Chapter 141

Chapter 141: Chapter 141

Soren stared at the broken fork in his hand.

The silver had snapped clean in two, the pieces glinting in the candlelight. He could feel every pair of eyes in the hall fixed on him shocked, frightened, curious. Beside him, Selene shifted uneasily in her chair, her amber eyes wide with something that looked almost like fear.

He smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. It was the smile of a predator who had just found its prey.

"You said he is your boyfriend," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Prove it. I want to see if it’s true."

Nyra’s silver eyes met his without flinching. "Prove it? How? I don’t understand what you’re saying. What’s there to prove?"

"I won’t believe empty words coming out of your mouth until you prove it right here and now." The smile widened. "I know your type. All mouth and nothing to show for it."

"Soren, you’re going too far," Corvin said, his voice tight. "Stop this madness."

But Nyra touched his hand, silencing him. She looked at Soren again, her expression unreadable.

"Fine. I’ll prove it to you." She paused. "But I hope you don’t regret it afterwards."

She turned and climbed onto Corvin’s lap.

Corvin froze. His hands hovered in the air, uncertain. The entire hall held its breath.

What are you doing? Luna screamed in Nyra’s mind. What are you doing?!

I don’t know, Nyra thought back desperately. But I have to see his reaction. I have to know if he still feels something.

She cupped Corvin’s cheeks in her hands and kissed him.

The kiss was soft at first—tentative, uncertain. Corvin was rigid beneath her, his lips unresponsive. But then something shifted. His hand found her waist, pulling her closer. His other hand tilted her chin upward, deepening the kiss. And Nyra—Nyra let him.

The hall erupted in gasps and whispers. Ragnar choked on his wine, coughing violently. Roderic’s mouth hung open in shock. Selene’s face had gone pale, her composure shattered.

And Soren—

Soren’s face had turned ashen. His golden eyes blazed with a fury he didn’t understand. His chest heaved. His hands trembled. The broken fork pieces fell from his grip, clattering onto the table.

"That’s enough," he muttered.

But no one heard him. The kiss continued—deepening, intensifying. Corvin’s tongue slid into Nyra’s mouth, and she welcomed it, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.

"I said that’s enough!" Soren slammed his hands on the table.

The wood splintered.

The table cracked down the middle, plates and goblets crashing to the floor. Nobles screamed and scrambled backward, shielding themselves from flying debris. The kiss broke abruptly as Corvin and Nyra were jolted apart.

Soren stood at the head of the broken table, his chest heaving, his golden eyes blazing with uncontrolled rage. The hall was absolutely silent.

Nyra turned to look at him, her lips still swollen from the kiss. "Why did you stop us? You asked for evidence, and we provided it. Why aren’t you satisfied?" She tilted her head, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Or do you want more? We’ll gladly give it to you."

"You wouldn’t dare." Soren’s voice was barely restrained, each word forced through clenched teeth. "Not in my presence. Not in my court."

He stared at her for a long, terrible moment. Then he turned and walked out of the hall, his strides fast and furious.

Selene scrambled to her feet. "Soren! Wait—"

But he was already gone, the doors slamming shut behind him.

Nyra looked like she had won and lost at the same time. Her expression was a mixture of triumph and devastation. Corvin took her hand, and they rose from the broken table together. There was no reason to stay in the hall any longer.

Soren stormed into his chambers and slammed the door so hard the walls shook.

He stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving, his hands shaking with rage. The image of Nyra in Corvin’s arms—her lips on his, her fingers in his hair, her body pressed against his—burned in his mind like a brand.

Why? he thought. Why does this bother me so much?

She was a murderer. A traitor. A woman he should despise. And yet the sight of her kissing another man made him want to tear the world apart.

He grabbed the nearest piece of furniture—a heavy wooden chair—and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into splinters. He swept the contents of his desk onto the floor. He punched the stone wall, his knuckles splitting open, blood dripping down his hand.

The pain felt good. It grounded him. It gave him something to focus on besides the storm of emotions raging inside him.

Stop, Kael said. You’re hurting yourself.

"I don’t care."

You do care. That’s the problem. You care about her, even though you can’t remember her. You care, and it’s tearing you apart.

"I don’t care about her. She’s a murderer. She killed her brother. She tried to kill me."

Did she? Or is that just what Selene told you?

Soren froze. "What are you saying?"

I’m saying that Selene’s story doesn’t add up. The way she talks about Nyra—the way she avoids certain questions—it’s like she’s hiding something. And the way you reacted just now that wasn’t hatred. That was jealousy. Pure, unadulterated jealousy.

"That’s ridiculous."

Is it? Then why did you break a table when she kissed Corvin? Why can’t you stop thinking about her? Why does her face haunt your dreams?

Soren had no answer. He sank onto the edge of his bed, his bloody hand hanging limp at his side. The rage was fading now, replaced by something cold and hollow.

"Who am I?" he whispered. "What did I lose?"

Kael was silent.

Outside the door, Selene stood in the corridor, listening. Her amber eyes were dark with fury and fear. She had never seen Soren like this—not even during the full moons, when his wolf was at its most dangerous.

This is Nyra’s fault, she thought bitterly. Even with his memories erased, she still has power over him.

She didn’t knock. She didn’t enter. She just stood there in the shadows, waiting, watching, planning.

I’ll destroy her, she vowed. Whatever it takes. I’ll destroy her completely.

Corvin and Nyra had retreated to her room, unable to leave the palace due to the ongoing investigation. The maids had brought food—roasted meat, fresh bread, honeyed wine—but neither of them had much appetite.

The air between them was thick with awkwardness.

Nyra set down her spoon and looked at Corvin. "I’m sorry."

"I’m sorry."

They blinked at each other, then laughed—nervous, uncertain laughter that broke some of the tension.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Nyra said. "I’m the one who should apologize. I took advantage of you. I did all of that without your permission, just to get a reaction from Soren." She looked down at her hands. "I thought it might make him jealous. I thought it might trigger something. But he’s a closed book."

Corvin reached across the table and took her hand. "You don’t have to be sorry, Nyra. I... I kind of enjoyed being used."

"Corvin—"

"It’s fine. I know we might not be a thing. I know you still love Soren. But I want you to know that I’m here for you, always. If you want to use me to get Soren to his senses, I’m willing. Whatever you need."

Nyra’s eyes filled with tears. "You shouldn’t have to settle for being used. You deserve so much more than that."

"Maybe. But what I want is to be near you. To help you. To protect you." He smiled—a sad, gentle smile. "If that means being your fake boyfriend, then so be it."

She threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. "I love you, Corvin. As a friend. As my best friend. I don’t want to lose you."

He held her close, his heart breaking and mending at the same time. "You won’t lose me. I promise."

Freya Thornridge sat in the palace library with her friends, their heads bent together in conspiracy.

"He’s here," Tessa whispered. "Dain Blackfang. He arrived this morning with his brother’s retinue."

"Ragnar’s brother?" Freya’s cheeks flushed pink. "I didn’t know he was coming."

"He’s been asking about you. Again." Lila grinned. "Word travels fast. I think he wants to see you."

"He probably just wants to catch up. We’re old friends."

"Friends who blush when they hear each other’s names," Mara teased.

Freya buried her face in her hands. "You’re all terrible."

"Terrible and right," Tessa said cheerfully. "Now go on. He’s in the east garden, waiting."

Freya’s head snapped up. "What? Now?"

"Now. Go."

Freya stood, smoothing her dress, her heart pounding. She walked out of the library and through the corridors, her friends’ laughter following her.

The east garden was quiet in the late afternoon. And there, sitting on a stone bench near the fountain, was Dain Blackfang.

He was tall and dark-haired, with the same gray eyes as his brother Ragnar but none of the brooding intensity. He looked up when she approached, and a warm smile spread across his face.

"Princess Freya." He rose and bowed. "It’s good to see you."

"And you, Lord Dain." She curtsied, her cheeks still pink. "I heard you were asking about me."

"News travels fast in this palace." He gestured to the bench. "Will you sit with me?"

She sat, and he settled beside her, close but not too close. They talked about everything and nothing—her studies, his training, the upcoming festival. The conversation flowed easily, the way it always had between them.

For a little while, Freya forgot about the danger surrounding her family. She forgot about Soren’s memory loss and Selene’s scheming and the investigation into the Moonblood heir. She was just a girl, sitting in a garden, talking to a boy who made her heart flutter.

It was nice.

The King had summoned Selene’s parents to the throne room.

Lord and Lady Silverwood knelt before the throne, their expressions carefully composed. Selene stood beside them, her hands folded in front of her.

"Rise," the King said. "I have called you here to discuss a matter of great importance."

They rose, and Lord Silverwood inclined his head. "We are at your service, Your Majesty."

"My son has expressed his desire to formalize his engagement to your daughter." The King’s voice was steady, measured. "Not merely a betrothal contract, but a public announcement. A formal engagement, to be declared at the festival."

Lady Silverwood’s eyes lit up. "This is... this is wonderful news."

"Indeed. The engagement will be announced on the first day of the festival, during the prince’s public presentation. The realm will witness the union of the Thornridge and Silverwood houses."

Selene’s heart soared. This was what she had been working toward. What she had schemed for. The crown prince would be hers, publicly and irrevocably.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said, her voice trembling with barely contained joy. "I am deeply honored."

The King nodded. "Then it is settled. The engagement will be announced at the festival."

The Silverwoods departed with smiles and bowed heads. The King sat back on his throne, his expression troubled.

Seraphina approached from the shadows. "Did we just do the right thing?"

The King was silent for a moment. "I don’t know."

"Our son clearly loved the Moonblood girl before he lost his memories. What if he regains them and discovers what we’ve done? How will we explain it to him?"

The King shook his head slowly. "Maybe it’s for the best. The goddess gave our son a second chance. Isn’t it right for us to keep him from danger? And that girl is danger."

"Do you really see her as a murderer?"

The King met his wife’s eyes. "I won’t know until the evidence proves it. But the evidence against her was compelling. The maid’s testimony. The letter. The poison." He paused. "And yet... there are holes. Inconsistencies. The letter was forged, as Lord Eldritch proved. What else was fabricated?"

Seraphina sighed. "We’re walking a dangerous path, Aldric. One wrong step, and we could lose our son forever."

"I know." The King reached for her hand. "But we’ll walk it together. As we always have."

The seer’s cottage on the outskirts of the palace city was small and humble, but it held a power that few could comprehend. The seer herself sat cross-legged on the floor, her milky eyes fixed on the candle before her. Her assistant, a young woman named Ilara, waited nearby, her expression tense.

The vision came suddenly.

The seer’s body went rigid. Her eyes rolled back. Her breathing quickened. Ilara had seen this before—the seer was entering a trance, a true vision from the Moon Goddess herself.

The visions lasted for thirty minutes.

When the seer finally returned, her face was pale and drawn. Ilara rushed to her side.

"Mistress? What did you see?"

The seer’s voice, when she spoke, was barely a whisper. "I saw destruction. Great destruction. The realm in flames. The packs at war. The Lycan prince consumed by rage and grief." She paused, her ancient hands trembling. "And at the center of it all, the Daughter of the Moon. Her death would trigger a chain of events that cannot be undone. It would start with the prince, and spread outward until the entire realm is consumed."

"By the goddess," Ilara breathed. "What do we do?"

The seer struggled to her feet, her grip tight on her staff. "We go to the palace. We warn them. We protect the girl at all costs."

"The festival is in two days. We should be able to make it."

"Then we leave immediately." The seer’s face was grim. "The realm is in great danger. We cannot wait any longer."