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Erik takes the opening to attack again, and I respond automatically, muscle memory carrying me through the exchange. We break apart, circling once more.

“You told her about the prophecy,” he says. It’s not a question.

“This morning.”

“And?”

I shrug, the motion deliberate and casual despite the turmoil in my chest. “She didn’t throw anything at me. I consider that progress.”

“Progress,” Erik repeats with a skeptical snort. He strikes again, his movements more aggressive now.

I block his attack, the wood of our practice swords clacking loudly in the quiet courtyard. “I’ve consulted with three different witches from three different bloodlines. They’ve all confirmed the interpretation.”

“Which is?”

“Maya will die if I give her the mating mark.”

Erik curses under his breath, lowering his sword completely. “There has to be a way around it.”

“I’ve searched,” I tell him, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. “The prophecies of the old bloodlines are absolute. If we complete the bond, she dies.”

“So, what’s your plan? You can’t mate her because of the prophecy. The elders aren’t going to allow you to remain single indefinitely. What are you going to do?”

“I can be with Maya without the mark,” I say firmly. “Without the formal mating. And as for producing an heir”—I meet my brother’s eyes steadily— “that will become your job.”

Erik stares at me, his expression cycling through shock, disbelief, and finally understanding. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely serious.” I toss my practice sword aside, suddenly weary of the pretense of combat. “I’ve spent my life bending to rules, Erik. I’ve done everything right, everything expected of me. For the first time, I want something for myself.”

“Maya,” he says quietly.

“Maya,” I confirm. “Having her back here, even with the distance between us—This is the first time I’ve been able to breathe in months.”

Erik runs a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, his frustration evident. “The elders will never accept it. An unmated king? A human consort? It’s unprecedented.”

“So was a wolf king with a human in his court,” I point out. “Yet here we are, fighting to save our kingdom using Maya’s expertise.”

“That’s different, and you know it.”

“Is it?” I challenge him. “They accepted you as king for a decade. They adapt when they must.”

“And if they don’t?” Erik asks, his voice lowering. “If they demand you produce an heir?”

I speak through clenched teeth. “Then, they can find another king.”

Erik’s eyes widen at the declaration. “You’d abdicate? For her?”

“In a heartbeat.” The answer comes without hesitation. “But I don’t think it will come to that. The elders are pragmatic above all else. They know our kingdom will collapse without strong leadership, especially with the threat of the Silver Ring Organization still looming.”

“And what about Maya in all this?” Erik asks. “Have you considered what she wants?”

The question gives me pause. “No,” I admit after a moment. “I haven’t even told her this part of it yet. I needed to see if she would hear me out at all first.”

Erik sighs, retrieving both our practice swords. “This is a mess, Griffin.”

“I know.”

“But...” He hesitates, studying my face. “I understand. If it were someone I loved, I’d probably do the same.”

An unexpected lump forms in my throat at his support. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he warns, though his tone is lighter now. “You still have to convince Maya to forgive you. And then get the elders to accept her. And then probably fight off whatever the Silver Ring is planning.”

Despite everything, I find myself smiling. “When you put it that way, it sounds simple.”

Erik laughs, clapping me on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”

We walk together toward the palace, the afternoon sun on our backs. For the first time in months, I feel something like hope stirring in my chest. Maya heard me this morning. She didn’t forgive me, but she listened. She ate the breakfast I brought her.

Small steps, but steps nonetheless.

“What if she doesn’t want this?” Erik asks suddenly, voicing the fear I’ve been trying to ignore. “What if she decides to leave once the antidote is complete?”

The possibility sends a cold shiver down my spine despite the warmth of the day. “I’ll let her go.”

“Just like that?”

“No,” I admit quietly. “Not just like that. It would destroy me. But I’ve learned my lesson about making decisions for her. If she chooses to leave, I won’t stop her.”

Erik nods slowly. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think she will. Not if she knows the whole truth.”

“We’ll see.” I glance toward the laboratory wing of the palace, where I know Maya is working tirelessly on the antidote. “Her assistant keeps looking at her like she hung the moon.”

Erik follows my gaze, his expression thoughtful. “Mathew?”

“He loves her.” The words taste bitter on my tongue.

“And you’re jealous,” Erik observes with a hint of amusement.

“Insanely,” I confess. “She smiles with him. She laughs. I don’t see her do either of those things unless he’s around.”

“Because he doesn’t hurt her the way you do,” Erik says bluntly. “He doesn’t have the power to break her heart.”

The truth of his words strikes deep. “I need to change that.”

“Yes,” Erik agrees. “You do.”

As we reach the palace entrance, I pause, looking back at the training grounds where we spent so many hours as boys learning to become the men our father wanted us to be. “I never thanked you properly.”

“For what?”

“For keeping the kingdom together while I was gone,” I say sincerely. “For not giving up the search for me. For supporting me now, even when what I want goes against everything we were taught.”

Erik’s expression softens. “You’re my brother, Griffin. Before you’re my king, before you’re anything else. I’ll always have your back.”

I nod, emotion making it difficult to speak. “I should check on the lab. See how the antidote is progressing.”

“See how Maya is progressing, you mean,” Erik corrects me with a knowing smile.

I don’t deny it. “Both.”

As I walk toward the laboratory wing, I try to organize my thoughts.

I need to tell Maya the rest of it—my plan to be with her without completing the bond, the future I envision for us if she’ll have me.

But first, I need to prove to her that she can trust me again, that I won’t make decisions for her or push her away.

One step at a time, I remind myself. She listened to me this morning. She ate the food I made for her.

It’s a start.

The laboratory door stands closed before me, the glass window reflecting the artificial lights. I hesitate, closing my eyes and catching the scents from within—antiseptic, chemicals, and Jerry, but not Maya. Not Mathew.

I push the door open to find Jerry hunched over a microscope, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looks up as I enter, surprise evident in his features.

“Your Majesty,” he says, straightening. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Where’s Maya?” I ask, scanning the lab as if she might be hiding in some corner.

Jerry gestures toward a row of vials on the central workstation. “She completed a preliminary version of the antidote this morning. She’s quite confident it will work.”

My heart leaps at the news. “That’s remarkable. Where is she?”

“She left with Mathew about an hour ago,” Jerry says, removing his glasses to polish them on his lab coat. “Said they were meeting someone.”

“Meeting whom?” A prickle of unease crawls up my spine.

Jerry shrugs, his movement casual, unconcerned. “Mathew’s idea, I believe. Maya didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”

The unease sharpens into something more insistent. Maya has left the palace grounds, with a man I know almost nothing about, without telling anyone where she was going.

“Did she give any indication when they’d return?” I try to keep my voice steady, reasonable.

“Before dinner, I think.” Jerry replaces his glasses, peering at me with sudden interest. “Is something wrong, Sire?”

I shake my head, moving deeper into the room to examine the vials of completed antidote. “Not necessarily. I just wanted to speak with her.”

Jerry returns to his microscope, leaving me to prowl restlessly around the laboratory.

I find myself drawn to Maya’s workstation, meticulously organized despite the complexity of her work.

Notebooks filled with her neat handwriting are stacked beside the computer, her observations recorded in detailed entries with pages of calculations and chemical formulas that mean nothing to me.

I flip through the most recent notebook, trying to gauge how close she is to a final version of the antidote.

Her latest notes indicate successful tests on blood samples from infected shifters, including Aria.

The treatment appears to reverse the separation of shifter and wolf, restoring the connection without side effects.

A breakthrough that could save hundreds of lives.

Something else catches my eye: a small sketchbook partially hidden beneath her laptop. I pull it out.

Flipping it open, I find page after page of her mother’s face—Helen smiling, Helen reading, Helen gardening.

The drawings are exquisite, capturing not just her likeness but her spirit.

They’re also dated, the most recent from just yesterday.

These aren’t old sketches; Maya has been drawing her mother from memory, keeping her close the only way she can.

The constant ache in my chest intensifies. This is how she copes with her grief—not by talking about it, not by sharing it, but by preserving her mother’s image on paper, one portrait at a time.

I set the sketchbook down carefully and continue inspecting the workstation. My elbow knocks against a messenger bag slumped against the side of the desk—Mathew’s, judging by the garish purple patches sewn on the canvas. It tips over, spilling some of its contents to the floor.