Nova woke to the soft hum of the camp outside and an empty space beside her. The blankets were still warm where Fin had been, his scent lingering faintly. He was probably out on military rounds, as expected.
She needed to clean herself off, get ready and eat something. She hadn't eaten since lunch the day before. The high council would be meeting in a few hours to debrief yesterday's events. It looked like it was dusk outside, based on how the sun was hidden behind the trees.
For a long moment, she just lay there staring at the ceiling. A familiar weight settled in her chest, the sharp ache of something she couldn't quite name. The aftershock of breaking the matebond still lingered—less sharp now, or maybe she was just getting used to it. She didn't know.
But it was there all the same. She had hoped the ache would fade with time. Maybe it had. But being pressed against him again—hearing his breath, feeling his arms—had brought everything back sharp and merciless.
Waves of anxiety pushed at her ribs. She inhaled slowly, trying not to spiral.
She needed space. Needed home. Needed a moment to breathe without eyes on her.
Nova raised her hand and sliced the air. Silver light curled outward, bending the fabric of the world until a portal shimmered open—quiet, precise, responding only to her.
Shadowclaw Castle's corridor in the Alpha's private wing greeted her with familiar cold stone and the faint scent of sandalwood from the torches. She stepped through and let the portal close behind her, shutting out the encampment and every expectation with it.
Her private bathing chamber waited. No copper basin. No makeshift wash in a tent. Her marble pool steamed gently. She slipped out of her clothes and into the water, sinking under until silence wrapped around her like a second skin.
The grime of smoke, wind, and war vanished.
Lavender-silver soap filled the air.
Her muscles unwound.
For a few precious minutes, she wasn't a queen, or the girl who destroyed twenty thousand troops, or the woman every commander was whispering about. She was just Nova.
When she stepped out, steam curling around her ankles, she dried herself and moved into her adjoining chamber. The omegas had already prepared her outfit for the day—silent, efficient, unseen. She wondered if Fin knew she'd come back here.
She pulled on her tall socks and boots first, grounding herself in the familiar weight. Then the white lace thong and matching corset. Lacing it was a struggle, but she managed to cinch it tight.
The dress waiting on the stand was midnight-blue silk, smooth as water beneath her fingers—quiet luxury, the kind meant for a queen. She slipped into it, drawing the fabric over her hips and chest, letting the cool silk settle against her skin before she tied the front. It framed the lines of her collarbone and the graceful slope of her chest, modest but undeniably beautiful. The perfect balance—dignified, elegant, and unmistakably her.
She opened a portal with a flick of silver magic and stepped back into the Shadowclaw tent.
She still preferred training suits. But she was growing accustomed to these dresses—whether she wanted to or not. Duty demanded a certain kind of beauty.
Her hair had dried into loose curls falling to her waist, catching the morning light so they gleamed faintly gold. She picked up her crown resting on its pedestal.
She lifted it.
The weight grounded her.
Nova set it atop her head and raised her eyes to the mirror.
The reflection staring back at her did not look like the one she imagined herself as.
She looked like a queen. Beautiful. Poised.
It startled her—every time.
She had never thought of herself as beautiful. She'd heard it constantly lately—every soldier in the camp seemed to say it—but she'd never truly believed it.
Shaking her head, she exhaled, a faint frown tugging at her lips.
Now was not the time for vanity. Nor the time to start believing her own legend.
She clasped her velvet cloak, a deep midnight-blue trimmed in intricate gold along the edges. The matching gloves lay folded on the table; she slid them on slowly.
Nova felt another wave of anxiety wash over her, stronger than the last. The air around her seemed to tighten, her heartbeat quickening with no clear reason. She pressed a hand to her chest, shaking her head as if to clear it, and took a slow, deliberate breath to steady herself.
But before she could spiral further, the tent flap opened, and Fin stepped in.
He didn't hesitate. He quickly crossed the space between them and pulled her into his arms. His scent, familiar and grounding, flooded her senses.
He surged his emotions into her, through the bond, warm and steady, wrapping around her like armor.
"Thank you." She whispered, with grateful eyes.
"Of course, baby," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
He kissed her temple, then her cheek, and finally found her lips in a slow, reassuring kiss that silenced what was left of her panic.
When she opened her eyes, they flicked toward the table where Elias had left a vial of tonic. Fin followed her gaze and picked it up without a word, handing it to her.
"You just annihilated an enemy army of twenty thousand," he said, grinning faintly as though reading her thoughts. "You're allowed to take a calming tonic."
Nova sighed, "I thought I was starting to feel better… but maybe not."
Fin brushed his thumb across her jaw, eyes soft.
"When I spoke with Elias last, he said twice a day for at least a month," he said gently. "And I agree."
Nova couldn't shake the feeling creeping under her skin. It wasn't panic this time—it was something heavier, something that sat wrong in her chest and refused to name itself. The dread came in quiet waves, each one sharper than the last.
Fin noticed instantly. His brows furrowed, that familiar flicker of concern crossing his face as their bond tightened with her unease.
"Nova?" he asked quietly, but she only shook her head.
"You're right," she said finally, voice low. "I clearly do need it."
She didn't want this to linger, didn't want him to see the tremor in her hands or the confusion behind her eyes.
She reached for the tonic on the table, uncorked it, and downed the entire vial in one swallow.
Fin pulled her into his arms. He couldn't get enough of Nova. And the more time he spent with her, the more he craved her. He didn't like having her out of his sight, even just to let her sleep, felt wrong.
Nova slid her arms around his torso, resting her head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, his scent pine, rain on rock, and something entirely his. He breathed her in too, that faint sweetness of vanilla and moonlight clinging to her hair, grounding him.
Then, without warning, she moved.
Nova pushed away from him so fast it startled him. Her eyes were wide, unfocused for a heartbeat. Fin stiffened, confusion flashing into concern. He wondered if she was sick.
He stepped toward her and froze when he saw her hunch over, one arm wrapped around herself, the other pressed tight against her chest.
He quickly took another step towards her, but then staggered.
A gasp escaped his mouth, unable to comprehend it. The most painful sensation he had ever experienced. Sharp. Sudden. It tore through the matebond like fire and wire, so vivid it didn't feel shared—it felt real. Like he was taking her pain into himself.
He grunted as he continued to stagger towards her. He felt it deeper now. A hot, searing twist bloomed beneath his ribs, ripping through him as if something inside was being torn apart.
Nova let out a choked cry, disoriented. Her knees buckled.
Fin moved fast, catching her before she hit the ground, his own pain refusing to ease even as he held her.