Chapter 104

Chapter 104: Chapter 104

She was young then. A princess of the largest pack in the realm, betrothed to the crown prince, her future bright and certain. And then the seer had spoken.

"The child will either be an abomination, a destruction to the realm, or a miracle, a blessing to the realm. But he will cause great trouble when he comes. It depends on you to be able to survive it."

The words had spread through the palace like wildfire. An abomination. A destruction. The council had convened. The elders had debated. And the majority had spoken: the child should be aborted.

Seraphina had refused.

"I will never abort the child given to me by the Moon Goddess," she had said, her voice steady despite the tears streaming down her face. "This is my son. My blood. I will protect him with my life."

Her husband—then the crown prince, not yet the king—had stood beside her. "We won’t abort our child. Whatever comes, we face it together."

But the pressure had been immense. Her parents, the king and queen of the largest pack, had begged her to reconsider. His parents, the reigning monarchs, had urged caution. The child was not ordinary, they said. The child could destroy everything.

Seraphina had gone on hunger strike. She had knelt in front of the palace for three days, her body weakening, her spirit unbroken, begging the realm to let her keep her child. Her husband had begged her to stop, to eat, to think of her own health. She had refused.

On the third day, she collapsed.

Her husband had carried her to the healers himself, his face white with fear. Her mother and mother-in-law had wept at her bedside. The healers had warned that any more stress would kill both her and the baby.

It was then that the realm relented. The child would live. They would brave the storm together.

But the pregnancy was not easy. Seraphina fell sick again and again. The healers said the baby’s strength was more than her own—that his power was already manifesting, already testing the limits of her mortal body. She cried to the Moon Goddess every night, begging her to keep her child safe.

In her seventh month, she was kidnapped.

The attackers had been agents of a rival pack, sent to cut the child from her womb and end the threat before it could be born. They had held her for three days in a dark, cold chamber, and they had nearly succeeded. But her husband—her brave, fierce husband—had found her. He had killed her captors with his own hands and carried her back to the palace, her body trembling, her spirit nearly broken.

She carried Soren for eleven months. Eleven months of pain and fear and desperate hope.

When he was finally born screaming and fierce and so very alive she had wept with joy. Her son. Her miracle. Her blessing.

The former king died a year later, and her husband ascended the throne. And for a few brief years, there was peace.

Then Soren’s wolf emerged.

He was nine years old far too young for the transformation. It happened on the night of the full moon, without warning. One moment he was a child, and the next he was a creature of immense power, his eyes burning gold, his body wracked with uncontrollable rage.

He nearly killed her.

His claws raked across her arm, leaving scars she still carried. His jaws snapped at her throat. And all she could do was hold him and whisper his name, over and over, until the wolf receded and her son returned to her.

The seer came again after that. "The first Lycan in centuries," she said, her milky eyes wide with wonder. "Unbelievable. He will rule the kingdom and marry someone as extraordinary as himself."

The realm rejoiced. They worshipped Soren as a savior, a chosen one, a living embodiment of the Moon Goddess’s power. But Seraphina knew the truth. He was just a child a frightened, lonely child who had been burdened with powers he couldn’t control and expectations he could never escape.

It took years for him to master his wolf. Years of training and struggle and pain. And through it all, Seraphina was there. Holding him when he cried. Comforting him when he raged. Loving him when the rest of the world only saw the Lycan.

Then Freya was born.

The age gap between the siblings was large a result of Seraphina’s fear of another dangerous pregnancy. But Freya was a surprise, a gift she hadn’t expected. And Soren, who had been so closed off for so long, began to emerge from his shell.

He adored his baby sister. He watched over her constantly, his fierce protectiveness a balm to Seraphina’s weary heart. She remembered a time when Freya had been crying inconsolably none of the maids or nannies could quiet her. Soren, only twelve at the time, had taken his sister’s tiny hand in his and started crying with her, begging her to stop. Seraphina had returned to the nursery to find them like that her son weeping, her daughter finally quiet, their hands intertwined.

She had cried too. Not from sorrow. From love.

Now Soren was grown. He was the Sword Sovereign. The crown prince. The Lycan heir. He was everything the realm expected him to be. But to Seraphina, he was still the boy who had held his sister’s hand and cried with her. The boy who had nearly killed her and then wept in her arms. The boy she had fought for, suffered for, bled for.

And now a prophecy threatened to take him away.

No, she thought fiercely. I won’t allow it. I will protect him. I will protect Freya. Whatever is coming, I will face it. I am their mother.

Her wolf stirred. And mothers are the fiercest creatures of all.

Freya’s hand on her knee pulled her back to the present.

"Mother? I need to use the restroom. And can I go see Soren afterward? Just for a moment?"

Seraphina looked at her daughter—her dark eyes so like her brother’s, her expression hopeful. She smiled. "You may. Take your maids and the guards with you."

Freya beamed. "Thank you, Mother!"

She kissed her mother’s cheek and slipped out of the royal box, her maids and guards falling into formation behind her. The King glanced over, his eyebrow raised in question. Seraphina nodded once, and he nodded back before returning to his conversation with the pack elders.

The noblewomen around her were still talking, their voices a pleasant hum. One of them the wife of an elder from the Silverwood pack leaned toward Seraphina.

"Your Majesty, we were just discussing the combat exhibitions. Your son was magnificent. Such skill. Such composure. You must be so proud."

Seraphina smiled, the practiced smile of a queen who had spent decades hiding her true feelings. "I am. Very proud."

"And the pageantry tonight! Lady Selene and your son will make such a beautiful pair. The future of the realm, united on the dance floor."

Seraphina’s smile didn’t waver, but something cold settled in her chest. "Indeed."

The conversation moved on, but Seraphina’s thoughts remained fixed on her son. On the prophecy. On the danger that lurked somewhere in the shadows of this beautiful, terrible day.

Please, she prayed to the Moon Goddess. Please keep him safe. Whatever is coming, let him survive it. Let both my children survive it.

Her wolf whispered words of comfort, and Seraphina held onto them like a lifeline.

Freya found her brother in the practice hall adjacent to the grand ballroom, where the pageantry participants were running through their final rehearsal. The room was chaos dancers stretching, musicians tuning their instruments, Madam Este barking orders at everyone within earshot. But at the center of it all, Soren and Selene moved through their choreography with practiced precision.

Freya waited at the edge of the room until Madam Este called for a break. Then she stepped forward, her guards and maids hanging back near the door.

Soren saw her first. His expression shifted from concentration to surprise to warmth in the span of a heartbeat. "Freya? What are you doing here?"

"I asked Mother if I could come see you." She lifted her chin defiantly. "Properly. With permission. Not sneaking."

"With permission. I’m impressed."

"Don’t be. It was a one-time thing."

Selene glided over, her amber eyes bright with curiosity. "Princess Freya. How lovely to see you again. I feel like I’ve barely had a chance to speak with you since we arrived."

Freya curtsied with perfect form, her expression ladylike and composed. "Lady Selene. You’ve been busy with the pageantry preparations. I didn’t want to disturb you."

"Disturb me? Never." Selene’s smile was warm, but Freya could see the calculation behind it. "How are you finding the showcase? Is this your first time at Shadowmoon?"

"It is. The academy is beautiful. And the performances have been wonderful."

"We’ve worked very hard to make it special." Selene glanced at Soren, her hand finding his arm with practiced ease. "Your brother has been an excellent partner. I’m very lucky to have him."

Freya’s smile didn’t waver. "My brother is lucky to have such a skilled dance partner. I’m sure tonight’s pageantry will be magnificent."

Selene’s eyes flickered surprise, perhaps, that the thirteen-year-old princess could match her in polite diplomacy. "I certainly hope so. Well, I should get back to rehearsal. It was lovely talking with you, Princess Freya. We should do it again before the showcase ends."

"I’d like that."

Selene glided away, and Soren turned to his sister with a raised eyebrow. "That was very diplomatic of you."

"I’m a princess. Diplomacy is my job." Freya paused. "I don’t like her."

"Freya—"

"She smiles too much. And her eyes are cold."

Soren didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

He walked with her toward the edge of the practice hall, away from the other dancers. "So why did you really come to see me? And don’t say you just wanted to watch me practice."

Freya’s composure cracked slightly. "I just... I wanted to make sure you were okay. Mother is worried. I can tell. She won’t say it, but she’s been tense all day."

"Mother is always worried about something."

"This is different. The seer’s prophecy—"

"Is just a prophecy. It doesn’t mean anything."

"You don’t believe that."

Soren was silent for a moment. "No. I don’t. But whatever is coming, I’ll face it. I’m not the frightened boy I used to be."

Freya looked up at him her tall, strong, invincible brother. "I know. But you don’t have to face it alone. You have me. You have Mother and Father. You have Ragnar and Corvin. You have—" She stopped herself before she could say Nyra’s name. "You have people who love you."

Soren’s expression softened. "I know." He ruffled her hair, and she swatted his hand away with a glare.

"Soren! I just fixed my hair!"

"It looks better messy."

"It does not!"

He smiled, a real smile, warm and unguarded. "Thank you for coming to check on me. But you should get back to Mother. The pageantry starts in a few hours, and I need to finish rehearsing."

Freya nodded. She reached up and hugged him, and he held her tight for a moment. "I love you," she mumbled into his chest.

"I love you too, little star."

She pulled back and smoothed her hair with as much dignity as she could muster. "I’m going now. Good luck tonight. Not that you need it."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence."

She waved and walked back toward her guards and maids, her head held high. Soren watched her go, his heart full and heavy at the same time.

Whatever is coming, he thought, I’ll protect her. I’ll protect all of them.

He turned back to the practice floor, where Selene was waiting with her cold smile and her colder eyes. The pageantry was only hours away.

And the storm was almost here.