Katrina’s POV
His voice carried something I hadn’t heard before—not surprise, but certainty. A quiet, cracking reverence.
He stepped forward. Just one step—but it landed like a thunderclap in my chest.
“That means,” he continued, voice uneven, gaze dragging over my face, “you can’t be just an Omega.”
Then his hands moved—slow, deliberate. He unclasped the metal pin at his shoulder. It gave way with a soft, metallic click. He slid the heavy cape from his frame, first one shoulder, then the other, his movements careful, practiced, like he was offering something more than cloth.
“Here,” he said, quieter now. “You’re trembling.”
He stepped close enough that I could smell him—pine, steel, spice. The scent wrapped around me before the fabric ever did. Then the cape settled over my shoulders like a second skin. Warm, familiar. His. It settled against my body like it had been waiting there.
I didn’t move.
For a heartbeat, I just stood there, staring at the ground, heart hammering. Then, slowly, I gripped the edges and pulled it tighter around me. The weight of it steadied something inside me.
“You didn’t answer me,” I said, this time with more steel behind the words. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in the grand hall… with your mate?”
His breath left him all at once—a sound sharp, stripped bare. He looked away for the first time, jaw flexing.
“It was cancelled,” he said. “The Alpha had visitors. Indigo warriors. They came for Cassandra.”
My stomach sank, the ground seeming to pull slightly beneath my feet. “What?”
“There’s a closed-door meeting happening now,” he said. “I had no intention of being part of it.”
I blinked, trying to process what he was saying and what he wasn’t. “So you just walked away? And she let you?”
A dry sound left him. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh. “Cassandra doesn’t control me.” His eyes returned to mine, sharper now. “You told me to play my part. So I did.”
Another step forward.
Closer now.
Too close.
My pulse jumped—uneven, unsteady. My breath caught in my throat. I felt my wolf stir just under my skin, restless, confused… and awake.
He moved like he didn’t want to startle me. Like I was something wild he didn’t want to spook.
He crouched in front of me, slow and sure, eyes never leaving mine. Then his hand came up—hesitant, open, warm.
His fingers brushed my cheek first. Then cupped it, palm against my skin like he needed to confirm I was real. His thumb moved once, tracing just under my eye.
“Now,” he said, low and steady, “I think you and I both know the truth.”
I swallowed hard, my throat raw. My body frozen.
He leaned in—not close enough to kiss, but close enough that his breath stirred the air between us.
“That you and I,” he murmured, “were the real mates.”