POV Odette
The phone rang three times before Devon's voice filled my ear, rough with barely contained emotion.
"Odette, how are you?"
"I'm fine." The words came out thinner than intended, longing scraping against the edges despite my efforts to sound composed.
"You don't sound fine." His voice dropped, intimate despite the distance. "I've been trying for two weeks to get permission to see you. Your father's guards turn me away at the gates. His advisors reject every formal request."
I blinked, genuinely surprised. "No one told me you'd been trying to visit."
"Every single day, Syrena—"
He caught himself.
"Princess. I've submitted formal petitions, informal requests, even tried bribing the guards. Nothing works."
Memory clicked into place—Magnus mentioning a queue of petitioners seeking audience with the princess, a list I'd dismissed with a wave, saying I wasn't ready to receive anyone as Odette. The rejection had been blanket, impersonal. I hadn't considered Devon might be among them.
"I told them I wasn't ready for visitors," I admitted. "The instruction was general. I didn't know you were—"
"Fighting to see my wife?" The raw pain in his voice made my chest tighten. "Of course I've been trying. You're all I think about."
"Am I?" The question came sharper than intended. "Or do Mira, Celia, and Jasmine occupy your thoughts when I'm not available?"
"That's not fair—"
"Isn't it? You're marrying them soon, Devon. Three beautiful, fertile wives to replace your barren Luna."
"I cancelled everything." The words rushed out, desperate. "The ceremony, the contracts, all of it. The council is furious, threatening my position, but I don't care."
Relief crashed through me so suddenly my knees weakened. I sank onto my bed, gripping the silk coverlet for support.
"You cancelled the weddings?"
"The moment you disappeared. I told them there would be no ceremonies without my Luna present." He paused, then added quietly, "Though the council says the issue returns to the docket when I bring you home."
"If," I corrected. "If you bring me home. And I'm Princess Odette now, not your Luna."
"You'll always be my Syrena, my—"
He stopped himself, regrouping.
"Princess Odette. Of course. Forgive me."
The old name hung between us like a familiar coat I'd outgrown, warm with memories but no longer fitting quite right.
"What exactly am I supposed to return to, Devon?" Anger sparked through the lingering affection. "You say you've cancelled the ceremonies, but the moment I'm back, the council will demand them again. Three wives waiting in the wings while I watch you—"
"You're reading this wrong." His voice turned firm, Alpha command bleeding through. "I need to set my house in order, yes. But I need you there to do it. I need a second chance, Odette. The grace of being heard."
"Being heard?" I laughed, bitter and short. "Like you heard me for the last months while I begged for reassurance? While your family called me barren? While you pulled away from my touch?"
"I was wrong. I was weak. I failed you in every way that matters." The admission came raw, unguarded. "But I'm still your husband. That has to mean something."
A knock interrupted, firm but polite. Nathaniel's voice carried through the door with practiced courtesy.
"Princess Odette? Forgive the intrusion, but you mentioned wanting to escape the protocol lessons this afternoon."
I covered the phone's microphone, irritation and relief warring in my chest. "One moment, Nathaniel."
"Who is that?" Devon's voice sharpened instantly. "Who's there with you?"
"My father's court is extensive. I have many teachers." The half-truth tasted bitter. "Devon, I'll authorize your visit. We can finish this conversation in person."
"When?"
"I'll send word through proper channels." I moved toward the door, already ending the call. "Goodbye, Devon."
"Syrena, wait—"
I disconnected before he could finish, before his voice could weaken my resolve further. The phone felt heavier as I set it aside.
"Come in," I called.
Nathaniel entered, and my breath caught despite myself. He wore training gear—fitted black pants, a sleeveless shirt that revealed arms corded with muscle. His hair was damp at the temples, a towel draped around his neck. He looked nothing like the composed Alpha who taught me each morning.
"Protocol lessons?" I raised an eyebrow.
"A convenient fiction." He stepped closer, bringing the scent of exertion and cedar soap. "You seemed to need rescuing."
"I don't need rescuing."
"No, you need distraction." He gestured to my formal dress. "You mentioned this morning that court routine was tedious. Suffocating, I believe you said."
"Your point?"
"Change into something you can move in." His eyes held challenge and promise. "Let's spar."
"Spar?" I stared at him. "You want to fight me?"
"I want to train with you." The distinction mattered in his tone. "You were Luna of a pack. That means combat training, defensive techniques. I could teach you royal forms, or..." His smile turned playful. "You could teach me what real wolves learn, not the pretty dances we call combat here."
The offer held layers—physical release for my frustration, time alone together without protocol's constraints, a chance to prove I was more than a displaced Luna learning to be princess.
"You're serious."
"Deadly." He moved to the door, pausing at the threshold. "Unless you prefer spending the afternoon memorizing which fork goes where at formal dinners?"
"Saints, no." The response escaped before thought could censor it.
His laugh rolled through the room, warm and rich. "Then I'll see you in the training yard in fifteen minutes. Don't make me wait, Princess. Punctuality is, after all, proper protocol."
He left before I could throw something at him.
I stood alone in my room, caught between two worlds—Devon's voice still echoing with promises of second chances, Nathaniel's presence pulling me toward something unnamed but undeniable.
My wolf stirred, interested in a way she hadn't been in months. Not the desperate need I'd felt that night in the hotel, but something steadier. Curious.
The training yard called, offering what words couldn't—action, movement, the clean simplicity of bodies in motion. No politics, no betrayals, no three wives or ancient contracts. Just the honest test of strength against strength.
I moved toward my wardrobe.
"Combat it is," I murmured, reaching for fitted pants and a flexibility-friendly top.
Whatever Nathaniel thought he was offering, whatever game we were playing, I intended to win. Or at least make him work for every single point. The anticipation thrummed through my veins, electric and alive.
Devon wanted to be heard? He could wait his turn. Right now, I had a different wolf to face, and my blood sang with the challenge of it.