Chapter 7

My thoughts drifted back to the wildflower of my homeland, crimson-petaled and defiant—much like me. An echo of the forest whispered through my memory even as I stood here, cloaked in the eerie twilight of the Nightshade Court.

A lone werewolf amidst the fae.

Existing. Breathing. Enduring.

Coexisting… perhaps even belonging.

One day, maybe.

“Now, what do we have here?” a velvety voice drawled, laced with subtle menace.

Heads turned toward the gilded archway leading into the fae banquet hall. A fae woman stood poised beneath the threshold, framed by flickering candlelight. Chocolate-brown curls spilled like rivers down her back, shimmering against her golden skin. Her steps were feline and effortless, like a panther stalking prey.

I straightened instinctively, my spine stiff. Compared to her, I felt coarse—too wild, too feral. My body wasn’t built to glide. I was made for the chase, the hunt, the fight.

Still, something primal coiled tight in my chest as I watched her approach Prince Lysander “Lys” Shadowmere—my intended mate. Her hand lifted, brushing his cheek with aching familiarity.

Just as he’d touched me in the garden.

Her silvery-grey eyes shimmered with possession. “I feared for you, Lysander,” she whispered, her voice caressing his name like a lover’s prayer.

The words struck me like fangs to the throat. My inner wolf, Sable, snarled beneath my skin, pacing madly, demanding blood. My claws unsheathed, gouging into the wooden table as I restrained myself.

Control. Focus. He isn’t ours. Not truly.

My mind begged for reason, but my heart—the foolish thing—throbbed in protest. Could I truly endure watching Lysander with another? He’d said this bond was political. A mating in title, not in soul.

Then why did every inch of me scream when she touched him?

A low growl escaped before I could stop it.

The fae woman’s eyes snapped to mine—cool, calculating, dismissive. As if I were a mutt snarling behind a gate. My wolf bristled.

But then… Lysander moved.

He gently peeled her hand from his cheek and let it fall.

Her eyes widened in hurt. And god’s help me—I liked that.

“What are you doing here, Princess Rosalina?” Lysander asked, jaw tight.

“You’re not pleased to see me,” she said, chin lifting.

“I’m preoccupied,” he replied, eyes flicking briefly to me before hardening again. “I’ll speak with you later.”

No. The word ripped through me, unbidden. Sable bared her fangs again.

Rosalina dipped into a curtsy, but venom laced her words. “Yes, my prince.” She spun and glided away, her heels echoing like thunder.

At the far end of the table, Prince Darius exhaled sharply. “Damn, brother. You’re walking straight into fire.”

His sister, Princess Nyx, smirked, her indigo eyes gleaming. “From both sides.”

My cheeks flushed as I yanked my claws from the table and folded my hands into my lap. Had my emotions been that obvious?

Lysander looked at me then—and his eyes widened.

Without another word, he shoved his chair back and rose.

“You’re not going to finish eating?” Princess Nyx asked, her voice lilting.

“My appetite vanished,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You know how Mother feels about you leaving food—”

“I don’t give two cursed shadows what Mother thinks,” Lysander snapped. He winced when his sister recoiled, then sighed and forced calm into his tone. “I have more pressing matters.”

His gaze returned to me. “Come.”

I stiffened. His command grated. I remained seated.

His violet eyes gleamed, warning me. My lips curled, showing just the tips of my wolf fangs in reply.

Lysander’s voice softened. “Please. Come with me.”

That one word unraveled me completely.

I rose, ignoring the pounding of my heart. As he turned to leave, I glanced at Darius and Nyx, who watched with barely hidden amusement.

“It was…um…”

“Don’t bother,” Nyx said, waving a hand. “Go calm your prince before he broods himself into madness.”

“Seconded,” Darius added with a wink.

Blushing, I trailed after Lysander.

He waited in the corridor like a storm contained in royal silk, and when I caught up, he strode beside me without a word.

“Where are we going?” I asked quietly.

“To your chambers,” he said, tone clipped.

We climbed the stairs in silence. My thoughts circled back to Rosalina. The way she touched him. The way he let her. The way he stopped her.

My emotions swirled—fury, confusion, longing.

Halfway up the grand staircase, I halted. “Who is she to you?”

Lysander didn’t pause. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” I growled. “You know.”

At the top of the stairs, he finally stopped. The silence between us stretched taut.

“She is none of your concern.”

A snarl tore from my lips.

I stormed up the final steps, every part of me humming with fury.

“Listen, bat boy,” I said, poking a finger into his chest. “I don’t care how the Nightshade Court plays their games, or how you see werewolves. But I won’t be a side-piece while you play prince with some fae courtesan.”

Lysander turned slowly, danger shimmering in his eyes like moonlight on obsidian.

I pressed on. “So if you intend to touch her and then slip into my bed, prepare to lose more than your title.”

Shock flickered over his aristocratic face. For a moment, he looked genuinely stunned.

“You just call me… bat boy?”

I blinked. “I threatened to mutilate you, and that’s what you focus on?”

He frowned, completely baffled. “What the hell does that even mean?”

I stared at him, then burst out laughing—bitter and wild.

“Means you’ve got wings and a stupidly smug face.”

His lips twitched. “Noted.”

We stood there, two storms locked in orbit. Heat pulsed between us—anger, yes, but something deeper too. Something ancient and electric.

And then he said nothing.

And neither did I.

We simply stood, the silence saying everything our words couldn’t.

All I could do was stare at him, my lips parted in stunned disbelief.

Was he really this worked up because I called him bat boy?

A chuckle tickled my throat before I could stop it. The way his eyes narrowed—dark and smouldering—only made the moment more deliciously absurd.

“I don’t know…” I said, feigning innocence as I dragged my eyes over his carved features and then to the pointed tip of his ears. “You’ve got this broody shadow aura, and your ears sealed the deal.”

Before Lysander could retort, I lifted a hand on impulse and brushed the curved edge of his ear.

A jolt passed between us.

His skin was warm—softer than I imagined, not sharp or cold like the battle tales described. I held my breath. I’d never touched a shadow fae before. For all I knew, this was considered a grave offence.

His hand darted out like lightning, catching my wrist. His grip was firm but not painful—possessive, if anything. For a second, I thought I saw a flicker of heat in his violet eyes.

“Will you stop?” he growled, voice low, feral. He dropped my hand as if it burned him. “Don’t…touch me.”

I raised my brows. “Wow. Calm down. I was just curious if your ears were razor-edged. No need to get your silky fae undergarments in a twist.”

His eyes widened.

My wolf perked up inside me.

Wait—is he…blushing?

A warm flush crept over the elegant bones of his cheeks, blooming against his usually smooth, bronze skin. I blinked in disbelief. Had I actually embarrassed the Shadow Prince?

I replayed my words in my head and cringed.

Panties. Oh, stars.

Lysander’s gaze flicked—not subtly—to the apex of my thighs. My breath hitched. A rush of heat spilled into my core. I shifted instinctively, thighs brushing as I fought the urge to cover myself.

His nostrils flared.

My scent betrayed me.

Lysander blinked hard, jaw tightening as if fighting an invisible war within himself. The colour drained from his face just as quickly, replaced once again by his usual carved composure.

“This way,” he rasped, voice tinged with something raw.

He turned without another word and strode down the corridor like a storm cloaked in shadows.

I trailed after him, trying to steady the racing of my pulse.

Eventually, we came to a heavy oak door. Without a word, Lysander reached for the iron ring and opened it. He stepped aside, offering the threshold like a gentleman from an ancient fairytale.

The room inside was bathed in golden light, softened by the glow of twilight through wide bay windows. When the chandelier above flickered to life, my breath caught.

A canopied bed stood at the centre—majestic and draped in sheer silks that shimmered like morning frost. Creamy linens and a thick comforter promised warmth and softness. Beneath the bed stretched a velvet rug the colour of moonlight. Near the windows, a cozy reading nook awaited, the cushions deep and inviting.

I turned slowly, taking it all in.

The scent in the air was faintly pine, smoke, and something more delicate—lavender, perhaps.

Off to the side, a spacious bathing chamber beckoned, complete with a floating vanity and a clawfoot tub gilded with gold. It looked fit for a queen. A wolf queen.

“It’s… it’s…” I breathed, heart swelling. I turned to him. “It’s beautiful.”

Lysander stood leaning against the frame, arms crossed, his body language unreadable, but his gaze… it never left me.

“The colours,” I whispered, “the furniture… This is how we decorate in the Crimson Moon Pack. These are my colours.”

He shrugged, expression impassive. “Coincidence.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Did you choose this?” I asked softly, stepping closer, a whisper of suspicion curling in my chest.

Lysander’s jaw tightened.

Instead of answering, he pushed off the frame and stepped back into the hall without a word.

My wolf stirred beneath my skin, tail lashing. She could smell the truth he refused to say.

He’d picked this.

For me.

And suddenly, the space between us wasn’t just physical—it was charged with something heavier. Something unspoken.

And it tasted like longing.