Chapter 116

Chapter 116: Chapter 116

Silvermoon Academy was bathed in pale morning light when Selene emerged from her chambers.

She had not left her rooms in nearly a month. She had not attended classes. She had not responded to letters. She had done nothing but sit in the dark and replay the events of the showcase over and over in her mind.

But today was different. Today, she had made a decision.

She dressed carefully—her finest uniform, her hair arranged in an elaborate twist, her amber eyes lined with kohl. She looked like the Selene of old: poised, powerful, utterly in control. Whatever grief she still carried, she would not show it. Whatever confusion she still felt about that kiss, she would not acknowledge it.

She was Lady Selene of the Silverwood pack. She was the betrothed of the crown prince even if he was dead. And she would not hide in the shadows any longer.

Her friends met her in the corridor. Celeste and Mira stared at her as if they had seen ghost.

"Selene," Celeste breathed. "You’re... you’re back."

"I never left. I was merely... resting." Selene’s voice was cool and composed. "But I’ve rested long enough. It’s time I returned to Shadowmoon and took my place."

"Your place?" Mira asked.

"Soren’s suite. His belongings. His legacy. I am his betrothed. His death does not change that." She began walking toward the headmistress’s office, her friends trailing behind her. "I will move into his quarters. I will protect his memory. And I will ensure that the woman who caused his death is brought to justice."

"Nyra Astrlyn," Celeste said. "She’s still missing."

"Then I will find her." Selene’s amber eyes were cold. "And when I do, she will answer for what she’s done."

The council chamber was in an uproar.

"You cannot be serious," Corvin said, his voice cold as ice. "You want to give her Soren’s suite? His personal belongings? His private quarters?"

"I am his betrothed," Selene repeated, standing before the assembled board members with perfect composure. "The suite should be mine. It is my right."

"There is no legal precedent for this," Lady Isolde said, her pale eyes fixed on Selene with an unreadable expression. "The betrothal contract was between you and the crown prince. With his death, the contract is in... an uncertain state."

"The contract remains valid until the King declares otherwise," Selene countered. "And the King has not declared otherwise. Therefore, I am still Soren’s betrothed. And his suite—his belongings—should pass to me."

"It’s ghoulish," Ragnar growled. "He’s barely been dead a month, and you want to move into his room like nothing happened?"

"I want to honor his memory. To protect his legacy. To ensure that no one forgets what was taken from us."

"His legacy doesn’t need protecting," Corvin said. "And his suite is not a trophy to be claimed."

Selene’s amber eyes met his. "You’re just angry because you couldn’t protect her. The woman you love. The woman who caused all of this."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Corvin’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"This isn’t about Nyra," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "This is about respecting the dead."

"Is it? Or is it about your guilt? Your failure?" Selene smiled coldly. "You were there, Eldritch. You watched it happen. You couldn’t save Soren. You couldn’t save Nyra. And now you’re trying to stop me from claiming what’s rightfully mine because it’s the only thing you have left to control."

"Enough." Proctor Kane’s voice cut through the tension. "This is a council chamber, not a battlefield. Lady Selene, your request will be considered. But for now, Soren Thornridge’s suite will remain sealed until a final decision is made. Is that understood?"

Selene’s jaw tightened, but she nodded. "Understood, Proctor."

She turned and walked out of the chamber, her head held high. Corvin watched her go, his heart pounding with fury.

She knows something, he thought. She’s too confident. Too sure of herself. She knows something about what happened that night.

And he was going to find out what it was.

The abandoned classroom on the east wing was dark, as always. Xavier slipped through the door and closed it behind him, his easy smile nowhere to be seen.

The figure was already there, cloaked in shadow, their face hidden.

"You’re late," the figure said.

"I had to be careful. The academy is on high alert since the merger announcement. Guards everywhere."

"Then make sure you’re not followed next time." The figure paused. "I have new information. Nyra Astrlyn’s friends have started their own investigation into what happened at the showcase. They were in the forest last night, searching for evidence."

Xavier’s expression tightened. "Did they find anything?"

"No. But they will keep looking. They’re persistent." The figure stepped closer. "Are you certain you covered your tracks? The arrow. The poison. The student who made the accusation. Is there anything that could lead back to us?"

"The student is dead. I made sure of it personally. The poison was brewed by Killian he’s obsessed with covering his own tracks. And the arrow was fired from a position that no one saw." Xavier paused. "The only loose end is the maid. Hellen. She’s under Varek’s protection now."

"Good. Keep it that way." The figure turned to leave. "And Xavier? If anyone gets too close to the truth—"

"I know what to do."

The figure nodded and slipped out of the classroom. Xavier waited a few minutes before following, his mind already racing with contingencies.

The training grounds of the royal palace were quiet in the early morning light. Princess Freya Thornridge stood alone in the sparring circle, her practice sword raised, her dark hair pulled back in a messy braid. She had been training for an hour already, but her mind was elsewhere.

Soren, she thought. I should be training with Soren. He promised he would teach me after the showcase. He promised.

Her grip on the sword tightened. Her vision blurred with tears.

She lunged at the training dummy with a cry of frustration. The strike was sloppy. Her footwork was wrong. She overextended, lost her balance, and fell.

The practice sword clattered to the ground. Her arm scraped against the rough stone of the sparring circle, and blood welled up from a deep gash along her forearm.

For a moment, Freya just stared at the blood. Then the pain hit, and she screamed.

The guards and maids who had been watching from the edge of the training grounds rushed forward. One of them a young maid named Lira reached for Freya’s arm, trying to staunch the bleeding.

"Princess! Someone get a healer! Quickly!"

The wound was deep. The blood was flowing fast. Freya’s face had gone pale, her dark eyes wide with shock and pain.

Queen Seraphina arrived moments later, her face white with terror. She took one look at her daughter’s bleeding arm and the blood pooling on the stone floor, and something inside her snapped.

"What happened?" she demanded, her voice shaking with fury. "Who was watching her? Who was supposed to protect her?"

The guard stepped forward, his face pale. "Your Majesty, the princess was training. She fell—"

"You were supposed to protect her!" The Queen’s hand lashed out and struck the guard across the face. "You and the maid—you were supposed to keep her safe!"

"Your Majesty, please—"

"She could have died! Look at the blood! Look at it!" Seraphina’s voice cracked. "I already lost my son. I will not lose my daughter too. Do you understand me? I will not lose her!"

The healer arrived, pushing through the crowd of servants and guards. She knelt beside Freya and began working immediately, her hands glowing with healing magic as she pressed them against the wound.

"It’s deep," the healer said, her voice calm and professional. "But not fatal. She’ll need stitches and rest, but she’ll recover fully."

The Queen sank to her knees beside her daughter, her fury draining away as quickly as it had come. She took Freya’s hand—the uninjured one—and held it tightly.

"I’m sorry, Mother," Freya whispered, tears streaming down her face. "I wasn’t paying attention. I was thinking about Soren, and I—"

"Shh." Seraphina pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. "It’s alright. You’re going to be alright. That’s all that matters."

But even as she said it, her heart was pounding with fear. She had almost lost Freya. Just like she had almost lost Soren. And the thought of losing another child was more than she could bear.

In the darkness between worlds, Soren Thornridge was trapped.

He floated in a void that was neither life nor death, his body suspended in the golden light of the underground chamber, his consciousness drifting through an endless sea of shadows and memories. He could feel the poison still burning in his veins a slow, cold fire that refused to be extinguished. He could feel his Lycan blood fighting it, cell by cell, moment by moment, in a battle that had been raging for a month.

But he could not wake up.

He had tried. He had tried so many times. He had clawed at the edges of consciousness, had fought against the darkness that held him, had screamed into the void until his voice was raw. But the poison was too strong. The barrier between life and death was too thick.

Kael, he called into the darkness. Kael, are you there?

A faint growl answered him. His wolf was still with him—barely. The poison had weakened Kael as much as it had weakened him. But the bond between them was unbreakable.

I’m here, Kael said, his voice a shadow of its former strength. Still here.

We have to find a way back. We have to wake up.

I know. But how?

Soren didn’t have an answer. He had been searching for a way out of this void for what felt like an eternity. He had followed every thread of light, chased every flicker of hope, reached for every memory that might pull him back to the surface. But nothing worked.

Nyra, he thought. She’s still out there. She thinks I’m dead. She’s grieving, and I can’t reach her.

She’s strong, Kael said. She’ll survive.

I don’t want her to survive. I want her to live. I want to be there with her.

He reached out into the void, searching for the bond that connected him to Nyra. It was still there—faint, but unbroken. He could feel her grief like a distant ache. He could feel her determination like a flickering flame in the darkness.

I’ll find a way back, he promised her, though she couldn’t hear him. I’ll find a way back to you. No matter what it takes.

The void pressed in around him. The darkness deepened. But somewhere in the distance, a tiny spark of silver light flickered and Soren reached for it with everything he had.