The air in the infirmary was thick with tension as Abigail sat on the edge of her cot, her hands trembling in her lap. The attempted assassination had left her physically unharmed, but inside, her mind was a whirlwind of fear and confusion.
Across the room, Callan paced like a caged wolf, his golden eyes flickering with restrained fury. Every muscle in his body was tense, his wolf fighting to surface.
“You should have told me if you suspected something like this,” Abigail said, her voice low but steady.
Callan stopped abruptly, turning to her. “I didn’t know it would go this far,” he growled. “If I’d had any idea—”
“You would have what?” Abigail interrupted, her green eyes sharp. “Kept me locked away like a prisoner? Pretended everything was fine while the rogues plotted to kill me?”
Callan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer.
“That’s what I thought,” Abigail said bitterly, rising to her feet. “You don’t trust me enough to tell me the truth, but I’m supposed to trust you with my life?”
“This isn’t about trust,” Callan snapped, his voice echoing in the quiet room. “It’s about keeping you safe. You have no idea how dangerous this has become.”
“Then tell me,” she shot back, stepping closer. “Tell me what’s really going on, Callan.”
For a moment, he looked as though he might. His golden eyes softened, his lips parting—but then he turned away, raking a hand through his hair. “Not yet,” he said quietly. “It’s not the right time.”
Abigail’s chest tightened, hurt and anger twisting together. “You’re hiding something from me,” she said, her voice trembling. “I can feel it.”
Callan’s silence was answer enough.
The palace felt heavier in the days that followed. The attempted assassination had shaken everyone, and the tension was palpable. Guards doubled their patrols, the council held endless meetings, and Callan rarely left the war room.
Despite the chaos, Abigail and Callan began to grow closer. Their arguments were still fiery, but there was an underlying connection now—a quiet understanding born of the bond they could no longer deny.
One night, as Abigail walked through the moonlit gardens, Callan found her.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said, his voice soft but firm.
“I’m fine,” she replied without turning, her gaze fixed on the stars. “The guards are watching me like hawks. I doubt anyone could get close.”
Callan stepped beside her, his golden eyes reflecting the moonlight. “That doesn’t make me worry less.”
Abigail glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Why do you care so much now?”
“Because I can’t lose you,” he said simply, his voice raw.
The vulnerability in his tone caught her off guard. For a moment, the walls she’d built around herself threatened to crumble, but she quickly steeled herself. “Then stop keeping secrets from me,” she said quietly.
Callan looked away, his jaw tightening. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is to me,” Abigail said, her voice firm. “If you want me to fight beside you, I need the truth.”
Callan didn’t respond, and the silence between them felt heavier than the night itself.
The following day, Abigail was in the training yard, sparring with one of the palace guards. She needed to burn off the restless energy that had been building inside her since the attack. Her movements were sharp, her strikes precise, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
“Still as fierce as ever, I see,” a familiar voice called out.
Abigail turned, her heart sinking as she saw Luke leaning against the fence. His smirk was faint, his amber eyes watching her with a mix of amusement and something deeper—something almost regretful.
“What are you doing here, Luke?” she asked, lowering her weapon.
“I told you, I’m not going anywhere,” he said, stepping closer. “Not until I know you’re safe.”
Abigail sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I don’t need your help.”
“No,” Luke said, his tone softening. “But you need the truth.”
Abigail froze, her green eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”
Luke hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. “You think the King is your mate, don’t you? You think he’s protecting you out of love?”
“Of course I do,” Abigail said, though her voice wavered.
Luke stepped closer, lowering his voice. “He’s hiding something from you, Abigail. Something that could destroy you both.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. “What are you talking about?” she demanded.
“You need to ask him,” Luke said. “Ask him about the rogues. Ask him why they’re targeting you.”
Abigail’s stomach churned, doubt creeping in like a shadow. “If you know something, just say it.”
“I’ve already said too much,” Luke replied, his gaze heavy with meaning. “Be careful, Abigail. Not everything is as it seems.”
That evening, Abigail stormed into the throne room, her emotions a tangled mess of anger, fear, and confusion. Callan was standing near the map table, surrounded by his council, but he dismissed them with a wave of his hand as soon as he saw her.
“Abigail,” he began, but she cut him off.
“No,” she said, her voice trembling with barely restrained fury. “No more half-truths, no more excuses. I need the truth, Callan.”
He frowned, stepping toward her. “What are you talking about?”
“Luke said you’re hiding something from me,” she said, her green eyes blazing. “Something about the rogues. Something about why they’re after me. Is it true?”
Callan stiffened, his expression unreadable. “Luke doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Then tell me he’s wrong,” Abigail demanded. “Tell me there’s nothing you’re keeping from me.”
Callan’s silence was deafening.
Abigail’s heart shattered, the weight of his silence crushing her. “If you want me to fight beside you,” she said, her voice breaking, “I need the truth. What are you hiding, Callan?”