The days that followed were quieter than usual. The sound of training swords clashing in the distance and the steady hum of pack life filled the Greyhound grounds, but Emma found herself detached from it all. She had thrown herself so deeply into her duties that exhaustion had become her constant companion. Yet, at night, when silence cloaked the pack and the moon hung like a silent witness in the sky, she found no rest.

The dreams had begun again.

At first, they were fragments—silver lights, strange whispers, a pair of golden eyes staring at her through mist. She’d wake up breathless, her heart pounding as though she had been running. She didn’t tell anyone, not even Andrew. He had enough to worry about.

Sometimes, she thought she could still smell him—the faint, royal scent that had wrapped around her that night at the ball. It was maddening how the mind refused to let go of things the heart had already lost.

In the royal palace, King George sat at his desk, a letter unopened before him. It had arrived that morning, sealed with the crest of the Greyhound Pack. He had no reason to open it—yet he couldn’t ignore it either. He reached for it slowly, his fingers brushing the edge of the seal before stopping midway.

“Your Majesty,” Noah’s voice broke through his thoughts, steady and patient as always. “You’ve been staring at that letter for half an hour.”

George exhaled, setting the letter aside. “I was thinking.”

“About her again?” Noah asked bluntly, crossing his arms.

George didn’t reply, which was answer enough.

“George, it’s been weeks,” Noah said, stepping closer. “You made your choice. You rejected the bond. There’s no going back—”

“Don’t,” George interrupted sharply, his tone cutting. “I know what I did.”

The silence that followed was thick. George leaned back in his chair, staring at the golden insignia of the pack that once sent him his fated mate. “Why is it,” he said quietly, almost to himself, “that the more I try to forget, the more I remember?”

Noah’s expression softened. “Because rejecting a mate doesn’t erase the bond. It only wounds it.”

George’s gaze flickered toward the window where the garden stretched under the pale sun. “Wounds can heal.”

“Not this one,” Noah said. “Not unless the Moon Goddess wills it.”

George clenched his jaw and stood, grabbing the letter before Noah could say anything else. “Send word to the Greyhound Pack. The palace is hosting a regional council in three days. I want their Beta to represent them.”

Noah frowned. “Their Beta? Not their Alpha?”

“Their Alpha is ill, is he not? I want the Beta.” His tone was final.

Noah studied him for a moment before nodding. “Andrew Henderson, right?”

George’s eyes darkened. “Yes. Him.”

When the summons came, Andrew was already suspicious. He had never been invited to a royal council before, and the fact that the King himself requested his presence made no sense. Still, he couldn’t refuse.

“I’ll be leaving tomorrow,” Andrew told Emma over dinner that night. “The King called for a regional council.”

Emma’s fork paused mid-air. “The King?”

He nodded. “Apparently, it’s urgent. I’ll be gone in three days, maybe four.”

She forced a smile. “Be careful.”

He studied her closely. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, but her voice lacked conviction.

Later that night, as Emma sat by her window staring at the moon, a strange unease settled over her. She couldn’t explain it—only that it felt like something was pulling her toward the palace. Again.

Sienna could tell something was changing in George.

He had become restless, distracted. At dinner, he barely touched his food. During council meetings, his gaze would drift toward the windows, as if he was waiting for something—or someone.

One evening, as she entered his chambers, she found him standing by the balcony, staring into the night sky. The moonlight cast a soft glow over his face, and the way he stood—so still, so lost in thought—made her chest tighten with both love and fear.

“You’re thinking about her again,” Sienna said quietly.

George didn’t turn. “You shouldn’t assume things you don’t know.”

She stepped closer, her emerald gown whispering against the marble floor. “I’m not blind, George. Every night you stand here, and every time, I see her shadow in your eyes. You may not say her name, but I know.”

He turned sharply, his eyes hard. “And what do you know of it, Sienna? What do you know about having the Moon Goddess herself mock your choices?”

She flinched at his tone, but forced herself to stay calm. “I know what it means to love someone who’s trying to convince himself he doesn’t feel.”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge. George said nothing, his chest rising and falling with restrained anger—or was it guilt?

Finally, he spoke, his voice low. “You forget yourself, Sienna.”

“And you forget the woman who stood by you when no one else did,” she snapped. “I won’t lose you to a bond you already rejected.”

Before he could reply, she turned and stormed out, her perfume lingering in the air long after she was gone.

George closed his eyes and gripped the balcony rail until his knuckles turned white. For the first time since the ball, he felt something close to regret—but it was sharper now, deeper. Almost unbearable.

The next morning, Andrew arrived at the palace.

He was escorted to the council chamber, and though he tried to keep his composure, he could feel the tension humming in the air. When the King entered, everyone rose.

George looked the same—composed, regal—but Andrew could see the faint fatigue under his eyes. When their gazes met, something passed between them, silent and heavy.

“Beta Andrew Henderson,” George said, his voice formal. “Welcome to the palace.”

“Your Majesty,” Andrew bowed. “It’s an honor.”

The meeting began, though Andrew quickly realized it had nothing to do with policy. The King barely discussed strategy, and his questions often strayed—to the Greyhound Pack, to their lands, to their people. To Emma.

“How is your sister?” George asked casually, almost too casually.

Andrew’s shoulders stiffened. “She’s well, Your Majesty.”

“I trust she’s recovering,” George continued, eyes sharp.

Andrew met his gaze head-on. “She’s stronger than most think, sire.”

For a moment, neither spoke. Then George nodded slightly and turned away, dismissing the subject—but the damage was done. The air between them was thick with unspoken truth.

That night, as Andrew prepared to leave the palace, Noah caught up to him.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Noah said, lowering his voice, “but the King’s been… troubled since that night at the ball. Whatever happened between your sister and him—it left a mark.”

Andrew’s expression hardened. “He rejected her.”

“I know,” Noah said quietly. “But the Moon Goddess doesn’t always accept rejection.”

Andrew frowned. “What do you mean?”

Noah hesitated, glancing around before leaning closer. “He’s been having dreams. Dreams of her. He doesn’t say it aloud, but I know. He wakes up drenched in sweat, sometimes whispering her name.”

Andrew’s jaw tightened. “Then he should stay out of her life. She’s finally healing.”

Noah sighed. “You can’t heal what’s still connected.”

Before Andrew could respond, a guard approached, announcing his carriage was ready. He gave Noah a curt nod and left, his thoughts heavy.

Back at the Greyhound Pack, Emma felt the pull again that night—stronger than before.

The dream came vividly this time. She stood in the same ballroom, bathed in moonlight. Music played softly in the distance, and when she turned, he was there—George. His eyes were filled with sorrow, his voice low as he whispered her name.

“Emma.”

She stepped back. “Why do you haunt my dreams?”

He reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “You rejected me.”

“I know,” he said. “And the goddess won’t let me forget.”

The light dimmed, and everything around her dissolved into silver mist. She woke up gasping, her skin damp with sweat, her heart racing like she had just run a mile.

The moon shone directly through her window, and for a moment, she swore she heard a voice—not George’s this time, but softer, divine.

“The bond is not broken. Only tested.”

Emma froze, her breath caught in her throat.

Somewhere, miles away in the palace, George jolted awake at the same time, his heart pounding as a whisper echoed in his mind.

“Find her before it’s too late.”

He sat up, staring out at the moon through his window, the same moon that watched over her. And for the first time since the ball, he whispered the truth aloud.

“Emma Henderson… I made a mistake.”