ROVAN’S POV
I told myself I’d walk away, far from Sylra and Caelan. Let her have her moment, her crown, her future.
But I didn’t leave.
I stood just out of sight, behind the marble arch near the east wing gardens, where the torches burned low and the shadows gave me cover. I saw them—felt them—as they spoke.
Then I watched him lean in. Watched her bury her face in his shoulder.
And I heard him.
“Rovan still loves you, Sylra.”
The words weren’t loud, but they struck like lightning.
And instead of rage… I went still.
“Alpha Rovan,” a voice called behind me, pulling me out of the fog. I turned sharply.
It was one of the royal guards, eyes downcast. “His Majesty requests your presence in the throne chamber.”
I hesitated for a beat, casting one last look toward the pair disappearing through the west corridor, before nodding stiffly. “Lead the way.”
The walk felt longer than it was. Every step was a weight, every hallway echoing with something I couldn’t name. By the time we reached the throne room, I’d replayed every moment with Sylra a thousand times in my head.
The guard pushed the heavy doors open, and there he was—King Maelric, seated on his obsidian-carved throne, eyes sharp and unmoving.
“Your Highness,” I said, bowing.
“Come forward,” he said.
I did, slow and steady, until I stood at the base of the steps leading up to his seat.
“Do you know why I called you here?” he asked.
“No, Your Highness.”
The King studied me. “What do you want from Sylra?”
I blinked. “Pardon?”
He didn’t blink. “You’ve hovered like a ghost these past few weeks. Watching from shadows. Stirring tension. So I ask again—what is it that you want from my daughter?”
I took a breath. “I want her forgiveness. I want to make amends for everything I didn’t say… for everything I failed to be when she was my mate.”
The King didn’t flinch. “You failed her publicly. You allowed your bloodline to drag her name through the dirt. She nearly died running from a bond you treated like a convenience.”
I swallowed hard. “I know.”
He leaned forward slightly. “So why now?”
“Because I see her clearly now. Not as Luna. Not as my pack’s trophy. But as who she truly is.”
The King’s eyes narrowed. “She is more than you deserve.”
“I know that too.”
A long silence followed. The tension in the room was thick, the air almost hard to breathe.
Then, he said, “You do realize that Sylra cannot ascend the throne without a mate.”
I nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“And you came here to offer yourself.”
“I came to tell the truth. If she wants nothing to do with me, I’ll accept that. But if there’s a chance—any chance—that I can stand beside her and protect what she’s becoming, then yes… I’d give everything to do it right this time.”
The King was quiet.
Too quiet.
Then he spoke again, softer. “I heard you had taken a second mate.”
I didn’t flinch. “Yes, Your Highness. But… we are no longer together.”
He tilted his head. “Why?”
“She left.”
He raised an eyebrow.
I explained, “She saw what I didn’t. That I never truly let go of Sylra. She said it the night we returned from the summit—that I didn’t look at her the way a man should look at his mate. And she was right.”
The King was silent again, fingers drumming slowly on the arm of the throne.
Then, without looking at me, he muttered, “I put you to a test.”
I frowned. “What test?”
Before he could respond, the chamber doors creaked open.
I turned.
And froze.
Sylra stepped in, her eyes finding mine instantly. She looked… conflicted, exhausted, yet regal and raw all at once.
The King’s voice boomed. “Sylra.”
She approached slowly, unsure, glancing between her father and me.
“You must give Rovan another chance.”
Her mouth opened slightly. “What?”
“You need to be mated within the next two days to ascend,” the King said. “There are no exceptions. The Council will not recognize your claim without it.”
“What?!” she exclaimed, her voice sharp with disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”
The King stood. “I am.”
Sylra looked at me—then at her father. “And you… you want me to go back to the man who abandoned me? Who stood by while I was torn apart by his family?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Her eyes burned into mine, betrayal surfacing like an old wound reopening.
“This is a joke,” she muttered, backing away.
“No,” the King said, voice firm. “This is politics.”
