household staff materialized to take luggage, offer refreshments, perform the thousand small tasks that kept the Beacon’s home running smoothly.
Selena paused at the threshold.
The rest of the clan continued inside—Zirene murmuring to Kaede about security protocols, V’dim and Z’fir discussing fleet logistics, Zyxel trailing uncertainly behind. But Selena turned, and her gaze found Xylo.
She caught his hand.
“Tonight,” she said quietly, her ocean-deep eyes holding his. “I need all of you.”
Xylo’s thumb traced across her knuckles. “You always have us.”
“Not as the Beacon.” Her voice cracked at the edges. “Not as their queen. Not as the woman the galaxy expects me to be.” She drew a shaky breath. “Just as Selena. Can we have that? Just one night before everything falls apart?”
The weight of her request settled into his bones. Not a demand—never that, not from her. A plea. A need she rarely let herself voice, from the female who spent every waking moment carrying the hopes of species and the burdens of empire.
Tonight, she wanted to set that weight down. Tonight, she wanted to be held instead of holding everyone else together.
Xylo lifted her hand to his lips. Pressed a kiss to her knuckles—slow, reverent, a promise sealed against her skin.
“We can have whatever you need, nestqueen.” His voice dropped low, intimate, meant only for her. “Always.”
7
Odelm
The dining hall glowed with warm light, and Odelm’s fingers moved across the strings of hisvelishrabefore he could think too hard about what he was doing.
Play. Just play.
The melody came out light. Airy. Something that skipped across the tension thrumming through the room like a stone across still water. Nothing that would draw attention—just background noise to mask the silence no one wanted to fill.
Through his empathic senses, he felt them all.
Selena’s exhaustion pressed against him first—bone-deep, laced with a love so fierce it burned. She sat at the center of the long table, spots flickering through muted blues and violets, her rounded belly a reminder of everything they’d built together. Everything at stake. Zirene loomed at her left, shadow-wrapped and massive, his fear for her safety a cold spike beneath his controlled exterior. Kaede flanked her right, iron control welded over something rawer—the need to eliminate every threat before it touched her.
The princes radiated steady concern from across the table. V’dim’s tentacles rested still against the wood, but his turquoise thread hummed with barely contained worry. Z’fir’s vines curled around the base of his goblet, his thread an echo of his bondbrother’s unease.
