The Summons
The summons came at dawn.
Ryan was still awake when the guards knocked, his thoughts a snarl of exhaustion and unrest. He hadn't slept since the night the bond flared, and the ache in his chest hadn't faded.
"Your Majesty," one of the guards said, bowing low, "the Council of Elders has called an emergency Court meeting. You and Queen Isabella are to attend immediately."
Ryan's jaw tightened. He didn't need to ask why.
Across the Citadel, Isabella was summoned the same way — her chamber doors opening to a pair of guards bearing solemn expressions. She dressed in silence, her pale hands trembling as she fastened the clasp of her cloak.
She had a feeling this wasn't about politics. It was about them.
The Court of Judgment
The Court was already gathered when they entered — twelve Elders seated in a half-circle beneath the great obsidian crest of Lycanthra. Their silver robes shimmered in the cold torchlight, eyes sharp and ancient.
Elder Maeron rose first, his voice echoing through the hall."My King. My Queen. It has come to our attention that your bond remains unfulfilled."
Ryan's head snapped up. "That is none of your concern."
"It is when the balance of the Eclipse Pact depends on your union," another Elder said, her tone sharp as glass. "The prophecy binds not only your fates, but the stability of this kingdom. Without the consummation of your bond, the magic remains fractured — and the Blood Plague could return."
Isabella's breath caught. "That's not true—"
"It is," Maeron interrupted. "And the kingdom grows restless. Rumors spread that the King and his Queen sleep apart. That the bond is broken before it's even begun."
Ryan's eyes burned gold. "Our private life is not for gossip."
"Perhaps," Maeron said evenly, "but your duty is not private. The Pact demands heirs — the continuation of both lines, wolf and blood. You must fulfill it."
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.
Isabella's gaze fell to the floor, shame and fury mixing in her chest. Ryan stood rigid beside her, every muscle tense, his claws threatening to break through skin.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and dangerous."You forget who you speak to, Elder. I am King."
Maeron's eyes met his without flinching. "And I am the voice of your ancestors. Do not confuse rank with destiny."
The Command
By royal decree, the decision was made before either could protest.
The King and Queen were to share chambers from this night onward — to "restore the bond" and ensure the prophecy's survival.
Ryan left the chamber first, the sound of the great doors slamming behind him echoing through the hall like thunder. Isabella followed quietly, her heart heavy with dread.
In the corridors, he stopped abruptly.
"I won't touch you," he said, not turning to face her. His voice was cold steel. "They can force us to share a room, but that's all they'll get."
Her voice trembled slightly, though she met his tone with quiet strength. "I never asked you to."
Their eyes met for a brief moment — cold against wounded warmth. Then Ryan turned away, striding ahead in silence.
The Shared Chamber
That night, the royal guards escorted Isabella to the King's quarters.
The chamber was vast — carved stone walls, a burning hearth, a bed large enough to hold a kingdom's worth of distance. Yet it felt suffocating.
Ryan stood by the window, the moonlight catching in his eyes like shards of gold. He didn't move when she entered.
"You can take the bed," he said. "I'll keep to the chair."
She hesitated. "You don't have to—"
"I said I'll take the chair."
His tone ended the conversation. Isabella said nothing more, crossing to the far side of the room. She lay down, back turned, and tried to steady her breathing.
The silence between them was unbearable. Every heartbeat echoed like thunder through the bond. Ryan could feel the warmth of her presence even from across the room — her pulse, her scent, the soft rhythm of her breath.
His wolf stirred instantly. "She's right there…"
"Enough," Ryan muttered.
"You can smell her heartbeat."
"Enough."
The wolf growled, its voice threading through his mind like smoke. "You're lying to yourself, Alpha. Every breath she takes burns you."
Ryan clenched his fists. "I hate her."
"Then why does hating her feel like hunger?"
He pressed a hand to his chest, the bond's pull like fire beneath his skin. His wolf's laughter echoed faintly as the scent of her hair reached him, as real and dangerous as any spell.
He looked away, jaw tight. "I will not break."
But as the night deepened, and her quiet breathing filled the silence, even he wasn't sure how much longer that promise would last.
The Fracture
Near midnight, Isabella stirred in her sleep — murmuring softly, her emotions rippling through the bond. The moment Ryan felt it, the tension shattered.
His wolf surged forward, claws scraping at his control. "Go to her!"
He gritted his teeth, forcing it back. Sweat glistened on his skin. Every instinct screamed to move, to claim, to answer the call of the bond that burned like wildfire in his chest.
But he didn't.
Instead, he turned toward the window, eyes glowing faint gold under the moonlight, and whispered hoarsely, "You will not win."
The wolf went quiet. The bond pulsed once — low, aching, alive.
And somewhere in her dreams, Isabella whispered his name.
Ryan's breath caught. His resistance held… barely.
The Night's End
By dawn, he hadn't slept. He sat motionless in the chair, the fire long since burned out.
When Isabella rose, she found him still there — eyes hollow, the weight of the night etched into his expression.
Neither spoke. But as she passed him, her hand brushed the edge of his arm. The bond flared briefly, like a spark refusing to die.
For a heartbeat, his wolf stirred again. Then Ryan turned away.
He would not break. Not yet.
But the fracture had already begun.