Bound To The Wolf Prince

ISADOLE 'S POV

Blood dries fast on stone. That’s the first thing you learn when you’re born low.

“Scrub deeper,” a man says as he passes. He doesn’t slow down. He never does.

“I am,” I answer, though my knees already ache and my fingers sting where the brush has eaten skin away. The water in my bucket is pink, cloudy, and useless. I dip the brush again anyway.

A woman laughs somewhere above me. Silk whispers. Perfume floats down like something holy.

“Careful,” another servant murmurs as she slips past. “If they see streaks—”

“They won’t,” I say. “They never look.”

She hesitates. “You should rest.”

I glance up at her, then at the guards lining the corridor, tall and armored, watching nothing and everything at once. “Rest gets you noticed.”

Her mouth tightens. She walks on.

I scrub until my shoulders burn. Until the blood becomes memory. A noble steps close enough that I smell wine on his breath.

“You missed—” He points with his boot.

“I’ll fix it.”

“You always do.” He smirks. “That’s all your kind is good for.”

I don’t respond. Silence keeps teeth in your mouth.

When he leaves, I press my palm flat to the stone. It’s cold. It always is. Cold enough to remind me where I belong.

A bell rings from the upper grounds.

Curfew.

I straighten slowly. My back screams. I peel off my apron and fold it neatly beneath the bench. If I leave it messy, they’ll know I planned this.

Planned to disappear.

“You’re late,” a guard mutters as I pass.

“I was ordered to finish,” I say, keeping my eyes down.

He grunts and looks away.

I step through the gates, into the dark edge of the path, my heart beating too fast for someone who’s done nothing wrong.

The forest waits.

And tonight, I chose it.

Every rule I was taught has a voice.

Don’t run. Don’t wander. Don’t dream.

I run anyway.

The trees close around me, cool air biting my skin as I push deeper, skirts clenched in my fists. My breath sounds too loud. I slow, then stop, listening.

“If they catch you,” my mother’s voice whispers in my head, “they won’t ask why.”

“I know,” I whisper back.

A branch cracks.

I freeze.

“Hello?” My voice trembles. I hate that it does.

Nothing answers. The forest breathes around me, alive in a way the servant sector never is. I step into the clearing, moonlight spilling like silver across the ground.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The voice comes from behind me.

I spin.

He stands between the trees like he belongs there. Tall. Broad. Dark hair touched with silver by the moon. His eyes catch the light, sharp and bright and wrong for someone who should not see me.

“You shouldn’t speak to me,” I say.

“And yet you came.”

“I came to think.”

He steps closer. “About what?”

“About leaving.”

His mouth curves slightly. “Liar.”

My heart stutters. “If you’re caught here—”

“They won’t catch me.”

“That’s not the point.”

He tilts his head. “Then what is?”

I swallow. “You’re dangerous.”

“So are you.”

I laugh once, shortly. “I scrub floors.”

“You stand like you don’t bow,” he replies. “That’s more dangerous.”

The wind shifts. His scent reaches me—pine, steel, and something wild beneath it.

“Go back,” I say, though my feet don’t move.

“Say it like you mean it.”

I open my mouth.

Footsteps sound beyond the trees.

My breath catches.

Someone else is out here.

“Stay still,” he says softly.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

His gaze flicks past me, sharp. “They’re close.”

“I can hear that.”

“Then trust me.”

I scoff. “That’s bold.”

He moves anyway, stepping between me and the sound, close enough that his arm brushes mine. Heat spreads where we touch. I hate how my body reacts.

“Who are you?” I whisper.

He glances back. “You don’t know?”

“I don’t look up.”

A pause. Then, “Morgan.”

The name lands heavy.

My pulse jumps. “The prince?”

“Yes.”

I step back. “You shouldn’t—”

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because every time I stay away, I end up thinking about you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only honest one.”

The footsteps grow louder. A torch flares between the trunks.

“Your Highness?” a voice calls.

My blood turns cold. “They’re looking for you.”

Morgan’s jaw tightens. “Stay behind me.”

“That’s suicide.”

He smiles without humor. “I’ve survived worse.”

“You don’t know what they do to people like me.”

His voice drops. “I do.”

The light swings closer.

I grip his sleeve. “If they see me—”

“They won’t.”

“And if they do?”

He looks at me then, really looks. “Then I’ll make them forget they ever did.”

The torchlight cuts toward us.

My heart slams so hard it hurts.

Someone is about to see everything.

His hand closes around mine before I can pull away.

It isn’t rough. It isn’t gentle either. It’s certain. Like he already knows how my fingers fit into his palm. The moment skin meets skin, something snaps awake inside me—sharp, bright, terrifying.

I gasp. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to—” He stops, breathing unevenly. “No. That’s a lie. I meant to.”

I try to free myself. My hand doesn’t move. My pulse trips over itself, loud in my ears. “You can’t touch me like that.”

“Like what?” he asks.

“Like I matter.”

His thumb shifts, brushing the inside of my wrist. The contact burns are not painful, just… alive. Too alive.

“You do matter,” he says quietly.

I laugh, because if I don’t, I’ll do something far worse. “You’re standing in a forest with a servant girl who smells like stone and soap, and you’re telling me I matter?”

“I’m standing with a woman who doesn’t bow,” he replies. “That’s rare where I come from.”

“Then you’re looking in the wrong place.”

“Am I?”

My breath catches. The air between us tightens, thick with something I don’t have a name for. I can feel him everywhere—his warmth, his height, the solid promise of his body blocking the world.

“You’re dangerous,” I whisper.

He smiles slightly. “So they tell me.”

“This ends with blood.”

“Most things worth wanting to do.”

I yank my hand back. The loss hits harder than the touch did. My fingers curl into my palm like they’re missing something.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I say.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re already choosing.”

His jaw tightens. “I don’t get many choices.”

“That’s a lie,” I snapped. “You’re born with all of them.”

He steps closer. “And you were born with none. That’s why this scares you.”

“That’s why this shouldn’t exist.”

His voice drops. “But it does.”

For a heartbeat, the world narrows to his eyes—icy blue, sharp with restraint. I know, with a sudden certainty that shakes me, that if he touches me again, I won’t stop him.

And that knowledge terrifies me more than any punishment ever could.

A sound cuts through the moment.

Dry. Sharp.

Too close.

A branch snaps behind us.

Every muscle in my body locks.

“Did you hear that?” I whisper.

Morgan doesn’t answer right away. His head turns slightly, gaze slicing through the trees. His shoulders tense, broad frame shifting into something alert and dangerous.

“Yes,” he says. “Stay still.”

My heart slams against my ribs. “That didn’t sound like an animal.”

“No.”

I step back, my heel brushing a root. The sound feels louder than it is. “Someone followed you.”

“Or you,” he says.

“I wasn’t careless.”

His mouth tilts. “Neither am I.”

Another rustle. Leaves whisper. The forest no longer feels open. It feels watched.

“Go,” I hiss. “If they see you with me—”

“They won’t,” he says again, but this time there’s tension under the words.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know this land.”

A shadow moves between the trees. Not fast. Careful.

My stomach drops. “Morgan.”

He lifts one finger to his lips, then shifts his body, placing himself between me and the sound. His arm brushes my shoulder, steadying, grounding.

“Who’s there?” He calls, voice calm and commanding.

Silence answers.

I hold my breath. My ears ring. Every story I’ve ever heard about punishment, about disappearance, about servants who never return, floods my mind.

“We should separate,” I whisper. “They won’t suspect two paths.”

His head turns slightly. “No.”

“That’s an order?”

“That’s fear talking.”

“I know fear,” I snap. “I live with it.”

Another step. Closer now.

A woman’s breath carries on the air. Soft. Controlled.

Morgan’s jaw tightens. “Go,” he murmurs. “Now.”

I hesitate. “And you?”

“I’ll handle it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’ll get.”

I take one step back, then another, every nerve screaming. The trees close around me as I retreat, my

eyes never leaving him.

The shadow shifts again.

Whoever is out there doesn’t rush.

They’re waiting.

And suddenly, I know this night will not stay secret for long.

ISADOLE 'S POV

I pull away first.

Not because I want to. Because my lungs forget how to work.

“Don’t,” I whisper, backing up until bark presses cold against my spine. “This is wrong.”

Morgan doesn’t chase me. That makes it worse. He turns his head, listening, every line of him going still, sharp as drawn steel.

“Someone’s still out there,” he murmurs.

My pulse hammers. “Then why are you standing so close to me?”

“So I can hear them before they hear you.”

“I didn’t ask you to protect me.”

“You didn’t have to.”

A hush settles. No birds. No insects. Just breathe and the low thud of my heart.

“I should go,” I say.

“Not yet.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

He looks at me then, really looks, and something flickers across his face—conflict, restraint, something darker beneath it. “If you run now, you’ll make noise.”

“I’d rather make noise than stay.”

“Lying doesn’t suit you.”

I swallow. “You don’t know me.”

“I know fear when it’s earned.”

That lands too close to truth. I fold my arms, trying to keep myself together. “Every rule I break puts my neck on the line.”

“And every rule I follow puts mine there too.”

“That’s not the same.”

“No,” he agrees. “It isn’t.”

Silence stretches again. He scans the forest, eyes tracking shadows, listening for things I can’t hear. When he finally speaks, it’s softer.

“You’re shaking.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you care.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “What if I do?”

I laugh under my breath. “Then you’re foolish.”

“Most important things start that way.”

Another sound. A scrape. Closer this time.

My breath catches. “Morgan.”

He raises a hand. “Quiet.”

I press my lips together. My muscles coil, ready to bolt.

“Stay behind me,” he says again.

“Stop saying that.”

“Stop standing where you can’t defend yourself.”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

Because the truth sits between us, heavy and dangerous.

I want to stay.

And that might get me killed.

The forest exhales.

Whatever was watching moves away, slow enough to promise it isn’t gone. My knees threaten to give out when the pressure eases.

“That was too close,” I mutter.

“Yes.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

Morgan turns to face me. Moonlight cuts his features sharp—high cheekbones, a jaw set like it’s used to command. He looks like power wears him comfortably.

“No one will touch you,” he says.

I blink. “What?”

“Not while I live.”

The words land hard. Heavy. Dangerous in a way I don’t have time for.

“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t promise things you can’t keep.”

“I don’t make empty vows.”

“You’re a prince,” I snapped. “Your life is walls, guards, and titles. Mine is corridors and orders and silence.”

“That doesn’t make your life smaller.”

“It makes it fragile.”

He steps closer. “That’s why I won’t let them break it.”

I shake my head. “You think strength is enough.”

“I know it is.”

“For you,” I say. “Not for me.”

His brow furrows. “You don’t believe I can protect you.”

“I believe you don’t understand what protection costs.”

“Explain it to me.”

I met his gaze, surprised. “You won’t like the answer.”

“Try me.”

I gesture toward the darkness beyond the trees. “Girls like me disappear. Quietly. Sometimes they come back with eyes that don’t look straight anymore. Sometimes they don’t come back at all.”

His jaw tightens. “Who did that to you?”

“No one,” I say quickly. “Not yet.”

“That doesn’t make it acceptable.”

“It makes it normal.”

He swears under his breath, a sound raw and unpolished. “This world—”

“Is yours,” I cut in. “You benefit from it.”

He flinches. “Not like this.”

“Intentions don’t matter to bodies.”

For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, “If anyone tries, they answer me.”

I almost smile. Almost.

“Answering doesn’t bring girls back,” I say.

A shadow moves behind him.

I stop breathing.

“I need you to hear this,” I say, before fear seals my mouth.

Morgan’s attention snaps back to me. “I’m listening.”

I take a breath that tastes like pine and danger. “When nobles get bored, they don’t walk away.”

His expression darkens. “Go on.”

“They take. Then they tire. Then they pretend nothing happened.”

His hands curl slowly at his sides. “That’s not law.”

“It’s practice.”

He steps closer without meaning to. I can tell by the way he catches himself. “Has anyone—”

“No,” I say again. “But I’ve cleaned the blood. I’ve carried the sheets. I’ve watched mothers teach daughters how to stay invisible.”

“That ends,” he says.

I laugh, brittle. “You sound like a story.”

“Stories change how people live.”

“Not here.”

His voice drops. “If you were mine—”

I cut him off. “I am not.”

Silence cracks between us.

“I didn’t mean ownership,” he says carefully. “I meant choice.”

“Choice isn’t offered to people like me.”

“Then I’ll offer it.”

I stare at him. “Why?”

He hesitates. Just a beat. Enough to tell me the truth scares him too.

“Because if I walk away,” he says, “I’ll spend the rest of my life knowing I chose comfort over what was right.”

Another sound slips through the trees. A breath that doesn’t belong to either of us.

My stomach knots. “We’re being followed.”

Morgan’s gaze hardens, a predator’s focus sliding into place. “Yes.”

“By whom?”

He shifts, placing himself between me and the dark again. “Someone who won’t like finding me here.”

“Then leave,” I whisper. “Please.”

He doesn’t move.

The forest holds its breath.

And I realize this isn’t fear anymore.

It’s the moment before everything breaks.

DANIKA ‘S POV

I keep to the shadowed side of the oak, bark rough against my shoulder, breath measured so it doesn’t fog the air. The moonlight favors them. It always does. Favors the reckless. It's foolish.

I see everything.

His height first—too tall to hide, too sure of himself to try. Morgan stands like the world will step aside because he expects it to. Dark hair, silvered by the moon, jaw set the way it gets when he thinks he’s being noble. I know that face. I’ve learned it since we were children.

Then I see her.

The servant girl.

Bare feet. Plain dress. Head lifted like she’s forgotten where she belongs. She’s closer to him than propriety allows, closer than blood allows. Her hand lingers near his chest. His body angles toward hers without thought.

My nails bite into my palm.

“So that’s it,” I murmur.

I watch his mouth move. I can’t hear the words, but I know the cadence. The softening. The careful tone he never uses with me. He’s listening to her. Really listening.

She says something sharp. He leans in.

I scoff quietly. “You like them defiantly now?”

The wind shifts. I step back, letting leaves hide me better. The girl’s eyes flick around, nervous. Good. Fear suits her. It belongs to her kind.

Morgan’s hand lifts. He doesn’t touch her this time, but he wants to. I can tell by the tension in his shoulders. The way he restrains himself, like it’s some great sacrifice.

I smile without humor.

“She doesn’t know you,” I whisper. “And you don’t know what she is.”

A twig snaps under my boot. I freeze, heart hammering. Morgan’s head turns slightly. He’s alert. Always has been.

I press myself flatter to the tree, curse the uneven ground, and curse the girl for existing. She says something. He answers. Their faces are too close.

I breathe out slowly.

“Careful,” I tell myself. “Watch. Remember.”

Because this—this betrayal dressed up as curiosity—will be useful.

And I never forget what I see.

I retreat without sound, each step chosen and practiced. The forest opens for me the way it always has. I grew up learning where to place my feet. Power teaches you that early.

Behind me, their voices lower. I don’t need to hear them anymore. I’ve seen enough.

I pause beneath the moonlight, letting my thoughts settle. The girl’s face flashes in my mind—wide eyes, stubborn mouth, the way she stands like she’s daring the world to strike her.

“She thinks she’s special,” I say softly.

A laugh threatens. I swallow it. Not yet.

Morgan’s voice echoes in memory, the way it does when he’s earnest. The way he sounds when he believes he’s right. I curl my fingers slowly.

“He’s mine,” I whisper. “He just doesn’t remember.”

I turn toward the palace, toward stone walls and waiting ears. Plans unfold easily. They always have. A word here. A glance there. Secrets rot faster when light touches them.

Someone steps from the shadows ahead, a guard I recognize by his limp.

“Lady Danika,” he murmurs. “Is everything well?”

I smile. It’s practiced. Warm. “Perfectly.”

“Shall I escort you?”

“No need.” I pass him, then stop. “Actually—tell the Queen her son wanders again.”

The guard hesitates. “With company?”

I tilt my head. “Did I say that?”

His eyes flicker. He nods. “As you wish.”

I walk on, pulse steady now, thoughts sharp. The night hums with promise. This secret—this fragile, foolish thing—won’t survive daylight.

I glance back once, toward the forest where they still stand too close.

My lips curve.

Some truths don’t stay buried.

And when this one surfaces, it will cut deep enough to bleed.

ISADOLE 'S POV

I start measuring time by footsteps.

By how long it takes Morgan to slip past the outer watch. By how fast my pulse steadies when I hear him breathe my name like it’s a secret meant only for the night.

“You’re late,” I whisper.

He grins, the reckless curve that makes my chest tighten. “You missed me.”

“I missed quiet,” I lied.

He leans close, not touching yet, like he’s learned restraint is part of survival. “Say it again.”

“Go before someone—”

He brushes his knuckles against my sleeve. That’s all. The world tilts anyway.

“I could take you far from here,” he says. “Beyond the ridge. Past the river. No guards. No rules.”

I scoff softly. “You’d last a week.”

“Two,” he counters. “I learn fast.”

We sit shoulder to shoulder beneath the old cedar, sharing warmth like it’s contraband. He tells me about places he’s read of—cities with stone towers and markets that never sleep. I tell him about nothing grand at all. About how I learned to keep my eyes down. About how silence can be armor.

“You deserve more,” he says.

“Everyone says that,” I reply. “No one means it.”

“I do.”

“You’re a prince,” I remind him. “You can mean things without consequence.”

He turns, eyes catching moonlight. “You think this has no cost to me?”

I open my mouth. Close it. He watches me like he’s waiting for permission to hope.

“If we could choose,” he says, quieter now, “what would you choose?”

I imagine a door that opens when I push. A future that doesn’t punish me for wanting. I imagine waking without dread.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I’ve never been allowed to ask.”

He exhales slowly. “Then ask with me.”

I look at our hands. So close. Not touching. That feels like mercy.

A distant horn sounds. Once. Twice.

He stiffens. “I have to go.”

I nod, forcing my breath steady. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he promises.

He disappears into the shadows. I count my steps home, smiling at nothing, afraid of everything—because hope has learned my name, and it’s stubborn.

I hear about the summons before Morgan does.

Servants whisper like doors creaking open. “Again?” one murmurs. “So soon?”

That night, Morgan arrives with tension carved into his posture. He doesn’t sit. He paces.

“They’re insisting,” he says. “The council.”

“On what?” I ask, though I know.

“A match.” He laughs once, sharply. “A noble one.”

My throat tightens. “And you?”

“I said no.”

“You can’t keep saying that.”

“I can,” he snaps. Then softer, “I have.”

I fold my hands, nails pressing crescents into my skin. “They’ll make you choose.”

“I know.”

“Then listen to reason.”

He shakes his head. “The reason is how this place keeps you small.”

Silence stretches. He rubs a hand over his jaw, conflicted. “They brought names. Dowries. Treaties.”

“Did you listen?”

“I counted breaths until it ended.”

My laugh comes out thin. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I had.”

A shadow passes the edge of the clearing. I stiffen. He notices.

“They’re watching,” I say.

“They always are.”

“Then stop,” I whisper. “Please.”

He steps closer, careful. “If I stop now, I will become who they expect.”

“And if you don’t?”

“They’ll come for what I love.”

The word lands between us, heavy as a vow. I look away.

He reaches, then pulls back, choosing restraint again. “I won’t be caged.”

“I already am,” I reply.

The night feels tighter, like it’s closing ranks. Somewhere, a bell tolls—too near, too insistent. Morgan listens, jaw set, knowing tomorrow will demand a choice neither of us can afford.

The mornings start lying to me.

I wake tired. My balance slips on stairs I’ve climbed a thousand times. Food tastes wrong. Scents cling longer and sharper, as if the world has turned its volume up.

“You look pale,” a maid says.

“I didn’t sleep,” I answered.

“Again?”

I nod, then steady myself against the wall. The stone feels colder than usual.

That night, I’m late to the cedar. Morgan is already there, worry etched into his brow.

“You’re shaking,” he says.

“I’m fine.”

He studies me. “Something’s off.”

I wave it away. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing makes you flinch at birdsong.”

I laugh weakly. “Then I’ve become dramatic.”

He steps closer, voice low. “Talk to me.”

I hesitate. My body hums, unfamiliar and insistent. “I feel… different.”

“How?”

“Like the ground isn’t where I expect it.”

He reaches for my hand, stops, and waits. I nod. He takes it gently.

A pulse jumps beneath my skin. He feels it. His eyes widened a fraction.

“That’s new,” he murmurs.

“So is this,” I say, swallowing as a wave of dizziness passes. “I’m not ill. I know I'm not ill.”

His thumb stills. “Then what is it?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

A rustle breaks the moment. Too close. Too deliberate.

Morgan’s focus snaps outward. “We’re not alone.”

My heart hammers. “Again?”

“Yes.”

The forest breathes. I feel watched—by more than eyes, by a future pressing its weight against my ribs.

Morgan shifts, protective, listening hard. “If they see you—”

“They won’t,” I whisper, though doubt claws at me.

The leaves part. A silhouette pauses, then retreats, careful and patient.

Morgan exhales. “This is getting dangerous.”

I squeeze his hand once, then let go. “It already is.”

As he melts into the dark, my stomach twists—not fear alone, but something deeper, insistent, alive.

Whatever is changing inside me doesn’t intend to stay quiet.

The meeting is supposed to be quiet.

I stand with the other servants at the edge of the lower hall, hands folded, eyes down, listening to nobles talk about grain routes and patrol shifts like none of it costs blood. Morgan is there too, across the room, cloaked in authority that doesn’t quite hide the tension in his shoulders.

“Keep your head down,” a maid murmurs beside me.

“I am,” I whisper back.

The moonlight slips through the high windows, pale and cold. I breathe it in—and the pain hits.

It starts low. Sharp. Sudden enough to steal air from my lungs.

I gasp before I can stop myself.

“What was that?” someone snaps.

I bend, hand flying to my middle, nails biting cloth. The floor tilts. Sound smears.

“Isadole?” Morgan’s voice cuts through the room.

My heart stutters. No. Not here.

“I’m fine,” I say too fast, forcing my spine straight. “I slipped.”

“You didn’t slip,” he says, already moving.

“Stop,” I whisper, panic flooding my chest. “Please.”

He ignores me. His boots cross the stone with purpose that draws eyes. Murmurs ripple.

“Your Highness,” an elder says sharply.

Morgan doesn’t look away from me. “She needs air.”

“I don’t,” I lie, sweat cooling my skin. “It passed.”

The pain coils again, deeper this time, like something inside me is testing its strength. I swallow a sound that would give me away.

“You’re shaking,” he says, low. “Lean on me.”

“I said stop.”

His hand hovers, torn between restraint and instinct. I feel it there, the heat, the promise of steadiness. If he touches me now, the room will explode.

“Return to your places,” the elder commands.

Morgan’s jaw tightens. “End the meeting.”

Gasps. Shocked laughter.

I lift my chin, forcing my voice steady. “Please, Your Highness. Don’t.”

Our eyes lock. His, are wild with fear. Not for himself.

The pain eases, just enough to breathe. I straighten fully, daring the room to challenge me.

“See?” I say. “Nothing.”

Morgan studies my face, then nods once, stiffly. He steps back.

But I know he’s memorizing every breath I take.

And the moonlight feels heavier than before.

I don’t run.

I wait until the hall empties, until footsteps fade and voices dissolve into corridors. Then I move—slow, careful—like my body might betray me if I rush.

“Isadole,” Morgan murmurs from the shadows. “You’re not fine.”

I don’t turn. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You nearly collapsed.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“That wasn’t clumsiness.” He steps closer. “Tell me.”

I face him, schooling my features. “It was nothing.”

“Say it again,” he challenges softly. “Convince me.”

I open my mouth. The lie won’t form.

He notices. His voice drops. “Where does it hurt?”

“Don’t.”

“Where.”

I press my palm to my side, then let it fall. “It’s gone.”

“For now,” he says.

I manage a small smile. “You worry too much.”

“I don’t worry,” he replies. “I act.”

“That’s the problem.”

The moon spills into the passage, turning his eyes silver. He looks older in this light. He looks afraid.

“Let me call a healer,” he says.

“No.” Too sharp. I soften it. “No. Please.”

“Why?”

Because healers ask questions. Because they smell things. Because answers change lives.

“I’ll be fine by morning,” I insist.

He studies me, then exhales slowly. “You’re hiding something.”

“Everyone does.”

“Not from me.”

I step back, heart racing. “From everyone.”

Another wave rolls through me—not pain this time, but heat. A humming under my skin, unfamiliar and insistent. I grip the wall until it steadies.

I stay, counting breaths, listening to my body whisper secrets I don’t understand. My senses feel sharper. The air tastes different. The moon pulls at me like a tide.

I press my hand to my stomach, fear blooming cold and heavy.

Whatever is happening didn’t start tonight.

ISADOLE 'S POV

The healer’s hut smells like crushed leaves and damp earth.

I duck inside, pulling my hood low. The door closes with a soft thud that sounds too loud for comfort. One candle burns on a crooked table, its flame wavering like it knows secrets shouldn’t be spoken here.

“You’re late,” the healer says without looking up.

“I had to be careful.”

“You always do.” She finally turns. Her hair is bound tight, gray threaded through black, and eyes sharp enough to cut. “Sit.”

I lower myself onto the narrow bench. The wood is rough. Everything in this place is rough. Honest.

She takes my wrist. Her fingers are warm and steady. “You’ve been running.”

“Only when I must.”

She snorts. “Your pulse says otherwise.”

I try to joke. “It’s the stairs.”

Her thumb presses beneath my skin. Her brow furrows. “Quiet.”

“I am quiet.”

“Not with your mouth.”

She moves closer, listening, touching my stomach with a practiced hand. I tensed.

“Relax,” she mutters. “Fear tightens things.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

She pauses. Look up. Really look at me this time. “How long have you felt the sickness?”

“It’s not sickness.”

“Humor me.”

“A few days,” I admit. “Maybe more.”

Her fingers are still.

“Say something,” I whisper.

She doesn’t. Her hand lifts slowly, like it weighs more than it should. Her face drains of color, leaving her eyes stark against her skin.

“What?” My voice cracks. “What is it?”

She steps back, breathing measuredly. “Lie down.”

“No.”

“Isadole.”

“Tell me.”

She hesitates. I’ve never seen her hesitate.

“This isn’t… common,” she says carefully.

My chest tightens. “How common?”

Her gaze flicks to the door. “You shouldn’t have come alone.”

That does it. Panic climbs fast and hot. “You’re scaring me.”

“I know.” She swallows. “That’s why you need to listen.”

She reaches for my hand again, gentler this time, like she’s afraid I’ll break.

“Your body is changing,” she says.

I laugh weakly. “You already said that.”

Her eyes don’t soften. “Not like this.”

The candle flares, casting long shadows across the walls.

And in that trembling light, I know whatever comes next will not leave me whole.

The healer doesn’t speak at first.

She pours water into a chipped cup, hands steady despite what she’s about to do. She passes it to me.

“Drink.”

“I don’t want water.”

“Drink.”

I obey. My throat feels too tight anyway.

She sits across from me, elbows on knees. “What I’m about to say can’t be unheard.”

I force a smile. “Then don’t say it.”

Her mouth tightens. “I can smell it.”

My pulse stutters. “Smell what?”

She exhales slowly. “Royal blood.”

The cup slips from my fingers, clattering against the floor. Water spreads like a stain.

“That’s not funny,” I say.

“I’m not laughing.”

“You’re wrong,” I insist. “I’m lowborn. You know my family.”

“I know your mother,” she says. “And I know what hides beneath truth.”

I shake my head. “No. No, no.”

She reaches for me. I pull back.

“Say it again,” I whisper. “Say it so I can hear how ridiculous it sounds.”

Her voice doesn’t waver. “You carry royal blood.”

The hut seems to shrink. The walls lean in. My ears ring.

“That’s impossible.”

“It isn’t.”

“I would know.”

“You would feel it,” she counters. “And you are.”

My thoughts scatter. Morgan’s face flashes in my mind. His eyes. His voice. The way my body hums when he’s near.

“No,” I breathe.

She watches me put it together, her silence heavy.

“This ends with death,” I say. “For me.”

“For many,” she replies quietly.

I stand too fast. The room tilts. “You have to be wrong.”

“I wish I were.”

My laugh turns sharp. “You’re telling me I’m marked. That I’m carrying something they’ll kill me for.”

She nods once. “Yes.”

“And you waited to tell me?”

“I prayed you’d already know.”

I clutch my stomach, horror blooming cold and deep. “What am I supposed to do?”

She doesn’t answer right away.

Outside, footsteps pass. Voices drift.

The world keeps moving.

Mine has stopped.

I leave the hut before the candle burns down.

The night air hits hard, sharp enough to steal breath. Every shadow looks like a blade. Every sound feels like a sentence being passed.

Royal blood.

The words echo with each step.

I see it without trying. The pits behind the council hall. The way water closes over small shapes tossed without ceremony. The scrolls burned, names erased, lines ended.

I press my hand to my stomach, fingers trembling.

“Not you,” I whisper. “Not ever.”

My mind races ahead of me, cruel and efficient. If they find out, they won’t ask questions. They’ll drag me before the elders. They’ll smell it. They’ll know.

Morgan’s face rises again, unbidden. His promise. His fear.

I shake my head. “You can’t know.”

A guard passes. I duck into an alley, heart pounding, breath shallow.

I imagine him finding out. Imagine the choice forced into his hands. Power, or me. Duty or blood.

“They don’t let princes choose,” I murmur.

My steps are slow. The ground feels uneven, like it’s shifting under me. I lean against the wall, closing my eyes as a wave of heat rolls through me again. Stronger. Clearer.

Something inside me answers the moon.

Tears blur my vision. I wipe them away angrily. “I won’t let them take you.”

There’s a future forming in the dark, sharp-edged and fast. Running. Hiding. Lying better than I ever have.

Footsteps approach. I straighten, forcing calm onto my face like armor.

No one can know.

Not the healer.

Not the council.

And not him.

Because if Morgan learns the truth, this stops being about survival.

It becomes about war.

I rehearse the words until they lose meaning.

Tell him now. Tell him carefully. Tell him before someone else does.

I pace the narrow room, counting breaths, counting heartbeats, pressing my palm to my middle like I can quiet what’s stirring there. The moonlight slants across the floor, thin and accusing.

“Say it plainly,” I whisper. “Don’t cry.”

A knock sounds—soft, familiar. I freeze.

“Isadole?” Morgan’s voice. Low. Careful. “Are you awake?”

I open the door a fraction. He stands there with his hood down, hair dark against the night, eyes searching my face like they already know something’s wrong.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say.

“You said that yesterday.” He studies me. “And the day before.”

“I mean it today.”

He steps closer anyway, hands visible, gentle. “You look like you’re carrying a storm.”

I swallow. “I need to tell you something.”

I motion him inside. The door clicks shut. The sound feels final.

“I went to the healer,” I say.

His shoulders stiffen. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I needed answers first.”

“And now?”

“And now I need courage.”

He reaches for me, then stops, waiting. I nod once. His fingers brush mine. Heat jumps, unwanted and familiar.

“Something’s changing,” I say. “In me.”

“I know,” he replies quietly. “I can feel it.”

“That’s not—” I stop. Start again. “It’s dangerous.”

He exhales. “Everything between us is.”

“No,” I say. “Dangerous in ways you can’t fight.”

He searches my face. “Tell me.”

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. The words clog my throat, heavy as stones.

Footsteps echo outside. Voices. Armor clinks.

Morgan turns, alert. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “They’re early.”

“Early for what?”

I meet his eyes. “For us.”

The knock comes again—harder this time. Not him. Not gentle.

Morgan’s jaw tightens. “Who’s at your door?”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

Because the truth is right there, and time has run out.

The door shudders under the first blow.

“Open,” a voice commands. Cold. Practiced.

I step back. Morgan moves in front of me without thinking, body angled, protective.

“Don’t,” I whisper. “Please.”

He glances at me. “I won’t let them touch you.”

Steel flashes through the crack as the latch gives. Torches flood the room with harsh light. Three guards fill the doorway, faces blank beneath their helms.

“Isadole of the low sector,” the lead guard says. “By order of the council.”

Morgan steps forward. “You will leave.”

The guard’s eyes flick to him. Recognition sparks. “Your Highness.”

“Now,” Morgan says.

“Step aside,” the guard replies. “This does not concern you.”

“It concerns me,” Morgan snaps. “Anything that happens here concerns me.”

Another guard shifts, hand near his blade. “We have authority.”

I touch Morgan’s arm. He stills, muscles tight beneath my fingers.

“Why?” I ask, forcing my voice steady. “Why me?”

The guard’s gaze drops, sharp and knowing. “You’ve been summoned.”

“On what charge?”

“Come,” he says. “You’ll hear it there.”

Morgan looks at me, fury and fear warring in his eyes. “I’m coming with her.”

“No,” I say quickly. “You can’t.”

He shakes his head. “I won’t leave you.”

“If you follow,” I whisper, “this ends badly.”

He opens his mouth. I cut him off with a look. A plea.

The guards move closer. Steel whispers from leather. Torches hiss.

“Hands where we can see them,” the lead guard orders.

Morgan’s gaze never leaves mine. “Tell me what you were going to say.”

I want to. I really do.

But the words stay buried as they take my arms, iron-cold and unyielding.

The door swings wide to a ring of firelight and judgment.

And as they drag me into the night, I know the secret won’t stay mine much longer.

ISADOLE 'S POV

The doors to the council chamber open like a mouth ready to swallow me.

Hands shove me forward. Not hard enough to bruise. Just enough to remind me where I stand. Stone stretches wide and cold beneath my bare feet, the ceiling lost in shadow. Torches line the walls, their flames steady, practiced, and uncaring.

“Lift your head,” someone snaps.

I do.

The elders sit in a half-circle carved from black stone. White hair. Sharp eyes. Power worn like a second skin. They look at me the way one looks at a stain that refuses to scrub out.

“Isadole of the low sector,” the center elder says. His voice carries without effort. “Do you know why you’re here?”

I swallow. “Because you sent for me.”

Murmurs ripple.

“Clever,” another elder says. “Not respectful.”

“I respect the truth,” I replied.

A scoff. “You stand accused.”

“Of existing?” I ask before I can stop myself.

A guard tightens his grip on my arm. I don’t flinch.

“Mind your tongue,” the center elder warns.

I met his gaze. My hands shake, but my spine doesn’t bend. “Say it plainly.”

Silence stretches. I feel the weight of it press against my ribs.

“You have crossed boundaries,” a woman elder says. Her eyes are pale, assessing. “You have forgotten your place.”

“I know exactly where I come from,” I answer.

“Then you know what happens when lowbloods reach too high.”

My pulse pounds. “I didn’t reach. I was taken.”

A ripple of reaction. Surprise. Interest.

The doors behind me slam open again. I don’t turn, but I feel him before I hear him.

“Enough.”

Morgan’s voice cuts through the chamber. The sound of it steadies me like a hand at my back.

“This ends now,” he says.

The elders stir.

I don’t look at him. If I do, I’ll break.

And I can’t afford to break yet.

“You will be silent,” the center elder orders Morgan.

He laughs once. No humor in it. “Try.”

The chamber hums with tension. I stare straight ahead, breathing through it.

“Isadole,” the elder says again, turning his focus back to me. “You are accused of seducing the prince.”

The word hits like cold water.

“Seducing?” I repeat.

“You tempted him,” another elder adds. “Lured him away from duty.”

Morgan steps forward. “She didn’t—”

“I didn’t,” I cut in.

Every eye snaps to me.

“I didn’t lure anyone,” I say. “I didn’t plan anything. I didn’t scheme.”

“Then explain his presence at your door,” the woman elder presses.

I lift my chin. “You should ask him why he came.”

A murmur. Disapproval. Interest again.

“You deny nothing,” the center elder observes.

“I deny your version,” I reply. “Not the truth.”

“And the truth is?”

My throat tightens. I glance at Morgan—just once. His face is tight with fury, with fear flickering beneath it.

“The truth is we chose to speak,” I say. “To listen. To see each other.”

“That is not your right,” an elder snaps.

“Then punish me for that,” I answer. “Not for a lie.”

The woman elder leans forward. “You think honesty saves you?”

“No,” I say quietly. “I think lies kill faster.”

Silence crashes down.

Morgan moves again. “This is madness.”

The center elder raises a hand. “It’s an order.”

He inhales slowly, nostrils flaring.

“We will determine intent,” the elder continues. “And consequence.”

I felt it then. A shift. The air changes, sharp and focused.

Their eyes narrow.

They lean in.

And they stop listening to words.

The first elder inhales sharply.

Then another.

The woman’s eyes widened, not in shock—but recognition.

“Well,” she says softly. “That explains it.”

My stomach drops.

“Explain what?” I ask.

The center elder rises. Slowly. Deliberately. He steps down from the dais, each footfall echoing.

“You didn’t come alone,” he says.

I back up a step. The guards tighten around me.

“What are you talking about?” Morgan demands.

The elder doesn’t look at him. His gaze locks on my middle. “The scent is unmistakable.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“A life,” the woman elder says. “New. Hidden.”

The word detonates inside me.

“No,” I whisper. “You’re wrong.”

The elder’s lips are thin. “Royal blood announces itself.”

Morgan freezes. “What did you say?”

The room spins. I press my hand to my stomach without thinking. Too late.

“There it is,” the center elder murmurs. “The proof.”

I can’t breathe. “I didn’t know.”

“That changes nothing,” he replies.

Morgan steps forward, wild now. “You will step away from her.”

The elder turns at last. “You will be silent.”

“Like hell I will,” Morgan snarls.

The woman elder’s voice cuts sharp. “The child condemns her.”

The words land heavy and final.

I feel it then—not just fear, but a fierce, aching pull. Instinct. Protection. Something ancient waking inside me.

“Don’t touch me,” I say as hands reach again.

The torches flicker. The air thickens.

Morgan’s voice breaks through, raw and furious. “She’s under my protection.”

The center elder smiles without warmth. “Not anymore.”

And in that moment, I know nothing will ever be the same again.

The doors explode inward.

Not slammed. Torn open by force and fury.

“Stop.”

Morgan’s voice cracks the chamber like a blade against stone. Every head turns. Every chant falters. For a heartbeat, even the torches seem to waver.

He strides in, cloak half-torn, hair loose, and eyes wild and bright with a fear I have never seen on him before. Not the composed prince. Not the careful listener. This is something rawer.

“What have you done?” he demands.

The elders rise as one. Their calm is rehearsed. Their power is old.

“Too late, Your Highness,” the center elder says.

Morgan’s gaze snaps to me. To the guards holding my arms. My hand pressed unconsciously to my stomach.

Understanding hits him all at once.

“No,” he breathes. “No.”

He crosses the floor in three strides. Guards move to block him. He shoves one aside, barely noticing the man stumble.

“You knew,” Morgan says, staring at the elders. “You knew, and you waited.”

“We acted,” the woman elder replies coolly. “As duty requires.”

His eyes return to me. They soften and break at the same time. “Isadole… why didn’t you tell me?”

My throat closes. “I tried.”

A guard tightens his grip. Morgan growls, low and dangerous, a sound that ripples through the chamber. Several elders stiffen.

“Let her go,” he says. “Now.”

“You forget yourself,” the center elder answers. “This is about the bloodline.”

Morgan laughs once, sharp and hollow. “That child is my responsibility.”

The room erupts. Voices overlap. Accusations fly.

The elder raises a hand. Silence falls again.

“You are compromised,” he says. “Step away.”

Morgan steps closer instead. “Touch her again and you’ll regret it.”

I meet his eyes, desperation clawing at my ribs. “Morgan—”

Before I can finish, iron hands seize him from behind.

Chains snap tight around his wrists.

His head jerks up, disbelief written across his face.

“Get your hands off me,” he roars.

The elders don’t look surprised.

They look prepared.

And in that instant, I know the choice has already been made.

They drag him toward the circle.

The ritual space lies carved into the floor, old symbols burned deep into the stone. I’ve scrubbed blood from this chamber before. I know what happens here.

“No,” I scream, struggling against the guards. “Don’t take him.”

Morgan fights like a storm. Chains rattle. Stone cracks beneath his boots.

“Isadole!” he shouts. “Look at me.”

I do. God help me, I do.

His eyes find mine through the chaos, fierce and afraid and full of things he hasn’t said yet.

“This is my fault,” he says. “I won’t let them—”

A blow lands across his back. He grunts but doesn’t fall.

“Enough,” the elder commands. “Begin.”

The chanting starts low. Rhythmic. Ancient. The sound crawls under my skin, waking something fierce and angry inside me.

I strain forward. “Stop it!”

A guard shoves me back. I stumble, barely catching myself.

Morgan is forced to his knees at the center of the circle. Chains lock into grooves in the stone. His shoulders strain. His jaw clenches.

“What are you doing to him?” I cry.

The woman elder’s voice carries calmly. “Severing a dangerous bond.”

“No,” I whisper. “You’re killing him.”

The chant grows louder. The symbols glow faintly, pulsing in time with the elders’ voices.

Morgan throws his head back and roars, the sound tearing from his chest. The air shudders. The torches flicker violently.

“Isadole!” he shouts again.

I break free of the guard’s grip and run toward him. Hands grab me, drag me back.

“Let me go!” I scream, fighting until my voice breaks. “Morgan!”

He strains against the chains, eyes blazing. “Don’t look away. Whatever happens, don’t—”

The chant peaks.

The symbols flare bright.

I scream his name as the ritual surges, my voice

swallowed by the elders’ voices as the circle ignites and the bond between us is ripped open.

And somewhere deep inside me, something answers back.