The golden morning light spilled through the palace windows, brushing over polished marble and columns carved with the victories of men who thought themselves gods. Mira stood in the center of her chambers. She wore black royal armor—tailored leather trimmed with silver, forged for more than ceremony. It was built for war. For reckoning.
Her hair was braided tight, crown-bound in the same style her mother had worn before exile and death erased her name from court memory. She looked like a queen carved from vengeance.
She turned to the cradles.
Caelan and Rowen slept soundly, their breaths soft as lullabies. Their fists curled, their expressions innocent—unaware they’d been born into a battlefield.
Mira stepped closer and knelt beside them, her fingers brushing their cheeks with a reverence no crown had ever earned.
“You saved me,” she whispered, voice catching in her throat. “You gave me a reason to fight.”
She swallowed hard. Her next words cracked like a vow torn from bone.
“And now, I’ll save you. I swear it.”
But even as she stood—armor creaking faintly with the movement—her heart pulled elsewhere. To him.
To Thorne.
To the man who had bled for her without a word. Who had held her as she broke. Who had stood between her and death more times than she could count.
And now?
Now he was somewhere beyond these walls—wounded, maybe worse.
She hadn’t heard from him since the night the scouts returned bloodied and silent. Since the message that he’d held the pass while her enemies closed in from all sides.
No word. No body. Just silence.
And that silence screamed louder than any war horn.
Where are you, Thorne? she thought. You promised me forever. Don’t you dare leave me in pieces now.
She stood straighter. Gone was the girl who ran with blood in her boots and fear in her chest. Gone was the silenced Luna who begged for scraps of affection. She was Lycan royalty now. A daughter of fire and blood. She had shed her past, and with every breath, she stepped further into her legacy.
She stared out the window toward the horizon.
"He’s not coming for a Luna," she said aloud. "He’s coming for a Princess."
A knock at the door pulled her back to the present. One of the guards bowed. “The King requests your presence, Princess.”
“I was on my way,” Mira said, her voice calm but firm.
She entered the royal dining hall with her shoulders squared. Her boots echoed across the marble floor. Alaric sat at the head of the long table, scanning battle reports and dispatches. He looked up when she entered, his expression unreadable.
“You look like your mother,” he said after a moment.
Mira gave a faint smile. “I hope I fight like her too.”
He gestured to the seat beside him. “Come. Sit.”
She took the seat, her armor creaking softly. A servant poured tea, but neither of them touched it.
“Sleep well?” he asked.
“Not really,” Mira replied. “I watched the boys. They twitch when they dream.”
Alaric nodded slowly. “They dream because they feel safe. That’s your doing.”
Mira paused, then met his gaze. “There’s someone I need to talk about.”
“The male who found you.”
“Thorne Rhygar,” she said softly, the name tasting like loyalty and war on her tongue. “He carried me when I couldn’t walk. Protected me when I had no one left. He helped me deliver my sons—held my shaking body while I screamed through the pain and the fear.”
Her voice wavered, but she didn’t stop. “He gave me space to breathe when I couldn’t even stand. When everything in me was breaking.”
She looked up, eyes locking with the one person who needed to hear it.
“And do you know the worst part?” she whispered. “He never should’ve been there.”
Her voice sharpened—steel beneath the sorrow. “Because he was exiled too. Because of you.”
She stood straighter, her spine regal with fury. “You exiled a man whose only crime was refusing to bow. You stripped him of his title, his land, his birthright—and still, he knelt beside me in the dirt and helped me survive.”
“Do you trust him?”
“With everything.”
Alaric leaned back, studying her carefully. “Do you love him?”
Mira exhaled. “I don’t know what love looks like anymore. But I know this—when I thought I’d die, he was the only one who stayed.”
Alaric nodded, his face thoughtful. “Sometimes that’s more than enough.”
There was a moment of silence. Mira fidgeted with the edge of her glove. “I never thought I’d speak about him here, in this place. Not like this.”
“You’re not the same woman who ran from Northcrest,” Alaric said. “You have every right to name your loyalties now.”
“I didn’t choose him to spite Ronan,” she said, voice shaking slightly. “I chose him because he never asked me to change. He let me be broken.”
“That’s how you knew he was worthy.”
Before Mira could respond, a loud crash shattered the calm. Glass exploded inward as a raven slammed into the window, feathers and blood scattering across the floor.
Guards rushed forward, weapons drawn. Mira pushed past them and knelt beside the bird. A scroll was tied to the raven’s leg, sealed in dark red wax. A blood-stamped crest.
Alaric appeared beside her, brows drawn low. “What is it?”
Mira unrolled the scroll slowly. Her voice was steady as she read aloud:
“Northcrest declares war. You have seven days to surrender the princess and the twins… or bleed.”