[Next Day: Morning]
[Ovelia's POV]
The forest surrounded me again, its towering trees casting long shadows that danced in the dim light. Four shadowy figures emerged from the mist, their forms vague but familiar. I was dreaming again.This was the continuation of my previous dream, which left me with more questions than answers.
"What is the risk, Lady Firera?" Oliver's voice echoed through the trees, his tone laced with concern.
Lady Firera answered, calm as deep water but with an undercurrent of immense, contained power. "The sealing is a cage of spirit and flesh. If she ever releases me without the proper control, without the will to command the fire, the backlash will incinerate her soul from within. My essence would flood the vacant vessel. It would not be a sharing. It would be an erasure. She would die, and I would wear her life like a borrowed cloak."
Viana's voice was immediate and fierce, a shield against the warning. "My daughter is strong. She carries your will in her blood. I believe she will grow to wield it, not be consumed by it. She will learn control."
Lady Firera's form shifted, dissolving into a red, glowing orb that floated in the air, pulsating with otherworldly energy. The sight was both mesmerizing and unsettling.
I stirred awake as sunlight streamed through the window, warming my face. The dream was familiar now—but familiarity did not make it less terrifying. It only made the terror predictable. The sharp twinge in my left arm and the dull ache in my back brought me fully back to reality.
I shifted under the covers and felt the slide of fine linen against my skin. I looked down. I was wearing only my undergarments. A flush of heat climbed my neck—and then I remembered. The dress had been torn. The werewolf's claws had shredded it. I forced the shame down. It was not the first time my body had been exposed against my will.
My gaze drifted to the bandages wrapped around my left arm. The memories came rushing back—the attack, the pain, Ace and Ann saved me. Relief and anxiety tangled in my chest as I tried to piece it all together.
Next to my bedside, Ace was fast asleep, his head resting against the edge of the bed. His usually sharp features were softened in slumber, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For a moment, I allowed myself to admire him, his presence both comforting and confusing. He was the reason I was in pain, yet he was also the reason I was alive. I wanted to thank him. I wanted to hate him. Both feelings sat in my chest like two stones, grinding against each other.
I lifted my hand, then stopped. My fingers hovered over his hair. He looked so soft like this—almost innocent. But I knew what he was capable of. I let my hand fall, then brushed his hair. It was softer than I expected. He caught my hand before I could pull away. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, the usual guardedness was gone, replaced by pure, unguarded relief. "You're awake," he breathed, his voice rough with sleep. He didn't move from his chair, his gaze tracing the bandages on my arm. The memory of last night's vulnerability hung between us.
"How... how do you feel?" The question was awkward, as if he was unaccustomed to asking.
"I'm alive," I whispered. The word felt strange on my tongue—like a gift I was not sure I deserved. "Thanks to you." I said it, but my throat tightened around the words.
His silver eyes darkened with emotion. "I should have been there sooner." His thumb stroked my knuckles, the gesture surprisingly tender. "When I saw that werewolf touching you..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening.
We stayed like that for a long moment, caught in the space between what was and what might be. Then, slowly, as if moving through deep water, he leaned forward. He didn't grab my chin or demand. He simply closed the small distance, and his lips brushed against mine.
It was nothing like the desperate, claiming kiss in the golden carriage. It was nothing like the violent prelude to my violation. This was soft. Questioning. It was a whisper of contact, filled with a hesitant reverence that made my chest ache.
"I'm sorry," he murmured against my lips. "For the carriage. For that night. For not being there when the black werewolf from the Shadow Pack came. For all of it."
The door swung open, shattering the moment.
Ace pulled back immediately, the warmth between us dissolving like morning mist. He ran a hand through his hair—a quick, restless gesture—and by the time his hand dropped, the mask was already back in place. The prince. Controlled. Untouchable.
Ann rushed in, her eyes widening as she spotted me. The cleaning supplies slipped from her grip, clattering to the floor. "Lady Ovelia!" She crossed the room in three quick strides and threw her arms around me. "You're awake!"
The embrace was fierce, warm—and agonizing. A bolt of pain shot up my spine, sharp and blinding. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, forcing my face to stay still. I held my breath until the sting passed, then released it slowly, carefully.
She didn't need to know.
"I was so worried about you!" Her voice trembled with genuine relief, her grip tightening just slightly. "I'm so relieved to see you awake."
I swallowed past the lingering ache and managed a small smile. "I'm sorry for making you worry." Guilt and gratitude tangled in my chest, heavy and warm all at once.
"Ahem!" Ace cleared his throat, his playful tone cutting through the tension in the room.
Ann and I turned to look at him, and she immediately released me from the hug, a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
"I almost forgot, Sir Ace, Lady Ovelia," she said, clasping her hands before her. "Breakfast is ready. But first, I must tend to your wounds, my lady. The physician instructed me to change your bandage regularly."
I sat up straighter, wincing as the movement tugged at my injuries. Ace did not leave. He remained in his chair, watching as Ann moved with efficient grace. She collected a tray of supplies: a bowl of clean water, fresh bandage, a pot of sharp-smelling salve, and a cloth-wrapped ice pack.
Her touch was expert and gentle as she unwound the old bandage from my arm. Ace's gaze was fixed on the revealed wound—two deep, angry red gashes, stitched with black thread, the flesh around them swollen and purple. His expression was unreadable, but a muscle ticked in his jaw. I bit the inside of my cheek, focusing on that small, controllable pain as Ann cleansed the lacerations with a cool, stinging solution. She applied the salve with feather-light fingers, then began re-wrapping my arm with precise, firm turns of the bandage.
She guided me forward with steady hands, and I felt the cool air brush against my bare back before the gentle press of the ice pack settled against the massive, tender bruise. The cold was a shock at first—sharp and sudden—then slowly eased into relief, dulling the deep ache that had been throbbing beneath my skin.
When she was done, she stepped back, surveying her work with a satisfied nod. "There. Please try not to strain your arm, my lady."
Before I could respond, she was already crossing the room toward the large wardrobe. "I'll choose what you will wear today."
The doors swung open, revealing rows of neatly arranged dresses—silks and velvets in every shade imaginable. Ann's fingers moved with practiced efficiency, brushing past elaborate gowns and intricate embroidery until she found what she was looking for. She pulled out a dress of soft, blush-pink linen, its long sleeves graceful and flowing—designed to cover my bandages completely. Simple. Elegant. Considerate.
She turned to me with a small, approving smile. "This will be comfortable and modest."
I carefully slid my legs out from under the covers and stood, the stone floor cool beneath my bare feet. A fresh wave of self-consciousness washed over me, standing there in only my underclothes before both of them. Ann helped me step into the dress, carefully guiding my injured arm through the sleeve, then fastened the long row of tiny buttons up the back. Her movements were quick, respectful, and devoid of any awkwardness.
Once I was dressed, the three of us—Ace, Ann a step behind me, and I—made our way silently to the dining room.
•Dining Room•
The room was bathed in cheerful morning light. The long table was laid with platters of food: fluffy scrambled eggs, smoked fish, warm bread, honey, and a bowl of early berries. The aromas were rich and inviting.
And there, already seated, was Eliana.
She looked like a painting. Her brown hair was arranged in an artfully casual style. She was smiling, a perfect, warm smile that reached those eyes as Ace entered. My stomach dropped, a cold, heavy sensation that had nothing to do with hunger.
"Eliana?!" Ace's exclamation held genuine surprise, followed by a subtle, almost imperceptible edge of tension.
"Oh, good morning, Ace!" she replied, her voice like a clear bell. Her gaze flickered past him to me, and the smile on her face didn't dim, but it changed. It became polite, a queen acknowledging a visiting dignitary of lower status.
Ace's face became carefully neutral as he walked over to sit beside her, leaving me to settle into a seat across from them. The pang of sadness that shot through me was unexpected but undeniable.
"Good morning, Ovelia," Eliana said, her tone sweet.
"Good morning, Lady Eliana," I said, forcing a smile in return, though it felt hollow.
As we began to eat, Eliana turned to Ace, her voice sweet and inviting. "Ace, it's unusual for you to eat breakfast." she said, picking up a choice piece of honey-drenched fruit from her own plate with her fork. "You must try this. It's perfectly ripe." She held the fork out to him, an intimate, wifely gesture.
Ace hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then he leaned forward and took the offering from her fork. "Thank you," he said, his voice low. The moment felt strained. It was as if I didn't exist, as if they were in their own little world.
My eyes slid to Ann, who stood at respectful attention against the wall behind me. I caught her gaze. Her eyes, usually so warm for me, were like chips of flint as she watched the scene. She met my look and gave one single, barely perceptible nod. It wasn't pity. It was solidarity. It was a reminder that I was not alone in this room.
She's trying to give me strength, I thought. But the truth was a cold stone in my gut: The law and the moon might have bound him to me, but his heart, his memories, his easy gestures of affection… they still resided with her. So why did watching it feel like a wound being slowly reopened? Why did this new, emotional ache make the memory of physical pain seem almost simple?
I didn't speak. I simply watched them, pushing a piece of egg around my plate, trying to understand the peculiar, hollow pain expanding beneath my ribs.
The dining room door swung open with decisive force.
Ray stepped inside. He was already dressed for the day. His sharp eyes took in the tableau—Ace and Eliana side-by-side, me isolated across the table—in an instant. His expression didn't change.
"Princess Eliana," he said. His voice was polished, perfectly polite, and utterly devoid of warmth. "To what do we owe this… unexpected visit?" He didn't wait for her to formulate an answer, turning his head toward his brother. "Ace. Father requires you in the throne room. Now."
Ace and Eliana both rose from their chairs. As he stood, Ray's gaze shifted to me. The glacial edge in his eyes softened, just a fraction. "Ovelia," he said, and my name in his deep voice sounded strangely grounding. "I am glad to see you awake and on your feet."
I offered him a weak, grateful smile, one that felt a little more real than the one I'd given Eliana. He acknowledged it with a brief, slight incline of his head.
Ace walked out without a backward glance, without a word of parting or explanation. The space he vacated seemed to suck the warmth from the air around me. But Eliana didn't leave immediately. She paused, half-turning. Her eyes found me again across the table. And this time, the polite mask slipped completely. Her lips curved into a small, deliberate, triumphant smirk. It was a clear, wordless message: He goes where I am. You are an interlude.
I instinctively clutched my chest, feeling as if I'd been pierced through the heart. Then I smiled faintly remembering that the pain I felt now was nothing compared to what I had endured at the hands of my so-called parents.
•Palace Hallway•
[Ace's POV]
A cold knot of certainty formed in my stomach. Ray had spoken to our father. The throne room summons could mean only one thing: the events of last night, and my failure, were now a matter of state.
We stopped outside the towering doors of the throne room. Eliana was with us, her presence now a complicating factor.
"Princess Eliana," Ray said, his tone shifting to the formal cadence used with foreign dignitaries. "You will need to await my brother elsewhere. This is a private pack matter."
Eliana's smile remained perfectly in place, but I saw the subtle tightening around her eyes, the slight lift of her chin. "Of course, General Ray. I understand perfectly. I shall wait in Ace's office." She knew the boundaries, even when they excluded her. The pang of frustration I felt was old and familiar.
"I will join you shortly," I told her, my voice sounding flat even to my own ears. Ray gave a curt nod, his broad back already to her, a clear dismissal.
She glanced at me, offering a smile that seemed to seek reassurance. I tried to return it, but the effort felt hollow. She turned and walked down the corridor, the sound of her footsteps fading.
I watched her go. The old frustration simmered beneath my skin, quiet but persistent. It was always like this between them—Ray's dislike for Eliana an unspoken current I had never fully understood, but had long since stopped trying to navigate.
I turned and knocked on the throne room door—three sharp, respectful raps that echoed in the silence. The door swung open, not by a guard, but seemingly of its own accord. I stepped inside, and knelt before him, bowing my head.
"Why did you call for me, your Majesty?" I asked, my voice steady despite my unease.
"Raise your head. Today, I speak as your father, not your king," he replied, his voice commanding yet softening at the edges.
I looked up, meeting his gaze.
"Ace, Ray has informed me of what transpired. Of Ovelia's injuries, borne from a lapse in your protection." He leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the arms of his throne. "I will not levy a formal punishment. The guilt you carry is penance enough, I see it in your eyes. Instead, I ask something harder of you. You will open your heart to your wife. Not for her sake—for the kingdom's. The Moon Goddess chose her. The treaty demands it. Your feelings are irrelevant. Your duty is not."
The guilt was a physical pressure in my chest. And behind it, the immediate, visceral image of Eliana's face, the hurt that would cloud her eyes if I obeyed. "But, Father—" The protest was weak, trembling with the war inside me.
He cut me off, his voice gaining the firm, unyielding texture of the mountain itself. "I know you care for Eliana. But Ovelia is your fated mate chosen by the Moon Goddess. Your wolf, a part of your very soul, has accepted her as your mate. You must release Eliana. She is a chapter from your past. A dear one, but a closed one. Your destiny lies with the woman who shares your bond."
I couldn't argue with him. Across the four kingdoms, with the help of the Moon Goddess, the future Alpha Kings were bound to human mates—a living treaty to maintain the fragile peace between humans and werewolves. For one of us to reject that bond was not a personal tragedy; it was a political act of war.
"Yes father," I answered, my head bowed in submission. The weight on my shoulders felt unbearable. To achieve my dream, I had to let Eliana go, even though it hurt.
"You may leave," he commanded, dismissing me with a wave of his hand.
I walked out of the throne room with my father's command ringing in my ears. Release Eliana. Open my heart to Ovelia. But my heart did not know how to open—it only knew how to protect itself. And it was screaming that whichever choice I made, I would lose something I could never get back.