Peace is not something I have ever known.
Not truly.
Even as King—especially as King—there was always weight. Always tension. The constant hum of power in my chest, the pull of thousands of wolves looking to me for command, protection, judgment. The crown never slept. Neither did the fear of failing it.
But now?
Now I am lying naked in my bed, Samantha curled against my chest, her skin warm, her scent wrapped so tightly around me it feels like breathing for the first time.
And for the first time in my life—
The noise is gone.
Her head rests beneath my chin, dark hair spilling across my arm, her body fitted to mine as if we were carved from the same intention. My arm is locked around her waist, palm splayed over her back, not restraining—anchoring. Every slow breath she takes sinks into me, steady and real.
She's here.
She's mine.
And I am hers.
The marks at my neck throb softly, not with pain but with connection. With certainty. The bond hums between us, settled and complete in a way I didn't know was possible. It no longer feels like a pull or a chain—it feels like a shared heartbeat.
Cade stretches lazily in my mind, content in a way I have never felt from him before.
'About damn time,' he rumbles, satisfaction rolling through our bond. 'Took you long enough to catch up to what we already knew.'
I huff out a quiet breath of laughter, pressing a kiss to Samantha's temple.
"You knew," I murmured, not caring if she heard me or not. "You always know."
'She's right,' Cade replies simply. 'And so are you now.'
My gaze drifts to the ceiling, to the familiar carvings above my bed—symbols of rulership, of lineage, of a throne that has shaped every choice I've ever made. For centuries, this room has housed kings. Men who carried power that was never truly theirs.
And now?
Now the kingdom breathes differently.
I felt it earlier—the shift. The moment the packs realigned, the tethers loosening from my chest and settling somewhere else. Stronger. Brighter. Right.
I don't feel loss.
I feel relief.
I was never meant to carry the crown alone. My great-grandfather stole it with blood and fear, twisting destiny into something it was never meant to be. I wore that consequence. I bore that weight.
But Samantha?
She was born to it.
She stirs against me, lashes fluttering as she wakes just enough to tuck herself closer, her fingers curling into my side like she's afraid I'll disappear if she doesn't hold on.
I tighten my grip immediately.
"I'm here," I whisper. "I've got you."
Her breath shudders, and then she laughs softly—broken, overwhelmed.
"I don't think I've ever been this happy," she murmurs, voice thick. "And that scares me."
Those words hit harder than any blade ever could.
I roll carefully, guiding her onto her back without breaking contact, bracing myself over her so she's cradled beneath me. Her eyes are glassy when they meet mine—silver-ringed now, luminous even in the low light.
"Look at me," I say gently.
She does.
"I swear to you," I continue, every word carved from truth, "I will protect you always. I will love you always. Not as your king—but as your consort. Your shield. Your partner."
Her breath catches.
"I will stand beside you when you ask," I say. "Behind you when you lead. In front of you when danger comes. I was never meant to rule this kingdom and I'm not ashamed of that. I'm grateful the Moon Goddess gave it back to the rightful ruler."
A tear spills down her temple.
"And then," I add softly, thumb brushing it away, "she gifted you to me."
That's when Samantha breaks.
Not in pain. Not in fear.
In joy.
She sobs once, sharp and surprised, then presses her face into my chest, clinging to me like the world might vanish if she lets go. Her tears soak into my skin, hot and real and beautiful.
"I thought…" she chokes. "I thought love was something other people got. I thought happiness was borrowed. Temporary."
I cradle her head, kissing her hair again and again.
"Not anymore," I tell her. "Not ever again."
When her breathing finally steadies, I shift carefully and slide out of bed.
She looks at me in confusion, reaching for me instinctively, and I smile—soft, reverent.
"Stay," I say. "I just need a moment."
I cross the room to my closet, hands steady despite the storm in my chest, and retrieve the small, velvet box I've carried with me since before I even knew her name.
When I return, she's sitting up against the pillows, sheet pulled loosely around her, eyes wide and wary and hopeful all at once.
I kneel on the bed in front of her and open the box.
Inside rests a ring—delicate but powerful. Silver shot through with faint opalescent fire. Ancient. Elegant. Alive.
Her breath leaves her in a soundless gasp.
"This," I say quietly, "belonged to Queen Celeste. Your ancestor. Her mate gave it to her as a vow—not of ownership, but of recognition."
Her hands tremble as she reaches for it.
"Wolves don't marry," I continue. "We mark. We bond. And because of everything happening—the war, the Elders—we may not have a ceremony for a while. If you even want one."
She looks at me, stunned.
"But I wanted you to have something visible," I say. "Something that says you are chosen. Cherished. Seen."
Her tears return instantly.
"Kieran…" she whispers, breaking.
I slide the ring onto her finger, where it fits like it's always belonged there.
She launches herself at me then, arms wrapping tight around my neck, kissing my jaw, my mouth, my cheeks—everywhere she can reach.
"I love you," she breathes, over and over. "I love you. I love you."
I pull her back down with me, wrapping us together beneath the covers, the ring cool between us, the bond humming strong and settled.
Cade sighs deeply in my mind, content and whole.
'Our Queen,' he says.
And for the first time in my life, I don't feel like a king who lost his crown.
I feel like a male who found his home.