Liora's POV
Liora had believed love could melt anything.
That was the lie she had wrapped herself in the night she became Kael's mate—the night she told herself patience was strength, that devotion could soften even an Alpha carved from ice. She had carried that belief for years, careful and hopeful, like a fragile flame cupped against a relentless wind.
It had never warmed him.
The pack whispered that Kael of the Silvercrest had been born without fire, that his blood held more moonlight than heat. Liora never believed them. Hearts weren't born frozen. They were shaped that way , by duty, by loss, by choice.
And she had sworn she would be the one to unmake him.
Silvercrest was a kingdom built on order. The great house loomed on its ridge like a monument, stone and silence pressed into obedience. Portraits of long-dead Alphas lined the halls, their eyes sharp with authority. Warriors trained before dawn. Healers moved soundlessly through the courtyards. Every breath taken within those walls served a purpose.
Except hers.
Liora existed neatly within the spaces Kael allowed. The Luna who smiled when required. Who kept the hearth warm. Who bore him an heir. She performed her role flawlessly—even as the silence between her and her mate thickened into something she could feel pressing against her skin.
At first, she told herself the mate bond was simply slow.
Her wolf responded fiercely to Kael's presence—aching, reaching, certain. But from him, there was nothing. The bond that should have braided their souls together remained unfinished, a thread dangling loose, waiting for his half to answer.
It never did.
Still, she tried.
Small things. Always small. Meals prepared to his preference. Her hand resting briefly against his shoulder when she brought reports. A soft laugh in the dark, offered like an olive branch he never took. Every gesture slid off him—polite, distant, untouched.
Kael was never cruel.
That was the worst of it.
Only their son broke the ice.
Arlo was sunlight given form. His silver-gray eyes mirrored Kael's, but his laughter was entirely Liora's. He climbed into Kael's lap during council dinners, tugged on his sleeve mid-briefing, and somehow—miraculously—made the Alpha soften. Just for moments. Just enough.
Liora watched from the edges of rooms, love and envy twisting together in her chest. Arlo reached Kael in ways she never had.
She told herself she was grateful.
That evening, she carried a tray of tea toward Kael's office, the porcelain warm against her palms. She had added honey—the kind he favored when they were newly mated, back when she still believed memories mattered.
The office door stood half-closed.
Kael's voice drifted through, low and intimate, speaking to someone unseen. Liora hesitated. Then the sound stopped.
She stepped inside.
Kael glanced up, eyes sharp as forged steel. "Liora."
Not welcome. Not dismissal. Acknowledgment.
"I thought you might like tea," she said quietly. "You missed dinner."
A brief nod. He turned back to his papers. "Leave it there."
The cup clinked softly against the tray. Her wolf whimpered, a small, wounded sound. Liora swallowed it down.
"Kael," she began, forcing steadiness into her voice. "Perhaps we could—"
"I'm occupied."
He didn't look up.
Something inside her collapsed, slow and silent. "Of course."
She left before the fracture showed, his quill scratching across parchment following her down the corridor like a measured reminder of where she stood.
She leaned against the wall once she was out of sight, breath trembling. Ink. Cedar. Exhaustion. The scent of a man who had never made space for her.
Then another scent reached her.
Soft. Honeyed. Wild jasmine.
Her wolf snapped to attention, a sharp spike of alarm rippling through her chest.
Who is that?
The perfume was unfamiliar—feminine, intimate, threaded with something that made her stomach twist. It didn't belong to any woman in the pack.
It came from Kael's office.
Liora turned slowly. The corridor was empty. Silent. She told herself it meant nothing. A guest. A passing healer. Anything.
Her wolf did not believe her.
She followed the scent.
The house at night was all silver shadows and moonlight spilling across stone. Her bare feet made no sound. The perfume teased her senses, fading and returning, pulling her deeper into the west wing—toward rooms long left unused.
Light glowed beneath one door.
A guest chamber.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her nightrobe.
Leave, her wolf urged. Live with the lie.
But Liora was so tired of waiting.
As she neared, voices murmured softly through the wood. Intimate. Unguarded.
Kael's voice.
Her bond flared—not with warmth, but pain. Sharp and sudden, like ice driven into her ribs. That voice held something she had never been given.
Warmth.
Her wolf growled, low and trembling.
Liora pressed her palm to the wall, fighting the wave of nausea, of disbelief. Wolves did not mistake scents like that. Bonds did not ache without reason.
She reached for the door.
The handle was cold.
For a moment, she stood frozen between instinct and heartbreak. If she opened it, the truth would change everything.
If she didn't, she would spend the rest of her life pretending it hadn't already.
Her wolf whined once—a sound of warning, of grief.
Liora inhaled, steadying herself, and pushed the door open.
Golden lamplight spilled across her face.
And in that instant, the mate bond she had spent years trying to save didn't just fracture
It went dead.