Five years later
POV: Wilhelm
Kyle’s castle rose from the cliffs like a scar carved into stone—defensive rather than grand, built for survival, not ceremony. It belonged to my younger brother now, Alpha of his own pack, and ruler of lands that Cassian had never fully managed to dominate.
When Kyle had seen the mark on Francesca’s neck that first night—my mark—he had gone very still. He opened the gates without a single question.
“She is under my protection,” I had said, jaw tight. “And yours.”
These years cost us a lot.
Cassian’s response had been immediate and brutal. Francesca was formally expelled from the kingdom, declared cursed, and stripped of any remaining claim to noble blood. Cassian’s decree had followed swiftly:
If Wilhelm, the false prince, or Francesca, the marked traitor, ever crossed into his territory again, they were to be killed on sight.
He had sent hunters. Yet, he had failed.
We live here, in Kyle’s fortress, and Francesca is safe in a way she had never been before. She did not wear chains. And yet, she was not whole.
I felt it every day.
The bond between us had never weakened. Time had sharpened it, turned it into a constant, low ache beneath my skin. I could feel her emotions through it—the quiet heaviness, the grief she buried under calm routines, the sadness that surfaced when she thought she was alone.
There was something she was not telling me. Something vast enough to wound her deeply.
It drove me mad.
I stood outside her chamber door now, my fist hovering inches from the wood. The corridor was quiet, lit by torchlight and the distant crackle of hearth fires. This wing of the castle was older, narrower, reserved for guests and those Kyle trusted but did not entirely integrate into pack life.
Francesca had chosen this room herself. It was modest, too modest even for a woman who had once been forced into slave robes she never wanted.
I knocked.
“Francesca,” I said quietly.
There was a pause. I felt her awareness brush against the bond, a flicker of surprise quickly smoothed away.
“Come in,” she answered.
Her room was small but warm, stone walls softened by a wide bed covered in a pale gray sheet. A fireplace burned low near the far wall, its light painting gold across the floor. A narrow table held books and folded linens. Nothing extravagant and unnecessary.
Francesca, my dear mate, stood near the hearth, her dark hair loose down her back, her hands clasped in front of her as if she had been waiting for me.
Her eyes met mine. They still undid me.
“You didn’t come to supper,” I said gently.
“I wasn’t hungry.” She tilted her head slightly, studying me with that quiet perception that had always unsettled me. “I never am when I’m thinking too much.”
I closed the door behind me. “And you never tell me what’s wrong.”
The words came out harsher than I intended. She didn’t flinch, but something shuttered behind her eyes. “I’m fine.”
It was a lie. We both knew it.
I crossed the room slowly, stopping a few steps away from her. The bond thrummed, warm and restless, urging honesty that never quite came.
“You’ve been distant,” I said. “Not from me alone—from everyone. You avoid the training yard and leave feasts early. You wake up screaming and pretend you don’t.”
Her fingers tightened together. “It’s not a pretense.”
“Why,” I replied, my voice low, “don’t you allow me to understand your reasons?”
Silence stretched between us, thick with things unsaid. I exhaled slowly, forcing my temper down. “Francesca… I am not Cassian. You do not need to protect yourself from me. Tell me.”
Her mouth curved into a faint, sad smile. “I know.” She looked away, gaze drifting to the fire. “But some things aren’t ready to be spoken.”
That answer scraped raw nerves I had spent five years trying to control:
“You think I haven’t waited?” I demanded. “You think I don’t feel it every time you pull back? Whatever you’re carrying—it hurts you. It bleeds through the bond.”
Her shoulders rose and fell with a slow breath. “Wilhelm—”
“I am the true ruler of that kingdom,” I interrupted, the words bursting free before I could stop them. “I was born to that throne. Cassian stole it by locking me in an underground cage like an animal. Ten years of my life rotting in darkness while he wore my crown.”
Her head snapped back to me, eyes wide.
“I know,” she said softly.
“Really?” I replied. “You know what he did to you. You do not understand what he did to me. What it costs to be powerless when you were raised to command.”
Her gaze softened, guilt flickering across her face. “I never meant—”
“This isn't to blame,” I said sharply. “This is the truth. I have reclaimed my strength, and I have allies. Packs loyal to the old bloodline still whisper my name. Cassian’s grip is not as firm as he believes.”
I took another step closer. “And yet every time I speak of returning, of taking back what is mine, you look like I’m dragging you toward a grave.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “War always takes more than it gives.”
“Sometimes it’s the only way to stop a tyrant.”
She turned fully toward me then, pain etched into her expression. “And what if stopping him costs something you can’t bear to lose?”
The question hit harder than any blade. I stared at her, searching her face. “What are you afraid of, Francesca?”
She shook her head, tears brightening her eyes though none fell. “I can’t tell you. Not yet.”
The bond strained, a taut wire between us. Anger surged—and beneath it, something far worse. Fear.
I had faced chains, darkness, and death without breaking. But the idea that the woman bound to my soul was suffering alone, choosing silence over trust, threatened to tear me apart.
“Five years,” I said quietly. “I have waited five years. I have given you safety, space, and patience. I will continue to do so if I must. But understand this—whatever you are hiding will not stay buried forever.”
She met my gaze, something fierce and wounded flaring there. “Whatever Cassian took from us didn’t end with chains or crowns.”
I frowned. “What does that mean?”
She stepped back, creating distance between us. “Some scars don’t belong to the past.”
The bond pulsed painfully. I clenched my fists at my sides.
“Kyle thinks I should move against Cassian soon,” I said, shifting the subject with effort. “He’s consolidating power. Training more warriors than necessary.”
Her lips pressed together. “Kyle always wanted power.”
The bitterness in her tone surprised me. She somehow knew.
“He envied me since childhood,” I admitted. “Kyle always wanted to be the elder brother. The heir, the one to get the throne, the one who felt powerful and worthier than me to rule. When I disappeared, part of him was relieved, I suppose. He won’t say it—but I see it.”
“And yet, he gave us shelter,” she said.
I studied her carefully. “Kyle would like the throne if I fall. I trust him not to betray me openly, but I know he wouldn’t save me if it cost him the crown.”
I reached out then, slowly, giving her time to pull away. She didn’t. My fingers brushed her wrist, right where the bond pulsed strongest.
“I will not force your truth from you,” I said quietly. “But when the time comes—and it will—you must tell me everything.”
She nodded once. “I will,” she whispered. “I promise.”
I held her gaze, desperately wanting to believe that promise was enough. It wasn’t.