The echo of his own voice still hung in the air.

George sat at the edge of his bed, his breath shallow, eyes locked on the silver glow that spilled through the tall windows. The palace was silent save for the distant whisper of wind brushing against the curtains. His palms were damp, his heartbeat uneven, as if something deep inside him had been shaken awake.

“Emma Henderson… I made a mistake.”

He hadn’t meant to say it aloud. The words had escaped like a confession the night itself demanded to hear. And now, the silence that followed felt alive — watching, waiting.

The Moon Goddess.

He could almost feel her presence — faint but undeniable. Like the hum of power running through his veins, a reminder that the divine didn’t forget, even when mortals tried to.

George dragged a hand down his face and rose to his feet, pacing across the room. He poured himself a glass of water from the crystal decanter but didn’t drink. His gaze was drawn, again and again, to the balcony doors. The night called to him — soft, magnetic.

Finally, he gave in.

Stepping outside, the cool air greeted him, carrying the scent of roses and distant rain. The moon hung low and full, luminous enough to paint the marble floor silver. For a moment, George simply stood there, breathing in the stillness.

“What do you want from me?” he muttered under his breath, looking up at the sky. “You gave her to me. Then you made me reject her. What kind of cruel game is this?”

No answer came, only the faint rustle of leaves.

But deep within, he felt it — a pull. A gentle tug beneath his ribs, leading toward the east, where the Greyhound Pack’s territory lay. His hand went instinctively to his chest, as if to steady the invisible thread connecting him to her.

He hated himself for it.

And yet… he couldn’t stop himself from whispering her name again.

“Emma.”

Miles away, at that same moment, Emma lay awake, staring at the ceiling as moonlight crept across her room. Her heart still thudded from the dream, from the voice that wasn’t hers yet spoke inside her head. “Find her before it’s too late.” The words echoed like a warning — or a promise.

Sleep had abandoned her. She rose quietly from bed, wrapping her robe tighter as she moved to the window. The forest beyond shimmered in pale silver light, and the wind carried the scent of pine and earth. It should’ve been peaceful. It wasn’t.

Her reflection in the glass looked foreign — tired eyes, hair tousled, the faintest tremor in her hands. She hadn’t been herself since that night. No matter how much she worked, how much she tried to move on, part of her still lingered in that ballroom — still standing before him.

“Why can’t I stop feeling this?” she whispered, pressing a hand to her heart.

The pull tightened.

It wasn’t pain exactly — more like gravity, drawing her toward something she didn’t want to face. She closed her eyes, steadying her breath, but it was no use. The Moon Goddess’s words were carved into her mind now.

*The bond is not broken. Only tested.*

A knock sounded on her door, startling her. “Emma?” came Andrew’s voice.

She turned, forcing her voice steady. “Come in.”

Her brother stepped in, already dressed for the early patrol shift. He studied her face with concern. “You didn’t sleep.”

“I could ask you the same,” she replied softly.

He sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “I couldn’t stop thinking about the council.”

Emma looked up sharply. “How did it go?”

Andrew hesitated, then crossed the room and sat beside her. “Strange. It wasn’t about trade or policy, not really. The King asked questions that had nothing to do with the meeting.”

She frowned. “What kind of questions?”

“About you.”

Emma’s breath caught. “About me?”

He nodded grimly. “How you were, how you’ve been recovering. It didn’t feel like a royal inquiry. It felt… personal.”

Her pulse spiked. “He—he mentioned me by name?”

“Yes. And he didn’t even try to hide it.” Andrew’s tone hardened. “I wanted to tell him to leave you alone, but I couldn’t exactly yell at the King of Alden.”

She looked away, her throat tight. “Maybe it meant nothing.”

“Emma.” His voice softened. “You know better than that.”

She did. Every instinct screamed that something had shifted — something powerful and dangerous. Whatever peace she thought she’d found was slipping through her fingers.

In the palace, George hadn’t slept either.

When dawn broke, he was still on the balcony, watching the horizon burn gold. His eyes were red from exhaustion, his thoughts scattered. He’d told himself that speaking her name once would be enough to release the weight pressing against his chest. But it hadn’t. If anything, it had made it worse.

A soft knock came on his chamber door. “Enter,” he said, voice hoarse.

Noah stepped in, carrying a file of documents. “Your Majesty, the morning briefings are ready. But you look…” He paused, taking in the King’s disheveled appearance. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

George didn’t answer. He turned back toward the window. “Cancel my morning schedule.”

“Sir?”

“Everything. Reschedule the council review, the advisor’s meeting — all of it.”

Noah’s brow furrowed. “That’s… unusual for you.”

George finally faced him, eyes dark and unreadable. “I need time to think.”

Noah hesitated but nodded. “As you wish.”

As the door shut, George crossed to his desk, staring at the sealed letter from the Greyhound Pack still lying there. He hadn’t opened it. He didn’t need to — he already knew who it was from.

Slowly, he broke the seal.

The letter was brief, written in Andrew’s precise handwriting.

“On behalf of the Greyhound Pack, we extend our gratitude to His Majesty for the invitation. Our Alpha’s health remains stable, and we thank the crown for its continued alliance.

Beta Andrew Henderson.

There was nothing unusual about it, and yet George’s gaze lingered on the signature, tracing the last name with his thumb. Henderson. Her name.

He set the letter down, exhaling sharply. “I can’t do this anymore.”

That same morning, Sienna stood at the doorway of the council chamber, watching as the servants cleared away breakfast. The King’s chair sat empty, untouched. Her fingers tightened around the silk of her gown.

He hadn’t shown up for two days in a row now. He barely ate. Barely slept. The servants whispered about him — the haunted King, they called him. And every whisper fed her fear.

When Noah passed by, she stepped into his path. “Where is he?”

“Resting,” Noah said curtly.

“You mean brooding,” she shot back. “You think I don’t know? He’s been different since that council — distracted, distant. And don’t bother lying to me, Noah. I know this has something to do with her.”

Noah’s jaw flexed. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, my lady.”

“I don’t care,” Sienna said, her voice breaking slightly. “I’ve stood by him through everything — the wars, the betrayal, the court’s rumors. But this? This invisible ghost he can’t let go of? It’s tearing him apart.”

Her words trembled with desperation, not anger. For a moment, Noah’s expression softened. “He’s fighting it, Sienna. Whatever you think, he’s trying.”

“Then he’s losing,” she whispered. “Because I can see it in his eyes — the Moon’s already won.”

By evening, the storm rolled in.

Rain lashed against the palace walls, thunder shaking the windows. George stood once more at his balcony, drenched but unbothered, staring into the violent night. Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating his face — pale, drawn, but resolute.

He could hear her heartbeat in his dreams now. Every time he closed his eyes, it was there — steady, fragile, alive. The bond refused to die, no matter how much he fought it.

And in that storm, something inside him broke.

He turned abruptly and called for Noah. Within minutes, his advisor arrived, soaked from the downpour.

“Summon the royal envoy,” George ordered. “Prepare a discreet message for the Greyhound Pack.”

Noah’s eyes widened. “You’re contacting them again?”

“Not them.” His voice was sharp. “Her.”

Noah hesitated, visibly conflicted. “Your Majesty, that would be—”

“Do it,” George interrupted, tone leaving no room for argument. “And make sure it reaches her personally.”

Noah exhaled slowly, then bowed. “As you command.”

When he was gone, George sank into the nearest chair, running a trembling hand through his wet hair. He didn’t know what he would say — didn’t even know what right he had to speak to her again. But he had to try.

Because the Moon Goddess had made one thing clear.

The bond wasn’t broken.

It was waiting.

Back in the Greyhound Pack, Emma felt the rain before she saw it. It came in heavy sheets, drumming against her window, filling the air with the scent of wet soil. She wrapped a shawl around herself and moved to close the shutters when she saw it — a rider approaching through the storm, the royal crest gleaming faintly on his saddle.

Her breath hitched.

Within minutes, the guard at the gate delivered a sealed envelope to Andrew’s hand. He scanned the insignia and frowned deeply. “From the palace again.”

Emma stood beside him, her pulse quickening.

He opened it — and froze.

“Andrew?” she asked, her voice tight. “What does it say?”

He looked at her, disbelief etched across his face. “It’s for you.”

She blinked. “For me?”

He handed her the letter, his expression dark. “From King George.”

Her hands trembled slightly as she broke the seal. The letter inside was written in clean, bold script, but only one line stood out — simple, almost desperate.

“Meet me under the moonlight, where the bond began.”

Emma’s vision blurred for a moment. Her heart seemed to stop, then start again, harder this time. She knew exactly what he meant.

The royal ballroom.

And somewhere in the storm, the Moon Goddess smiled.

The game wasn’t over.