Steel crashed against steel as I circled Marcus in the training yard. The boy—barely eighteen and desperate to prove himself against the crown prince—swung wildly with no technique or control.
"Focus on your footwork!" I called, dancing away from his clumsy attack. "A warrior who can't maintain balance—"
The wrongness hit me like a physical blow. Energy shifted in the air, making my wolf's hackles rise in warning.
Something was coming. Something that would shatter everything I thought I knew.
"Your Highness!" Marcus's voice cracked with terror. "Look out!"
I spun just as his claws raked across my chest, tearing through flesh in four parallel gashes. Blood erupted between my fingers as I staggered backward, metallic scent flooding the training yard.
Dead silence claimed every wolf present.
“Oh Goddess,” the boy whispered, his face white as parchment. “I didn’t mean— I couldn’t control—”
“Get back.” The words came out as a growl that sent half the assembled wolves scattering. I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling the warm wetness pulse between my fingers. “All of you, get back.”
Captain Thorne pushed through the crowd, his weathered face grim. “Your Highness, you need a healer.”
“I’m fine.” But even as I said it, I could feel something was wrong.
The wounds should be closing already, my enhanced healing kicking in to repair the damage. Instead, they gaped open, bleeding freely.
“Sir, with respect, you’re not fine.” Thorne’s voice carried the edge of command that came from decades of battlefield experience. “That’s not normal bleeding.”
I ripped away what remained of my tunic, exposing the four deep gashes across my chest. Blood ran in rivulets down my torso, pooling on the ground at my feet. The assembled wolves gasped, their fear-scent thick in the air.
“Someone fetch the royal healer,” Thorne ordered.
“No.” I straightened, ignoring the way the movement sent fresh waves of pain through my chest. “I don’t need—”
“Lady Lilith.” The name hung in the air like a challenge. “She’s the only healer powerful enough to—”
“No.” The refusal was automatic, instinctive. “Absolutely not.”
“Your Highness,” Thorne said carefully, “you’re losing a lot of blood. If the wounds won’t close on their own—”
“They’ll close.” But even as I said it, another wave of dizziness washed over me. The ground seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
"That's it!" Thorne's grip turned to iron around my arm. "We're going to the Moonwhisper heir. Right now!"
“I said no.”
"And I'm saying you don't have a choice!" His voice rose to a battlefield roar that made everyone in earshot freeze. "You can walk there on your own feet, or I can carry you like a sack of grain! But you are going!"
I wanted to argue, to assert my authority, to remind them all who was prince here. But another rush of blood down my chest stole the words from my throat.
“Fine,” I snarled. “But if she makes this worse—”
“She won’t.” Thorne was already guiding me toward the castle. “Trust me, Your Highness. She won’t.”
Blood painted a crimson trail across stone floors as Thorne dragged me through corridors toward Lilith's healing chamber. My ruined tunic hung in shreds, and every step sent fresh agony blazing through my chest like molten metal.
"She's waiting for us," Thorne announced as we reached doors carved with intricate moon phases. "I sent word ahead."
"How wonderfully thoughtful of you."
The doors burst open before we could knock. Lilith appeared in the doorway, her storm-colored eyes assessing my condition with predatory focus. She wore deep blue robes that flowed around her like water, silver hair braided back in preparation for battle.
"How long has it been bleeding?" she demanded without preamble.
“Twenty minutes,” Thorne answered when I remained silent.
"Any healing response at all?"
“Nothing. Not even slowing down.”
She nodded, stepping aside to let us enter. “Bring him to the altar.”
The healing chamber was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Crystals grew from every surface—walls, ceiling, floor—their soft blue light pulsing in rhythm with something I couldn’t identify.
“On your back,” Lilith instructed, gesturing to a marble altar in the center of the room.
“I’ll stand.”
“You’ll lie down, or you’ll pass out and I’ll have to lift you up there myself.” Her voice carried absolute authority. “Your choice.”
I glared at her, but the dizziness was getting worse. Grudgingly, I lowered myself onto the cold marble.
“Captain Thorne,” Lilith said, “you can wait outside.”
“Ma’am, I should stay—”
“Outside.” The single word rang with a command that brooked no argument. Thorne bowed and retreated, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Suddenly, we were alone.
Lilith approached the altar, her movements fluid and purposeful. “This is going to hurt,” she said, looking down at me. “The wounds are cursed. Marcus's fear and guilt—it's poisoning your natural healing abilities."
Before I could respond, she pressed her palms against my chest.
Lightning shot through my entire body. Something that made every nerve ending sing with recognition. My back arched off the altar as power flowed between us, warm and electric and utterly overwhelming.
“What—” I gasped, but she shook her head.
“Don’t fight it. Let it happen.”
Heat bloomed beneath her hands, spreading outward through my chest, my arms, my entire being.
The wounds began sealing under her touch, but that wasn't the most shocking part. The most shocking part was how my wolf suddenly went completely motionless—like it had found something it had been hunting its entire existence.
"Lilith!" Her name ripped from my throat like a battle cry.
Her breath caught sharply. Her hands trembled against my skin. "I can feel it," she whispered. "The bond. It's—"
"Impossible!" I sat up abruptly, her hands still pressed to my chest, our faces inches apart. "The mate bond doesn't form during healing rituals!"
"Then explain this!" She didn't pull away, didn't break the connection that was setting my blood on fire. "Explain why I feel like I've been waiting forever to find you!"
The question hung between us, charged with both danger and infinite possibility. Her storm-colored eyes went wide with wonder and something that might have been terror.
"Because you have been waiting," she whispered.
She reached for my face, cupping my cheek in her palms. Her skin was impossibly soft, impossibly warm. “This changes everything.”
“Yes.”
“The marriage negotiations, the political alliance—” My hand slipped to her waist.
“None of it matters now.” She leaned into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed. “The bond chooses. Not politics. Not strategy. The bond.”
I pulled her closer, until I could feel her breath against my lips, and she kissed me.
The world exploded into sensation. Her lips were soft and warm and perfect, fitting against mine like they were made for this moment. I pulled her against me, my hands tangling in her silver hair, and she melted into my embrace with a soft sound that made my wolf howl with triumph.
And then I saw them. Not memories. Visions. Futures that hadn’t happened yet but felt as real as the woman trembling in my arms.
“No,” I whispered, but the visions kept coming. Three women. Three territories. Three parts of my soul that I’d never known were missing.
And binding them all together—threads of light and power and inevitability that connected not just me to them, but them to each other.
Lilith’s convulsions finally stopped. She lay still in my arms, her breathing shallow but steady. When her eyes opened, they were no longer just storm-colored.
“You saw it too,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“It’s impossible.” The words felt foreign on my tongue. “It’s never been done.”
“It’s been done once.” Her voice was steady now, certain. “The first Lycan King. The one who united all the territories under a single banner. He had three queens.”
“That’s mythology.”
“Is it?” She touched my face, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. “Or is it prophecy finally coming to pass?”
I stared at her, this woman who had just turned my entire world upside down. The bond between us hummed with certainty, but beyond that, I could feel something else. Other threads, weaker but growing stronger, pulling me toward destinations I’d never considered.
“You were never meant for just one.”