Chapter 29
May 5, 2025
Lyra (Seraphina)
I had just finished reviewing the final decree of the day when the door creaked open. I looked up, expecting a report or another scroll to sign.
It was Lucien.
After last night I sent him back to the servant quarters to spend the night. I expected him this morning to go back to his pack but to my surprise he’s still here.
Only this time, he wasn’t dressed in his usual dark coat or alpha armor. No intricate leather. No markings of rank. Just a simple dark shirt, torn at the sleeve. Boots worn from the road.
He stepped forward slowly, and without saying a word, placed something on my desk.
I looked down.
His Alpha crest.
Silver and black, the mark of House Hawthorne. It sat there like a quiet surrender.
“I want no title,” he said. “No power. Just a place where I can earn the right to stand beside you. As a soldier. As a wolf.”
I stared at the crest, unsure if I wanted to pick it up or burn it. But I said nothing. Because part of me… wanted to see what he’d do next.
Later that night, the palace sirens screamed. A rogue attack. Fast. Unexpected. Brutal. I ran into the courtyard, my blade already strapped to my back, my wolf rising under my skin, ready to fight. My guards tried to hold me back, but I shoved past them.
I was Alpha. I led.
The rogues were already on the field—snarling, wild, tearing into warriors like they’d lost all control. Chaos painted the night red.
And then I saw him.
Lucien.
Not standing at the front, not barking orders—fighting. Beside the others.
Covered in mud and blood, moving like fire, no crest on his chest, no command in his voice—just raw power and fury.
He caught sight of me through the haze. And in that second, we didn’t speak. We just fought. Side by side.
He took the left. I took the right. A rogue lunged at me from behind, and Lucien snarled, tackling it mid-air before it could sink its fangs into my neck.
“Watch your back!” he yelled, slamming his fist into the creature’s skull.
I spun, blade slicing clean through another rogue’s chest.
“I had it under control,” I grunted.
“You’re welcome,” he muttered.
Another wolf charged at us, and Lucien turned just in time to throw himself between me and the claws aiming for my throat.
It slashed across his side—deep.
“Lucien!” I shouted.
He staggered, gripping his ribs, blood already soaking through his shirt.
“I’m fine,” he breathed.
“You’re bleeding—”
“I’ve bled worse.”
I helped him up, my hand gripping his as we stepped back, the rogues finally retreating as more of our soldiers closed in.
The field quieted. The only sound was heavy breathing and the groans of the wounded. Lucien stood there, blood dripping from his side, panting, eyes locked on me.
And I… I couldn’t look away. He had fought with no power. No name. No title.
He came for me. Not the crown.
I felt something shift in my chest. Like a string pulling tight.
He stepped closer, still clutching his ribs. “I don’t care about the title anymore,” he said quietly, voice hoarse. “I don’t care about power or proving anything.”
He reached for my hand, his fingers trembling as they found mine.
“Just… tell me you still feel it too.”
And the second our hands touched—
Spark.
A rush of warmth shot through my fingers, up my arm, straight into the space around my heart.
I gasped softly. His eyes widened. “You felt it, didn’t you?”
I swallowed hard, nodding once. “I did.”
He squeezed my hand, pain etched across his face, but something like hope blooming in his eyes. We stood there—bloody, breathless, surrounded by ruin—but for one second, all I could feel…
Was him.
