The morning after is golden and perfect, like the universe is setting me up for the hardest fall of my life.
Lucy looks peaceful for once—no stress lines, no weight-of-the-world tension in her shoulders. Just steady breathing and skin that catches the light like she’s carved from something divine instead of the walking political disaster everyone thinks she is.
She traces patterns on my chest, and for thirty seconds I actually believe we might get a happily-ever-after. The bond hums between us, content and settled, like we finally figured out how to make this work.
Then someone knocks on the door like they’re trying to break it down.
“Seriously?” she mutters, grabbing a robe. “It’s like the universe has a personal vendetta against good mornings.”
I’m already reaching for my sword because nobody pounds on doors at dawn unless someone’s about to die.
The courier looks like he sprinted here from hell itself. Sweaty, breathless, clutching a scroll sealed with bloodred wax and a snarling wolf’s head I recognize immediately.
“Valen,” Lucy says flatly. “Of course.”
The bond goes from warm contentment to arctic freeze in about two seconds. I’m awake and moving before she’s even opened the damn thing.
“What does it say?” I ask, though I already know it’s going to be bad.
She unrolls the message, scanning the flowery diplomatic bullshit that probably boils down to “give me back my property or I’ll burn everything down.”
“He’s marching on the capital,” she says. “Calling you a traitor. Calling me his stolen mate.” She looks up. “Real charming guy, my ex-Alpha.”
The palace explodes into chaos. Bells, running footsteps, the kind of frantic energy that screams “holy shit, we’re about to have a war.”
Naturally, Lucy’s not invited to the emergency council meeting.
“Shocking,” I hear her say through the bond as guards escort her back to her room. “The Omega gets locked in her tower while the big boys discuss strategy.”
But I can feel her listening through the walls as voices get raised and furniture probably gets thrown around.
“We cannot trust the report!” I snap, slamming my palm on the obsidian table. “Valen has lied before!”
“He is marching on the capital,” Toren’s voice cuts like winter. “That is not a lie.”
“She is not his!” The words tear out of my throat like a battle cry.
“She was,” some Elder chimes in with his helpful observation. “Enough to make the West bleed for her.”
Then the killing blow: “This is war. And it’s her fault.”
Through the bond, I feel Lucy flinch like she’s been slapped.
“No,” I say, voice hoarse. “It’s mine.”
But they’re not listening. They’ve already decided who to blame for this clusterfuck.
By noon, they come for her. Polite smiles, firm hands, the kind of escort that says “we’re not arresting you, but you’re definitely not free.”
I watch from the council chamber window as they walk her back to her gilded cage, and something in my chest cracks apart.
“Protective custody,” Toren says behind me, like he’s doing her a favor.
“Prison,” I correct. “You’re putting her in prison.”
“I’m keeping her safe from a war she started.”
I turn around, and every Elder in the room takes a step back. Good. They should be afraid.
“She didn’t start this. I did. The moment I chose her over your political games.”
Hours crawl by. The bond flickers between worry and rage as I sit through strategy meetings where old men plan battles around a woman they’ve never tried to understand.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I bolt from the war room and run to her door like some lovesick teenager.
“Lucy!” The word tears out of me, raw and desperate.
“Cassian?” Her voice comes through the wood, and I press my forehead against it like I can reach her through solid stone.
“I’ll fight them all if I have to,” I tell her, words rushing out. “I’ll rip down the court. I’ll tear through Valen’s army. I’ll make them all see you’re not his.”
“I know,” she says, and I can hear her hand against the other side of the door. “But they don’t care about the truth. They care about politics.”
“I do. I care more than anyone ever has.”
Her voice cracks. “Then get me out of here.”
“I’m trying. They won’t listen to me either.”
“Don’t let them use you,” she whispers, and she can probably hear it in my voice—the desperation that makes people do stupid, heroic things.
My forehead hits the door with a soft thud. “I can’t breathe when you’re locked away. I can’t—Lucy—”
Then boots in the hallway. Authority voices. My time’s up.
“I have to go,” I say.
“Wait—”
But I’m already moving, leaving her with a closed door and the echo of my voice saying her name like a prayer.
I go back to the war room, staring at maps and troop movements while my mate sits in a tower like some fairy tale princess waiting to be rescued.
Except this isn’t a fairy tale. This is politics and warfare and the kind of reality where love gets people killed.
Through the bond, I feel her at the window, watching the sky shift from blue to gold to something darker. Thinking about Valen, probably. How his smile seemed charming instead of predatory. How she was stupid enough to think being chosen was the same as being loved.
Now he’s coming to collect his property.
And she’s the prize everyone wants to fight over.
The bond pulses once, sending a wave of determination through our connection.
I’m planning something. Something that involves a lot of violence and very little strategy.
But sometimes that’s what love requires. Sometimes you have to burn down the world to save the person who makes it worth living in.
I don’t knock. Just burst through Lucy’s door like the world’s ending, which—spoiler alert—it basically is.