SERAPHINA
The first week passes in isolation.
Food arrives three times a day, brought by silent guards who won’t meet my eyes. The meals are simple but filling: bread, cheese, stew, sometimes fruit.
It’s more food than I’ve seen in days, and I eat every bite, feeling my strength slowly return.
I wash in the basin, scrubbing away days of dungeon filth until my skin is raw. The bruises from Marcus are fading from deep purple to sickly yellow-green, and the defensive wounds on my arms are healing into pink lines.
But my ribs still ache when I breathe too deeply, a constant reminder of that night in the cottage.
Someone has left clean clothes, simple dresses in gray and brown, suitable for a prisoner, but better than the torn rags I arrived in.
When I catch my reflection in the water basin, I barely recognize myself. Thinner, paler, with haunted eyes that have seen too much.
The window becomes my obsession. I stand there for hours, watching the courtyard below, the mountains in the distance, the sky changing from dawn to dusk.
The bars remind me I’m still trapped, but at least I can see the world beyond these walls.
Sometimes, I think about my parents. Do they know where I am? Do they think I’m dead? The guilt of what I’ve put them through—the letter I left, the scandal of my disappearance, the political nightmare I created—is almost unbearable.
They loved me enough to let me be naive, to shelter me from the harsh realities of royal duty. And I repaid them by running away and destroying everything they’d worked for.
Mother’s face haunts me. The pain in her eyes when she told me about the arranged marriage. The understanding, even as she explained that duty must come before desire.
She knew what she was asking of me because she would have done it herself if their situations had been reversed.
And Father—gods, Father must be devastated. His only daughter, missing. The peace treaty in ruins. The war he’d tried so hard to end, reignited.
I failed them both.
The days blur together in the tower room. Kieran doesn’t visit.
I tell myself I’m relieved.
That I don’t want to see him anyway. That the strange ache in my chest has nothing to do with his absence.
But Luna grows more restless with each passing day. She paces in my mind, whining and scratching, demanding I go to our mate.
The bond pulls at me constantly, a thread connecting me to him somewhere in this massive fortress, tugging at my consciousness until I want to scream.
By the end of the first week, I’m not sleeping. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. Feel his hands on my skin. Smell his scent like he’s standing right beside me.
“Need him,” Luna whimpers constantly. “Hurts. Need our mate.”
“He doesn’t want us,” I tell her, but my voice lacks conviction.
KIERAN
I last eight days before my wolf forces my hand.
Eight days of trying to ignore the pull, the constant awareness of her presence in my fortress like a beacon I can’t shut out.
Days of my wolf clawing at my consciousness, demanding I go to our mate, check on her, make sure she’s safe and fed and comfortable.
Eight days of not sleeping, barely eating, snapping at my advisors and commanders until even Thane looks at me with concern.
The border skirmishes continue. Three more men lost this week to raids and counter-raids. The fragile ceasefire I’d managed to negotiate before the wedding is completely shattered, and both kingdoms are mobilizing for full-scale war again.
Every death is on my conscience. And hers.
But my wolf doesn’t care about politics or dead soldiers. He only cares that our mate is locked in a tower, alone and afraid, and we’re not there to protect her.
“You need to see her,” Thane says as I pace my chambers like a caged animal. “Whatever’s happening to you, it’s getting worse.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” He crosses his arms. “You look like death, you’re barely functioning, and your wolf is so close to the surface I can see him in your eyes. This is about the prisoner, isn’t it?”
I don’t answer.
“The men are talking,” Thane continues carefully. “They say you moved her out of the dungeons. That you’ve ordered she be fed and cared for. They’re wondering why.”
“That’s none of their concern.”
“It is when their king is falling apart.” He steps closer. “What’s going on, Kieran? What is she to you?”
The word sticks in my throat.
“Nothing,” I force out. “She’s nothing.”
But the bond punishes the lie.
After Thane leaves, I try to sleep. But every time I close my eyes, I see her face. Feel the ghost of her lips against mine. Smell her scent like she’s lying beside me.
The wolf is howling now, demanding I go to her.
“Fine,” I snarl. “Fine!”
I storm through the fortress, climb the tower, unlock her door—
And freeze.
She’s asleep. Curled on her side, moonlight turning her hair silver. She looks younger, vulnerable.
The fading bruises enrage me—not at her, never at her—but at Marcus.
“Mine,” my wolf growls.
I should leave.
I don’t.
Then her eyes open.
She sits up, wincing. “It’s been eight days. Have you come to a decision?”
“About what?”
“About whether you’re going to kill me or release me.”
“You’re my prisoner. I can do whatever I want.”
“For how long?” Her voice cracks. “Until you figure out how to kill your mate?”
I have no answer.
Then the moonlight shifts. Her thin gray dress clings to her body. Her breathing quickens. Her scent hits me—pine, wildflowers… and arousal.
She wants this too.
The bond screams between us.
I break.
I cross the room in two strides, grab the back of her neck, fingers tangled in her hair, and pull her mouth to mine.
