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ELEVEN

SELENE

S elene didn’t open the door right away.

She sat on the small cushioned bench beneath the window, one leg curled beneath her, watching the snow-dusted courtyard far below. Her tea had gone cold hours ago, untouched. The book in her lap hadn’t been turned since sunrise.

The knock came again. Two sharp taps, then one slow one. She knew that if she didn’t open the door, Kael would just let himself in. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

She sighed, dragging herself upright. Her muscles ached from too much sitting and too little sleep.

When she opened the door, it wasn’t Kael.

It was Nyra.

The Fenrir heir’s sister stood casually in the hall, weight balanced on one hip, a long forest-green cloak draped over fitted leather. Her short silver hair was wind-tossed and unruly, and her expression was as unreadable as ever—half amusement, half challenge.

“You expecting someone else?” Nyra asked, eyes flicking over Selene with a knowing glint.

Selene blinked. “I—uh, no. I just didn’t expect… you.”

Nyra shrugged, not the least bit offended. “I figured it was time. You’ve been here how long now? And we haven’t even had a proper conversation.”

“Wasn’t aware you were in the market for one.”

Nyra smirked. “Normally, I’m not. But I was told to stop terrifying the courtiers with my resting death-glare. So. Consider this my diplomatic outreach.”

Selene couldn’t help it, she smiled.

Just a little.

Nyra caught it and grinned wider. “That’s better. Grab your boots. Let’s walk. Before I change my mind.”

The citadel grounds looked different under the pale gold of morning sun. Snow clung to the edges of the battlements and frosted over the dormant gardens. The training fields were half-empty, the usual clang of weapons replaced by the chirping of crows circling overhead.

Nyra walked with the easy grace of someone who knew every stone by memory. Selene trailed beside her, watching how the younger woman’s fingers casually brushed frost from a statue as they passed—like she belonged here in a way Selene never could.

They passed a group of soldiers along the path. Nyra didn’t spare them a glance. They all saluted her.

Selene adjusted her pace. “So, was this Kael’s idea?”

“Nope,” Nyra said. “He doesn’t know I’m here. Would’ve probably growled something about protocol and mated appearances. But frankly, I was getting bored.”

“And you thought I’d be entertaining?”

Nyra shot her a sideways glance. “No. I thought you’d be honest.”

Selene arched a brow.

“You’ve been through hell, shoved into a bond you didn’t choose thinking you were just here for a peace treaty, and still haven’t collapsed in the middle of court from the weight of fifty generations of bullshit. That earns you a conversation.”

Selene snorted. “High praise.”

“I’m not known for compliments.”

They walked for a few more minutes in silence, boots crunching softly against frost-hardened dirt. Finally, Nyra broke it again.

“He told you about the bond backlash?”

Selene nodded. “Enough to terrify me.”

“Good,” Nyra said with no irony. “You should be terrified. But also… not.”

Selene glanced at her. “That’s not vague at all.”

Nyra exhaled through her nose, more serious now. “Kael… he doesn’t show it, but he’s been through worse. This— you —are not the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.”

Selene frowned. “I didn’t think I was.”

“You’re not,” Nyra said, eyes fixed ahead. “But he thinks you might be. Not because of you—but because he feels again. And that’s dangerous for him.”

Selene slowed her steps. “Why?”

Nyra paused by a low stone bench overlooking the edge of the cliffs. The wind tugged at her cloak as she sat, hands braced behind her.

“He loved someone once,” she said quietly. “Back when we were still being raised in the old ways. Her name was Elara. She was from one of the lesser moonborn clans. They met during his first tour as heir. She challenged him. Made him laugh. She didn’t care about court or bloodlines. Just him. ”

Selene said nothing. The air was colder suddenly. The sharp kind that burned your throat.

“She died,” Nyra said, simple and final. “In a raid meant for him. House Duskthorn arranged it. Varyn’s uncle. Kael never talks about it, but I was there. I saw him shift in the woods, half out of his mind with rage. It took five warriors to pull him off the one who set the trap.”

Selene sat down slowly beside her, the wind lifting strands of her hair.

“He doesn’t talk about it,” Nyra said again, softer now. “Not because he’s ashamed. But because it broke something in him. Loving her made him soft . And soft gets you killed here.”

Selene’s throat tightened.

She hadn’t come out here looking for answers. She’d just wanted air. Space. Silence from Kael’s maddening presence, from her own confusion. But now…

Now she wasn’t sure what to do with this heavy, aching knowledge sitting in her chest.

“You still think he’s capable of that?” Selene asked quietly. “Of loving?”

Nyra turned toward her with a look that was all sharp truth.

“I think he already does,” she said. “He just doesn’t know how to name it without bleeding.”

Selene’s heart thudded once, hard.

She stood too quickly.

Nyra didn’t rise. Just looked up at her, calm and a little sad.

“You don’t have to forgive him,” she said. “But if you’re going to survive here, you should at least understand him.”

Selene nodded once, wordless, and turned back toward the citadel.

Her anger hadn’t vanished.

But it wasn’t as clean now.

It had edges softened by empathy and those were the most dangerous ones of all.