Leon stood at the window of their guest chamber, arms crossed, shoulders tight, his jaw clenched hard enough to ache. He watched as Celine was escorted back from yet another private audience with the King.
She walked with grace, eyes forward, expression unreadable. But he knew her too well. She was unsettled. Guarded. Holding something back.
And Leon couldn’t breathe.
The Lycan King had summoned her three times already. Each longer than the last. No advisors. No court. Just Celine and him behind shut doors, pretending to discuss prophecy, pretending to analyze history.
Leon wasn’t stupid. He’d seen that look before. Luke had worn it—when Celine was still just a pale-haired she-wolf with no shift and no protection.
Reese, too. When she had nowhere to go and no rank to protect her.
And now the King.
The King—who had the entire realm at his feet, and yet couldn’t stop watching Leon’s mate like she was something to be owned.
Leon’s hands curled into fists.
He remembered the taxes. The tributes. How the roads to Crimson Fang were once nothing more than dirt trails and broken bridges because the Capital had stripped every coin from the outer packs to build its marble courtyards and golden gates.
When his father was Alpha, he’d begged the throne for support—to rebuild after a winter storm that nearly wiped out three villages. The palace sent a single letter: Hold fast. Loyalty is its own reward.
So Leon had held fast. He’d trained every warrior himself. Built every road with his own men. Taught discipline, honor, strength. And he’d made Crimson Fang the most formidable pack in the kingdom without a single drop of royal help.
Now that they were strong, the Capital had the nerve to circle back—smiling. And now Maeron wanted Celine too. Leon hadn’t spoken of it to her, not yet. But he’d seen it.
The King didn’t just covet her power. He wanted her presence. Her fire. The way her silver eyes didn’t lower. And worst of all—Leon could understand why. Because Celine wasn’t like anyone else.
She had bloomed into something extraordinary—radiant, terrifying, divine.
But Leon missed her bare-footed in training leathers, cursing under her breath when she tripped. He missed the way she used to glare at him with smudged dirt on her face and fire in her chest. He missed her before the shift, before the court, before the prophecy.
When she was just his.
Now, the world wanted to crown her.
And he had no intention of letting anyone take her—crown or not.