Chapter Twelve — Threads of Silence
1537 Words
Selene’s POV
By the second night, the fever had loosened its grip, leaving only exhaustion and the faint tremor in my hands.
The witch—Eryndor—had come and gone in quiet intervals, bringing with him a strange calm. He spoke little, but his silence filled the space like incense smoke: heavy, soothing, dangerous to breathe too deeply. His crystal rested on the table near my bed, faintly glowing with silver threads that seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat.
I didn’t ask him to take it away.
I’d grown used to its hum in the dark. It made the silence less empty.
Outside, the fortress was a nest of whispers. I could hear them through the stone—servants gossiping about “the cursed Luna,” guards muttering about Kael’s anger, courtiers wondering how long before the old Alpha found a way to rid himself of me.
In my last life, I would have trembled at that.
Now I only smiled.
Let them talk. Every whisper was another distraction, another cover for the moves I was quietly making.
I pulled the blanket tighter and turned to Eryndor, who sat by the hearth, sharpening a small knife that caught the firelight in quick flashes.
“Do you ever get tired of watching the same people make the same mistakes?” I asked.
His eyes flicked up, dark and knowing. “It depends. Sometimes watching them correct those mistakes is worth the repetition.”
“And sometimes?”
“Sometimes the ending is always the same, no matter how many times you start over.”
I studied him quietly. “You sound as though you’ve lived that truth.”
He didn’t smile. “We all live it, in one way or another.”
I hesitated. The memory of him dying under my father-in-law’s command pressed hard in my chest. The sound of steel, the way he had smiled—faint, resigned—as if he’d seen his end long before it arrived.
I swallowed the ache. “And if you knew the ending could be changed?”
Eryndor stopped sharpening the knife. The room filled with the soft hiss of the fire.
“Then I would hope,” he said slowly, “that whoever held that chance had the courage to use it wisely.”
I met his gaze, letting the silence speak for me.
“I’ll try,” I whispered.
For a moment, the faintest warmth passed through his eyes—a spark of recognition, maybe even pride.
“Then perhaps,” he said softly, “you’ll be the one to break the pattern.”
He stood, brushed invisible dust from his robes, and bowed slightly. “Rest now. There are too many eyes that delight in seeing you weak.”
When he turned to leave, I almost stopped him. I almost asked if he remembered more—if he dreamed, as I did, of the snow and the blood and the smile he’d given before dying.
But I didn’t. Some truths, once spoken, could not be taken back.
When the door closed, I whispered to the crystal, “I’ll save you this time.”
The smoke within it pulsed faintly in reply.
---
Kael’s POV
The clang of steel echoed through the night air.
My blade struck Jarek’s with a sharp ring, and sparks flew across the training yard. Sweat streaked my back, my muscles burned, but I didn’t stop. The rhythm of combat steadied me—it was easier than thinking. Easier than feeling.
Jarek blocked my next strike and twisted, knocking me off balance. “You’re distracted,” he grunted.
“Just giving you a chance to breathe.”
He snorted. “You haven’t looked this restless since you left your father’s council in chains.”
I ignored him, lunging forward again. “He’ll try something soon,” I said between strikes. “He always does when he feels his grip slipping.”
“You’re not wrong,” Jarek said, stepping back. “But you’ve got something else gnawing at you. Something that isn’t politics.”
I didn’t answer. The next swing came harder than it needed to. Jarek barely blocked it, his boots scraping against the stone.
He held my blade there, locked against his, eyes narrowing. “It’s her, isn’t it?”
The words hit like a punch.
“She’s my father’s Luna,” I said tightly.
“Your father’s Luna doesn’t make your jaw clench every time someone mentions her name.”
The impact of the truth made me falter for half a breath. I pushed back harder, breaking the lock.
“She’s a liability,” I snapped. “If she dies, my father uses it against me. That’s all.”
“Keep lying,” Jarek said dryly. “Maybe you’ll start believing it.”
---
Selene’s POV
Sleep refused to come. The fire had burned low, painting the walls in faint orange light. I rose from bed, pulling on a cloak, and crossed to the window.
Below, the courtyard spread wide and silent—except for one moving figure.
Kael.
Even from this height, I could recognize the sharp precision of his movements. The training yard was empty now, yet he remained, sword in hand, the moonlight glinting off the steel.
He was relentless. Driven by something more than ambition.
I pressed my fingers to the glass. The bond hummed faintly, a distant heartbeat calling from across the dark.
Why did fate tie me to someone like him?
A man of war, a wolf who burned for power—yet who had carried me through poison and fire as though he feared losing me.
Maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe it was survival disguised as instinct. But still, I felt it—the pull, sharp and unbearable.
A knock sounded at the door, soft but insistent.
I turned quickly, heart leaping. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Kael stepped in, his hair damp from the night air, his eyes shadowed but alert. He looked exhausted, but alive in a way that made the air shift between us.
“You shouldn’t be up,” he said.
“I could say the same.”
He stepped closer, the faint scent of smoke and steel clinging to him. “I heard you were walking again.”
“I’m better,” I said simply.
“Good.” His eyes flicked to the empty teacup on the table. “The witch has been keeping close watch.”
I tilted my head, studying him. “You sent him, didn’t you?”
Kael hesitated, then nodded once. “You were poisoned under my roof. It won’t happen again.”
“I didn’t realize you took such personal offense to my near death.”
He exhaled sharply, as though trying to laugh and failing. “Don’t test me, Selene.”
“Why not? You test everyone else.”
He met my gaze, and for a long moment, the tension stretched between us like a drawn bow. The fire crackled softly, the only sound in the room.
“You don’t understand what you’re in the middle of,” he said finally. “My father doesn’t forgive insults. You embarrassed him by surviving.”
“I’ve survived worse men than him.”
“I’m not talking about men,” Kael said, voice low. “I’m talking about the machine he’s built. Once you’re inside it, it doesn’t let go.”
I stepped closer, until the heat between us was tangible. “Then I’ll break it from within.”
Something flickered in his eyes—admiration, fear, maybe both.
“You sound like someone preparing for war,” he murmured.
“Maybe I am.”
“Then make sure you survive it,” he said. His hand brushed against mine, just barely, a fleeting touch that felt like lightning through my veins.
Before I could answer, he stepped back, cloak whispering as he turned for the door.
“Kael,” I called.
He paused.
“Thank you. For sending Eryndor.”
He didn’t look back. “Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “My father doesn’t trust easily. And anyone he suspects… dies quickly.”
Then he was gone.
---
Kael’s POV
The corridor was quiet, but my thoughts were not.
Every time I left her, it felt wrong. Like walking away from a battle I wasn’t meant to win. The bond pulled at me, steady and relentless, whispering that she was more than my father’s Luna, more than an obstacle.
She was the one piece I couldn’t afford to lose—and the one I couldn’t afford to want.
I reached the balcony that overlooked the courtyard. The moon was high, painting the world in silver.
Below, the witch passed through the shadows, his crystal glowing faintly in his hands.
I watched him, a frown creasing my brow.
There was something about that man—a weight, a familiarity—that unsettled me. He served too quietly, spoke too carefully. My father trusted him. I did not.
But for now, he was the only one I could rely on to keep her alive.
And if he ever betrayed that trust, I would end him myself.
---
- Writer
