Raina’s POV

I felt like I was getting hit by the night air. It's cold. Wet. Alive with the smell of woods and wet ground. As I took a deep breath, it hurt my lungs as I stumbled past the small fence that surrounded our sad camp.

It didn't matter where I went. My heart hurt too much to care.

He asked me to marry him.

I’d wanted that my whole life. I ought to have been joyful, yelling, dancing, and thanking the moon for finally giving me something.

But my chest just ached.

Fiona whimpered in the back of my mind, a soft tremble. Why did you leave him?

“Because he doesn’t understand,” I mumbled under my breath. My voice cracked. “Because… because I hate him and I don’t hate him at the same time, and it’s tearing me apart.”

The blood moon hung low above the woods, its red light spilling over the plain like blood on snow. My boots squelched in the mud, and I hugged my arms to myself.

A twig snapped.

I froze, heart lurching. The forest was always looking, and the Forgotten Realm was too close for safety. I turned slowly, half-expecting a wild wolf or one of the elders’ troops.

It was Cyrus.

He walked out of the dark, quiet as death. His tall form seemed to swallow the moonlight, and his golden bow glinted across his chest. His dark eyes caught mine, calm but sharp.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said.

“I needed air,” I whispered, staring at him even though my voice shook. “And space. Away from him.”

He studied me for a moment, and something flickered in his eyes. Pity, maybe. Or warning.

“You love him,” he said.

I jumped like he’d stabbed me. “I barely know him.”

“You feel him,” he said simply, stepping closer. “That’s enough. Fated mates don’t need years to fall.”

My throat stiffened, and I looked away toward the dark trees. “Maybe fate is stupid.”

He didn’t laugh. “Fate isn’t stupid, Raina. People are. And the leaders are the worst of them.”

I leaned against the rough bark of a tree, holding it with shaking hands. “Then tell me why they hate him. Why do they want him dead? Why didn't he know about my pack until now. He’s the king.”

Cyrus breathed, fog curling from his lips in the cold. “The king is a king in name. The leaders hold the strings. And Lancelot… he pulls the hardest.”

The way he said Lancelot’s name made me shiver.

“Why would they hurt him?” I whispered.

“Because he tried to cut the strings,” Cyrus said. “The elders want a puppet, not a wolf who thinks for himself. And now…”

His eyes flicked to me, unreadable. “Now he’s found you.”

I hugged myself tighter. “I’m not a threat to anyone.”

“You are the prophecy.”

My stomach twisted. “That stupid prophecy again…”

“You don’t believe it. But they do. And belief is more dangerous than truth.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. The cold sank into my bones. I could still feel Xander’s lips on mine, the heat of his hand on my neck. I wanted to run back to him, but my anger burned too deep.

Cyrus tilted his head suddenly, listening to something I couldn’t hear. His eyes glazed for a second.

“Stay here,” he said, and his voice dropped into order.

“No.” I took a step toward him, fear burning my spine. “What is it?”

He looked at the trees and didn’t answer. He was listening to something… or someone.

I pressed myself against the tree, watching him. His lips didn’t move, but his jaw clenched.

Status? A faint voice brushed the edge of my mind, not meant for me.

The king is living, Cyrus replied silently, though his face never changed. He is hurt. Healing.

We smell the curse, another voice said, cold and sharp. If the girl is the cause, we end her.

My chest tightened. They were talking about me.

No one acts without my word, Cyrus snapped in his mind. I could feel the edge of steel in his thoughts. If the king dies, the country falls. We wait.

There was quiet, then the faraway echo of approval or maybe annoyance. The voices faded like mist.

I stumbled forward. “You were talking to them.”

His head turned sharply. “You were listening?”

“I can’t control it,” I said, my voice breaking. “I heard them. They want to kill me.”

Cyrus’s jaw moved. “Then don’t give them a reason.”

A lump formed in my throat. “I… I don’t know how.”

He stepped closer, his presence both protective and threatening. “Then stay close to Xander. Even if you hate him.

Especially if you hate him. He is the only thing keeping you alive right now.”

The cold in his voice told me he wasn’t embellishing.

By the time I returned to the camp, my fingers were numb, and my heart was heavier than stone. The firelight from Mama

Rita’s hut glowed like a pulse, warm and fragile.

I stepped inside quietly.

Xander was asleep on the mat, his chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. In the lamplight, he looked younger, softer, almost human instead of the frightening king the world muttered about.

His dark lashes sat against his pale skin. His lips were slightly spread, and I remembered their heat against mine. A strange ache filled my chest.

I crouched beside him, brushing my fingers lightly over his knuckles. He didn’t move, but his warmth seeped into me.

“Why do you make me feel like this?” I whispered. My throat hurt. “I don’t know if I want to kiss you or scream at you.”

Fiona whimpered softly in my head. Because he’s ours.

I wanted to fight, but the words wouldn’t come.

Outside, an owl screeched. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, a long, sad sound that curled my blood with dread.

I leaned over Xander, my lips close to his ear. “Please… don’t die on me. I can’t…” My voice caught. “I can’t lose anyone else.”

His eyelids moved, and for a moment, I thought he would wake. But he didn’t.

Instead, the hut got cooler. The flame flickered.

A whisper slid through the darkness, soft and cold, twisting around my thoughts.

You can’t protect him, little star.

I froze. My eyes darted to the darkness, but no one was there.

He will die… and so will you.

The voice was Vero’s.

Raina spun toward the door, heart pounding, but the night outside was empty—silent except for the blood-red moon looking down like a watching eye.