Chapter 68

Chapter 68: Chapter 68

Soren had a betrothed. Soren had a betrothed, and he hadn’t told her. He had kissed her and held her and made love to her and promised her the world, and he had never once mentioned that he was promised to someone else.

Betrothed.

The word repeated in her mind like a death knell.

Finn, who had been sparring nearby, stopped mid-swing and turned to stare. His eyes found Nyra’s face, and whatever he saw there made his expression shift from confusion to concern. "Thorne? You okay?"

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her throat had closed up, and her chest was tight, and her eyes were fixed on the couple at the center of the training hall—Soren and the beautiful woman with her arms around his neck, the woman who had just claimed him in front of the entire academy.

"B-betrothed?" Nyra’s voice came out as a whisper, cracked and broken. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. The word had simply escaped, slipping through her lips before she could stop it.

Selene’s amber eyes flicked toward her. For just a moment, their gazes met across the crowded training hall—Nyra’s wide with shock and hurt, Selene’s calm and knowing and faintly amused.

And then Selene smiled.

It was not a kind smile. It was the smile of a woman who knew exactly what she had just done and was very pleased with the result.

"Yes," Selene said, her voice carrying perfectly in the sudden silence. "His betrothed. We’ve been promised since childhood." She looked back at Soren, her hand sliding down his arm to link with his. "Isn’t that right, darling?"

Soren didn’t answer. His dark eyes found Nyra across the hall, and she saw it—the guilt, the desperation, the silent plea for understanding. He opened his mouth as if to speak, to explain, to say something that would make this moment less devastating.

No words came.

Nyra stared at him. Her mate. Her lover. The man who had held her through the night and promised he would never let her go. And standing beside him, her hand wrapped around his arm like she owned him, was the woman he was supposed to marry.

Something inside her cracked.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She didn’t storm across the training hall and demand answers. She just stood there, frozen in place, her face pale and her hands trembling and her heart shattering into a thousand pieces.

"Thorne?" Finn’s voice was distant, muffled, like he was calling to her from very far away. "Thorne, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t move. She could only stare at Soren and the woman on his arm, the word betrothed still echoing in her ears like the final note of a funeral song.

Across the hall, Corvin had stopped his own training. His whiskey-dark eyes moved from Selene to Soren to Nyra’s stricken face, and his expression hardened into something cold and furious.

The training hall was silent.

And everything Nyra thought she knew was falling apart.

The silence in the training hall was deafening.

Nyra stood frozen, her eyes locked on Soren and the woman draped across his arm like she belonged there. Betrothed. The word echoed in her mind, ricocheting off the walls of her skull, each repetition a fresh wound. She had heard him say it. She had heard her say it. And Soren—her Soren, her mate, the man who had held her through the night and whispered promises against her skin—had said nothing to deny it.

He didn’t tell you, Luna said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. All this time, and he never told you.

I know.

He let you fall in love with him, and he never told you he was promised to someone else.

I know.

Nyra—

I know, Luna. Please. Just... stop.

The hurt in her chest was a physical thing, a fist squeezing her heart until she couldn’t breathe. She had survived assassins and poisonings and rogue attacks. She had survived fever and betrayal and the constant fear of discovery. But this—standing in a crowded training hall, watching the man she loved being claimed by another woman this was a pain she had no defense against.

She looked at Soren one last time. His dark eyes were fixed on her, wide with desperation and guilt and a silent plea for understanding. He opened his mouth as if to speak.

No words came.

Nyra turned and walked away.

She didn’t run. Running would have drawn more attention, would have made the scene even more humiliating than it already was. She walked with her head high and her shoulders straight and her heart crumbling to dust inside her chest. Students parted before her without conscious thought, their whispers a distant buzz she couldn’t quite hear.

"Thorne!" Finn’s voice chased after her. "Thorne, wait!"

She didn’t wait. She kept walking, through the training hall doors, into the cold corridor, past the staring faces and the whispered questions. Her vision was blurring at the edges, but she refused to let the tears fall. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

Behind her, Soren took a step forward. "Thorne—"

A hand caught his arm. Selene’s grip was gentle but firm, her fingers curling around his bicep with practiced possessiveness. "Darling," she said, her voice smooth as silk, "the Proctor is calling for us. The board meeting. Remember?"

"I don’t care about the board meeting—"

"You should. Your father will hear about it if you don’t attend." Her amber eyes met his, calm and knowing. "And we wouldn’t want to disappoint the King, would we?"

Soren’s jaw tightened. He looked toward the door where Nyra had disappeared, his whole body straining toward her like a compass needle pointing north. But Selene’s grip didn’t loosen.

"Thornridge. Selene." Proctor Kane’s voice cut through the murmur of the crowd. "My office. Now. Both of you."

Selene smiled and slid her hand down Soren’s arm, intertwining her fingers with his. "Come, darling. We shouldn’t keep them waiting."

She pulled him gently but insistently toward the door, and Soren had no choice but to follow. His eyes remained fixed on the empty doorway where Nyra had vanished, his heart pounding with the knowledge that he had just broken something precious and fragile and irreplaceable.

The training hall erupted into whispers the moment they were gone.

"Did you see that? She called him betrothed—"

"I thought Thornridge didn’t have a family—"

"Who is she? She’s beautiful—"

"Did you see the prince’s face? He looked like someone died—"

Ragnar stood rigid in the center of the training circle, his scarred face dark with fury. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles white. He had known about Selene. He had known about the betrothal contract since they were children. But he had also known Soren was supposed to tell Nyra. Weeks ago. Before the Mistwood. Before everything.

"You absolute fool," he muttered under his breath. "You absolute, utter fool."

Finn appeared at his elbow, his face pale and worried. "What just happened? Who was that woman? Why did Thorne look like—"

"Not now, Finn."

"But—"

"Not. Now."

Finn fell silent, but his eyes were still fixed on the door where Nyra had disappeared.

Across the hall, Corvin was already moving. He had seen the whole thing Selene’s entrance, the embrace, the whispered word that had shattered Nyra’s composure. He had seen the hurt in her eyes before she turned away, and something inside him had snapped.

He caught up with her in the garden, near the old oak tree where she and Soren had sat just days ago. She was standing with her back to him, her shoulders trembling, her hands pressed against the rough bark as if she needed something solid to hold onto.

"Thorne." His voice was softer than she had ever heard it. "Nyra."

She didn’t turn around. "Go away, Corvin."

"No."

"I mean it. Leave me alone."

"I’m not leaving you alone. Not like this." He moved closer, stopping just behind her. "I saw what happened. In the training hall. With Selene."

The name made her flinch. "You knew about her?"

"I knew Soren had a betrothal contract. I didn’t know she would be here. I didn’t know he hadn’t told you." His voice tightened. "If I had known, I would have warned you."

"Would you?" She finally turned to face him, and the tears she had been holding back were streaming down her cheeks. "Or would you have kept his secret, the way everyone else did? The way Ragnar did? The way the Proctor did? Everyone knew except me. Everyone."

Corvin’s chest ached at the sight of her tears. He had seen Nyra face down assassins and rogues and near-death without flinching. But this—the raw, bleeding hurt in her silver eyes—was worse than any physical wound.

"I didn’t know he hadn’t told you," he said quietly. "I assumed—foolishly, I suppose—that he would have been honest with his own mate."

"He wasn’t."

"No. He wasn’t."

Nyra wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, a gesture that was both angry and helpless. "He held me last night. He told me he would never let me go. He told me I was everything to him. And the whole time, he was promised to someone else. The whole time, he was lying."

Corvin didn’t know what to say. Comfort had never been his strength. He was the serpent, the strategist, the one who always had a plan. But standing in front of Nyra’s grief, he felt utterly powerless.

"I’m not going to defend him," he said finally. "What he did was wrong. He should have told you weeks ago. He should have told you before the Mistwood. Before any of this. But I don’t think he was lying about how he feels. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. That’s not a lie."

"It doesn’t matter how he looks at me. It matters what he does. And he didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth." She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the morning sun. "I’ve spent my whole life being lied to, Corvin. By my family. By my kingdom. By everyone who was supposed to protect me. I thought Soren was different. I thought he was the one person who would never deceive me."

"He should have been."

"But he wasn’t." She closed her eyes, and more tears slipped down her cheeks. "He wasn’t."

Corvin stepped forward and, very hesitantly, placed his hand on her shoulder. "I know I’m not the person you want to hear this from. I know I’m not Soren. But I’m here. Whatever you need—whatever happens next—I’m here."

Nyra opened her eyes and looked at him. The serpent. The strategist. The man who had figured out her secret and kept it. The man who had risked his life in the Mistwood to save her. The man who was bound to her by a bond he didn’t fully understand.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Don’t thank me. Just don’t shut me out."

"I won’t."

They stood together in the garden, the old oak tree casting long shadows across the grass, and Nyra let the tears fall until she had no more left to cry.