I shower longer than necessary.
Not because I'm dirty though there's still the faintest trace of Kieran on my skin, warm and grounding but because everything feels too big right now. Too bright. Too real. Steam fogs the mirror, and for a few quiet minutes I let myself just exist. No crown. No pack. No war.
Just a girl in borrowed peace.
When I finally change, it's into soft clothes—leggings, an oversized shirt that definitely belongs to Kieran, the sleeves hanging past my hands. Comfortable. Safe. Mine.
I'm tying my hair up when Cameran's voice crashes into my head like a thrown rock.
"Come to the training grounds. The boys are measuring dicks."
I snort—actually snort—out loud.
"Of course they are," I mutter back, grabbing my shoes.
Emma perks up instantly.
'Half-naked. Sweaty. Competing. I approve.'
"Ignore you," I tell her firmly.
She laughs anyway.
The walk down is familiar, comforting. The castle opens into wide grounds that stretch like a living thing stone paths winding into packed earth, training circles carved into the land itself. Tall wooden posts scarred with claw marks and blade strikes. Weapon racks lining the edges. The scent of metal, dirt, sweat, and wolf hangs thick in the air.
The training grounds have always felt… honest.
There's no pretending here.
I spot the girls immediately—clustered at the edge like we're spectators at some ancient ritual instead of a bunch of dangerously attractive males trying to outdo each other.
Mayla stands with her arms crossed, expression amused but sharp. Melanie leans against the railing, eyes following movement she pretends not to care about. A few other females from the pack linger nearby, pretending they're here for discipline and duty and not because watching warriors train does things to a person.
Cameran grins when she sees me.
"There she is," she announces. "The reason half of them are about to pull something trying to show off."
I roll my eyes. "You're impossible."
"And yet," Melanie says dryly, "never wrong."
Her gaze flicks toward the center where the men are sparring—bare arms, loose shirts, skin slick with sweat as muscles flex and twist. Steel flashes. Dirt scatters under boots.
"I would like to formally state," Melanie continues, "that watching our mates train is wildly attractive."
She pauses.
"But if either of mine ever find out I think that, I will deny it with my dying breath."
We all laugh.
Mayla hums. "Agreed. Compliments only inflate their egos."
"Like balloons," Cam adds. "Dangerously close to popping."
"Gross," I say.
Emma sighs dreamily.
'Disagree.'
Before I can respond, Kieran peels away from the sparring ring and heads toward us. His shirt clings to him, darkened with sweat, hair damp at his temples. He looks relaxed. Happy.
'Mine,' Emma growls, stretching her nails out. Acting more like a feline than a wolf. I internally roll my eyes at her.
He stops in front of me without hesitation, cupping my face and kissing me—slow, grounding, deliberate.
The world narrows to warmth and familiarity.
Wolf whistles erupt behind us.
"Get a room," Cam yells. "Or at least charge admission."
Kieran smirks against my lips before pulling back. "Good morning, my Queen."
My cheeks heat. "Stop saying that like that."
Emma purrs.
'Do not tell him to stop anything,better yet, tell him to let Cade out." She whines out, 'We want to play too.'
Enoch strolls over, towel slung around his neck, grin sharp and knowing. "Careful, Luna. You're distracting the warriors."
Kieran stiffens, growls out "Don't call me that."
"Oh?" Enoch feigns innocence. "My mistake. Queen's husband. King's mate. Consort supreme—"
Kieran lunges.
They crash into the dirt laughing, grappling like overgrown idiots. The twins immediately start chanting something obscene and encouraging.
Cam cups her hands around her mouth. "If he dies, I'm haunting all of you. Fair warning!"
Laughter ripples through the group.
Mayla shakes her head. "I swear, this pack survives purely on spite and dumb luck."
Melanie smirks. "And very good genetics."
Emma leans back smugly in my mind.
'Look at him. Ours. Sweaty. Alive'
I ignore her. Mostly.
The air feels light. Warm. Easy.
Cameran's phone rings.
She freezes mid-laugh, then frowns as she pulls it out. "Huh. Since when do you have one of those?" I ask.
She shrugs. "Since moving here. Dad can't mindlink me—royal boundaries and all that mystical bullshit. He isn't pack yet"
She answers, listens for a moment, then groans. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."
She sighs heavily. "Yes, Dad. Again. No, they are not on your head? Have you checked the medical tomes? No, not inside them—why would you—"
She pinches the bridge of her nose. "I'm coming. Don't move."
She hangs up and looks at us. "He lost his glasses. Again. Probably buried in a book older than the damn Moon Goddess."
I laugh. "Of course he did."
"Man cannot function without them," she mutters. "I'll be back."
She pauses, looking at Enoch wrestling with Kieran. Her expression softens for just a second before she grins. "Don't let him get killed while I'm gone."
Enoch flips her a grin. "I'll try, babe."
She blows him a kiss and jogs off.
Ten minutes pass.
The laughter fades.
Then the world fractures.
A mindlink slams into me so hard my knees almost buckle.
My Queen! Wolves are attacking the north gate!
Another crashes in immediately after.
South gate breach! Multiple hostiles!
The air changes—sharp, electric, terrifying.
A third voice breaks through, panicked, raw.
THE PUPS ARE AT THE SCHOOL ALONG THE NORTH GATE!
Everything explodes into motion.
Warriors shift mid-stride. Orders barked. Fear spikes through the bond like wildfire.
My heart slams against my ribs.
The calm is gone.