Silver Moon Palace did not sleep deeply anymore.
Even at dawn, there was a stiffness to the air, as though the walls themselves were listening. Servants moved with extra care, bows were held a second longer, and conversations ended the moment someone unfamiliar passed.
Lyria noticed it immediately.
She carried breakfast trays through the servants' corridor, her steps light, her gaze lowered. Yet she felt eyes on her—nothing hostile, nothing overt. Just awareness.
Selene walked beside her, unusually quiet.
"You're thinking again," Selene said finally.
Lyria sighed. "You always say that."
"Because it's always true," Selene replied. Then, more gently, "Is it about her?"
Lyria didn't ask who her was. "Everyone keeps asking me that."
"And?"
"And I don't know what answer they want."
Selene stopped walking. "I just want to know how you feel."
Before Lyria could reply, Nysa appeared at the end of the corridor, arms crossed. "Enough. You'll draw attention."
Selene raised her hands in surrender. "I was just asking."
"And I'm telling you to stop," Nysa said firmly.
Lyria met Nysa's eyes, gratitude flickering there. Some things were safer left unsaid.
In the west wing, Lady Isolde broke her fast without appetite.
Maris stood near the window, posture alert.
"He walked the training grounds at dawn," Maris reported. "He did not summon you."
Isolde set her cup down slowly. "Of course he didn't."
Maris hesitated. "My lady… may I speak freely?"
Isolde gestured. "Always."
"You are trying to approach him as a wife," Maris said carefully. "But he does not see you as one yet."
Isolde's fingers curled against the table. "Then what does he see me as?"
"A decision," Maris answered.
Silence stretched.
Isolde laughed softly. "Then I will remind him that decisions have consequences."
Across the palace, Serina listened with narrowed eyes as her maid spoke.
"The new wife grows impatient," the maid said. "She tests boundaries."
Serina smiled faintly. "Good."
"She resents the Alpha's distance."
"Better."
Serina leaned forward. "People who want control hate uncertainty. Let her push. Let her fail."
"And the Alpha?" the maid asked.
Serina's smile faded. "He is watching everything."
Kael Draven sat with the elders later that morning, their voices circling familiar ground.
"Your wife grows restless," Elder Malrec said smoothly.
Kael's gaze was steady. "She is new to restraint."
"She deserves reassurance," Malrec pressed.
Kael leaned back. "I am not a reassurance to be dispensed."
A tense pause followed.
"You test patience," Malrec warned.
Kael's eyes hardened. "And you test authority."
The meeting ended shortly after.
As Kael left, his thoughts drifted—unbidden—to the servants' corridor. To careful steps. To a voice that spoke plainly when others circled truth.
He frowned.
That evening, Lyria was sent to the outer library with a stack of scrolls.
She had just set them down when she sensed someone behind her.
"You move quietly," Kael said.
She turned, startled but composed. "I didn't hear you, Alpha."
"I didn't intend for you to."
A pause.
"You shouldn't be here alone," he added.
"I'm never truly alone in this palace," she replied.
Something about that answer made his expression shift.
"You watch things," Kael said. "You notice patterns."
"It's safer to," Lyria replied.
He studied her. "What do you see now?"
She hesitated. "A man surrounded by people… and still standing apart."
The words surprised them both.
Kael held her gaze longer than necessary. "Careful."
She nodded. "I know."
He stepped aside. "Go."
As she passed him, close enough that he felt the warmth of her presence, his wolf stirred again—confused, alert, unsettled.
Not desire.
Something quieter.
Elsewhere, Isolde stood on her balcony, watching the moon rise.
"He avoids me," she said to Maris. "But he does not avoid everyone."
Maris hesitated. "You think another holds his attention?"
Isolde's eyes narrowed. "I think attention can be redirected."
Serina, in her chambers, laughed softly as her maid finished her report.
"Let them circle each other," Serina said. "The palace always devours the impatient first."
And in the servants' quarters, Lyria lay awake long after the candles were extinguished.
Her thoughts returned, unbidden, to amber eyes and measured restraint.
Something was changing.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
But once change began, it rarely asked permission.