The silence of the king's bedchamber was deceptive.
Soft as it was....like velvet draped over stone...it offered no comfort. No peace. Only the illusion of calm.
The grand chandeliers had long been extinguished, leaving only the silver glow of the moon to light the vast room.
Pale beams spilled through the arched windows, casting sharp angles across polished floors and high walls.
King Darius Silverthrone stood at the open balcony, shirtless, barefoot, and sleepless.
The cold night wind lashed at his skin, but he didn't flinch. His arms were braced on either side of the stone railing, eyes fixed on the sleeping kingdom below.
Torches flickered along the perimeter walls, and guards shifted silently in the shadows....but the world was still.
Still… except for him.
He couldn't sleep.
Not with the ache gnawing at his chest. Not with the wolf inside him pacing, clawing at his ribs, refusing to rest.
It hadn't stopped since the Moon Festival.
Every day since, he had forced himself onto the throne, sat through hours of council meetings, and discussed the grand preparations for his upcoming birthday ball. He had worn the crown, carried the title, and donned the mask of a perfect king.
But at night?
The mask crumbled.
The moment he had stormed out of the dining hall earlier that evening, everything inside him had begun to unravel again.
The tension, the fury, the longing...it was unbearable.
He gripped the cold stone rail tighter, claws threatening to pierce the surface of his skin.
She's not here.
The thought hit him like a blade.
His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths as he closed his eyes.
And there she was.....Rosaline.
No matter how far he tried to push her from his mind, she always returned. Her face haunted him like a phantom he couldn't escape.
He hadn't gone to the Moon Festival looking for anything. Not companionship. Not love. Certainly not a mate. But something had pulled him there. Something ancient. Primal.
And then, through the music and laughter and lanterns.....he had seen her.
Golden skin under silver moonlight. A soft smile that made time stand still. And when their eyes met, something deep within him had howled.
Mate.
His wolf had screamed it.
That moment had shattered everything. His sense of self. His plans. His control.
And then he kissed her.
He hadn't meant to. It wasn't premeditated. There was no thought, no hesitation....just instinct. A magnetic pull. A collision of soul and skin. He could still feel the warmth of her lips against his. The tremble in her fingers as they brushed his chest.
And then… he did the unthinkable.
He rejected her, turned her away.
Darius let out a sharp breath, stepping back from the balcony as the memory stabbed through him like fire.
Not because she wasn't worthy. Not because he didn't feel the bond. He felt it too strongly...that was the problem.
He was the King of Silvervale. Every move he made was scrutinized. Every breath, politicized. He couldn't afford to be weak. Couldn't afford to fall.
He'd seen what fate did to rulers who embraced the bond. His parents had crumbled under its weight. He would not follow.
But for all his resolve… he was the one suffering now.
He paced the chamber like a man chained inside his own skin. His muscles were taut, every step filled with tension. His wolf snarled louder with every memory.
You hurt her.
"I know," he muttered under his breath.
You lied.
"I know."
She is ours.
With a furious growl, he slammed his fist into the stone wall. The impact sent pain shooting up his arm....sharp, brutal, grounding. Blood trickled from his knuckles, but it wasn't enough to quiet the storm within him.
Nothing ever was.
He dropped into the chair near the hearth. The fire had long died out, leaving only the memory of warmth. He leaned forward, head in his hands, trying to breathe through the storm in his chest.
Only one word could describe him right now....tormented.
He hadn't slept in days. Not truly. Not since the festival. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Heard her voice. Felt her slipping away.
"I don't hate you… I pity you." She said.
Her words echoed louder than any accusation. Her eyes had been filled not with anger, but something worse....disappointment. Heartbreak.
And he deserved it.
Even now, he could still smell her scent in the air. Pine and roses. A scent that clung to his mind like the echo of a dream he couldn't wake from.
Maybe it wasn't real.
Or maybe his soul refused to forget.
And then there was Seraphina.He scoffed at the thought.
The council had been pleased with his announcement. Seraphina came from one of the strongest families in the empire. A McMillan. Politically sharp. Graceful. Ruthless.
And yet… his wolf recoiled every time she drew near.
She touched his arm and his skin burned...not with desire, but revulsion.
His instincts screamed against it.
She wasn't her.
No one else ever could be.
A soft knock interrupted the silence.
He didn't move.
The door creaked open slightly, and Marcus's familiar voice spoke low from the hallway.
"Are you awake?"
Darius let out a hollow laugh. "What do you think?"
The door creaked open, and Marcus stepped into the moonlit room, his sharp eyes scanning his king.
"You look like you've fought a war and lost."
"Maybe I have."
Marcus leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Theodore's words at dinner… they struck a nerve."
Darius gave a low scoff. "He lives to provoke."
"He's a nuisance," Marcus muttered, "but he's observant."
Darius leaned back in his chair. "I really don't care about him right now. It seems I've sentenced myself to torment."
"He also speaks the truth when no one else dares."
"I'm not in the mood for riddles, Marcus."
"I'm not here to lecture." Marcus pushed off the wall, his voice softer now. "But you're coming undone."
Darius rose again, crossing the room in long, restless strides. "I can't go back on my words, Marcus. Not now. I told the council. I named Seraphina. I....."
"You haven't marked her yet," Marcus said quietly. "You didn't bond. You didn't sleep with her. That means everything."
"No, it's not."
Darius looked over his shoulder, eyes flashing. "She's a McMillan. Strong, respected, capable."
"She's not your mate."
Silence.
"She's not...." Darius broke off, rubbing his face with both hands. "She's not Rosaline."
"No one is."
Darius paced again, restless. "I hurt her, Marcus. I tore her apart. She looked at me like I'd broken her. And I did."
"Yes," Marcus said without hesitation. "You did."
The admission landed heavy in the room. There was no sugarcoating the truth anymore.
"And she's out there," Marcus added. "Alone. Scared. Probably thinking the mate bond was some cruel mistake. What if someone else finds her? Someone who doesn't reject her?"
The words hit harder than a punch.
A vicious snarl tore from Darius's throat, his wolf surging up. He gripped the edge of the table to stop himself from shifting on the spot.
No. That could never happen.
He growled low, voice rough and trembling. "She's mine."
Marcus nodded. "Then find her. Before it's too late."
Darius looked out at the moon again. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.
He didn't deserve her. Not after what he'd done.
And yet…
He couldn't stop thinking about her.
The way her fingers curled around the hem of her dress when she was nervous. The way her eyes widened when she looked at him like she was trying to understand how fate could be so cruel.
He had tried to sever the bond.
But it wouldn't let go.
And deep down, he didn't want it to.
"I don't know if she'll even look at me again," he whispered.
"She will," Marcus said gently. "The question is....what will you say when she does?"
Darius didn't respond.
The moonlight poured over him like a silent reminder.
He was the king. Feared. Powerful.
He hurt her, hurt them both. It's not that he can't fix what he destroyed... It's just that he's scared to.
Scared of history repeating itself again.
Would she even look at him again?
Would she still feel the bond?
He didn't know.
And yet, none of that mattered when the one person he was meant to have had slipped through his fingers.
He could no longer pretend.
He couldn't deny the ache.
Or the truth.
He wouldn't find sleep. Not until she returned. Not until she forgave him. Not until her scent filled these cold halls again, warming the stone.
Not until Rosaline Hartley was back in his arms.
And this time… he doesn't know if he has the courage to let her go.