By the time we return to the castle, the sun is beginning its slow descent, pouring molten gold through the towering front doors as they open for us. The sound of our footsteps echoes through the entry hall—stone and marble carrying every step.
It should feel like relief. Like safety.
Instead, my nerves are still wound tight beneath my skin, humming, restless, like my body doesn't trust the quiet.
And then I see him.
Dirge stands near one of the marble columns, hands clasped behind his back like he's not sure what to do with them. His healer's satchel hangs at his side, worn and familiar, the leather softened by years of use. For half a heartbeat, I just stop.
I didn't realize how much I needed to see him until now.
Something in my chest loosens, the tension easing just enough for me to breathe again.
"Dirge," I say softly, and before I can stop myself, I'm smiling. Not the polite kind. Not the guarded one. A real smile—the kind that reaches my eyes and makes them sting.
His face brightens instantly. "There you are, kid," he says, voice warm, relief threading through it as he steps forward.
Cameran doesn't even slow down. She barrels past me and throws herself at him, arms wrapping tight around his torso like she's afraid he might disappear.
"Dad!"
He grunts, laughing as he catches her, arms circling her shoulders. "Easy there, menace."
She pulls back just enough to grab Enoch's arm and drag him forward, practically vibrating with excitement. "Dad, this is Enoch. My mate."
The word mate still feels surreal, even just hanging in the air like that. Heavy. Permanent.
Dirge straightens immediately, all humor fading into something serious and steady as he looks Enoch over. I hold my breath without realizing it. Enoch doesn't flinch. He stands tall, respectful, hands at his sides, gaze unwavering.
"I'm honored to meet you, sir," Enoch says.
Dirge studies him for a long moment—long enough that my pulse starts to thrum—before nodding once. "You love her," he says simply. Not a question. A demand. "You protect her. Always."
"With my life, sir," Enoch answers without hesitation. No pause. No uncertainty. Just truth.
Dirge's shoulders relax at that, tension easing from him like he's been holding it in for years. Then he turns to me, stepping close and pulling me into a brief, but tight hug. His arms are solid. Grounding. Familiar in a way this castle will never be.
"How are you holding up, Sam?" he asks quietly.
I open my mouth to answer—
Footsteps echo behind us, sharp and deliberate, cutting the moment clean in half.
The Queen Mother steps into the hall.
The shift is instant. Every person around us straightens like a string's been pulled. Guards bow their heads. Cameran stills. Even Enoch dips his chin.
She moves with an effortless authority—silver hair immaculate, posture flawless, eyes sharp as they sweep the room. Everyone lowers their gaze.
Everyone except me.
This time, I don't question it. There's no point. I already know what Emma would say.
When she's only a few feet away, she inclines her head, lowering her gaze slightly.
Submissively.
My stomach twists.
I don't think I'll ever get used to that.
They probably think I don't notice—but I do. I've noticed Mayla, Enoch, even Cameran struggling to hold my gaze. When they do meet my eyes, they look away too quickly, heads dipping like instinct overrides intention. The staff won't even look at me at all anymore.
Not since this morning.
It makes my skin crawl. Like I'm something unnatural. Something wrong.
A freak, I think bitterly.
'Not a freak. Alpha,' Emma corrects gently. 'They recognize it now that we're not hiding.'
That doesn't make it better.
Her gaze softens as she looks directly at me. "Samantha," she says, voice calm and measured. "May I speak with you privately?"
My heart kicks harder, sudden and sharp, like it knows something my mind doesn't yet. I nod anyway. "Yes."
She smiles, already turning, and I follow.
We walk through the castle corridors in silence. The quiet stretches, thick and awkward, filled with questions pressing at the back of my throat. Tapestries blur past. Stone walls feel colder than they did before. Staff members step aside without ever lifting their gaze.
She stops suddenly at a door near the royal wing.
Opening it, she gestures for me to enter.
The room beyond steals my breath.
It's large—no, expansive—but warm. Rich wood tones. Sunlight spilling through tall windows. A massive dark-brown desk anchors the far wall, papers arranged with careful precision. A seating area near the windows looks lived-in, not ceremonial. Bookshelves line the walls, filled and immaculate.
"This is…" I trail off, unsure what I'm even allowed to say.
"A study," she answers. Then, more gently, "The Queen's study."
I turn to her, heart pounding. "Why am I here?"
She smiles, and for the first time, it isn't regal.
It's maternal.
"First," she says softly, "please call me Margaret."
The name lands somewhere deep inside my chest, loosening something I didn't realize was still clenched.
She steps closer. "If you will allow it… you are to be my daughter."
Something tight unravels completely. The word daughter echoes in my head, warm and painful all at once. I didn't realize how much I missed the idea of that kind of bond—of a mother—until this exact moment.
"This," Margaret continues, gesturing around the room, "will be your study one day—unless you wish to choose another."
Looking around once more.I swallow. "Why did you bring me here?"
She exhales slowly and moves to the sofa, sitting with a careful grace. She pats the cushion beside her. I hesitate only a second before joining her.
"I was an Alpha's daughter," she begins. "When I came of age, my father arranged my mating. A bargain. Bloodlines. Power."
Her hands tighten in her lap. "The royal heir took a liking to me."
Pain flickers across her face, sharp and old.
"The man I was forced to mate—the king—was not kind," she continues quietly. "Not to me. Not to Kieran."
My breath catches.
"He was cruel," she says. "Violent. If he saw me show Kieran affection, he punished him for it. Beat him. In front of me."
Tears began to slip free before I could stop them, burning as they fell.
"So I stole moments," she says, voice steady despite everything beneath it. "After lessons. After… altercations. I would sneak into his room and hold him. Even knowing the risk."
Her lips tremble. "He was my little boy," struggling her shoulder helplessly.
My heart aches—sharp and unbearable.
"Over time, to avoid the king, I wandered the castle," she continued. "I found hidden passages. Forgotten spaces. And eventually…this room."
She gestures downward. "Beneath a loose marble tile. The original flooring. There was a cupboard. To my surprise inside there was a drawer."
My pulse pounds. "What was in it?"
She meets my gaze. "Letters. Records. Documentation."
A pause, not really knowing what I was expecting.
"From Queen Celeste," she looked at me as if I knew that name. "Mate to the last White Wolf King."
My eyes widen, breath catching painfully in my throat.
"In those records," Margaret says, reaching for my hand, "I learned many things. Including this, the only wolf stronger than a reigning Queen is the King… or a White Wolf."
Her fingers squeeze gently, grounding me.
"My wolf submitted to you the moment I entered the dining hall," she says softly. "You do not need to be afraid, dear."
Terror and awe collide inside me. I was speechless.
"You didn't know," she says gently.
I shake my head.
She rises and moves to her wardrobe, pulling out a small, aged trunk. She sets it on the desk and opens it just enough for me to glimpse carefully at the preserved papers.
"These are everything I found," she says. "And… there are letters I never opened. Letters she wrote to her daughter, in case she ever found them."
She looks at me, eyes shining. "I think you should open them."
Tears spill freely as she pulls me into her arms. I cling to her, sobbing, years of buried grief pouring out all at once. She holds me without hesitation.
When I finally return to my room an hour later, the trunk rests on my bed.
I stare at it—afraid, aching, desperate to know.
Together, Emma whispers.
I nod, reaching forward.
Together.