The council chamber had never felt so small.
Every seat was filled—Alpha wolves, Lycan generals, elders from allied packs, and emissaries who had traveled through the night after the Purge attack shook the realm. The air was thick with tension, curiosity, and fear.
All of it focused on me.
I stood beside Ronan at the center of the chamber, his presence a solid wall at my back. One hand rested possessively at my waist, the other openly placed over my stomach, unapologetic. A statement. A warning.
Mine.
The triplets stirred gently, their energy calm but alert, as if they understood this moment mattered.
An elder stepped forward—Elder Maerith, keeper of ancient laws and forbidden texts. Her silver hair was braided with runes that glowed faintly as she unrolled a scroll so old it looked like it might turn to dust.
"The prophecy was never incomplete," she said gravely. "It was sealed."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
Ronan's jaw tightened. "Sealed by whom?"
"By the first Lycan King," Maerith replied. "Because its fulfillment would change the balance of every realm."
She raised her eyes to me.
"To protect the mother."
My breath caught.
She began to read, her voice echoing unnaturally, as if the chamber itself leaned in to listen.
From betrayal shall she rise,
Bound by blood, crowned by flame.
Three hearts shall beat beneath her own,
Three wills forged of night, storm, and dawn.
The King shall kneel not to power,
But to love reborn in defiance.
Together they will end the Purge,
Or the realms will fall to shadow eternal.
Silence followed.
Then chaos.
Voices overlapped—fear, awe, disbelief.
"She's never trained—" "Triplets? Impossible—" "This changes succession—" "The children—are they weapons?"
Ronan moved.
He stepped forward, power rolling off him in waves that silenced the room instantly. Golden eyes burned as he spoke.
"Anyone who refers to my children as weapons," he said coldly, "will leave this fortress—or be carried out."
No one challenged him.
He turned to me then, and the shift in his expression stole my breath. The warrior. The king. Gone.
What remained was the male who had searched five years for the woman he never stopped loving.
Ronan dropped to one knee.
The sound echoed like thunder.
Gasps erupted.
I froze.
"My king—" I whispered.
He took my hand, pressing his lips to my knuckles, reverent. "No," he said softly. "My mate."
He stood, turning to the council, still holding my hand.
"I claim Aria of the Silver Vein as my true mate," he declared. "Not because of prophecy. Not because of power. But because she chose survival when the world betrayed her. Because she carried my children alone and did not break."
His thumb brushed my skin, grounding me as emotion threatened to overwhelm me.
"And I claim our children," he continued, voice ironclad. "As heirs. As sovereign blood. As untouchable."
The chamber bowed.
Not all willingly—but all undeniably.
Later, in the quiet of our private chambers, the weight of the day finally crashed down on me.
I sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting over my stomach, tears slipping free. "Everything has changed," I whispered. "There's no hiding now."
Ronan knelt in front of me again, not as king—but as mate. He pressed his forehead to mine.
"I won't let them take your peace," he said. "Not ever again."
"They already took so much," I admitted. "My trust. My past. Five years I'll never get back."
His hands cupped my face, thumbs brushing away tears. "And yet you stand here," he said fiercely. "Alive. Powerful. Loved."
His lips brushed mine—slow, deep, intimate. Not desperate. Not demanding. Just… real.
The bond pulsed warmly between us.
The triplets stirred.
Suddenly—three distinct sensations rippled through me.
One sharp and curious.
One warm and fierce.
One calm… watching.
I gasped. "Ronan… I can feel them. Separately."
His eyes widened. "Tell me."
"The first," I whispered, breath shaking, "feels like lightning. Restless. Clever."
"The second… fire. Protective. Strong."
"And the third—" I smiled softly, awed. "He feels ancient. Quiet. Like he already knows things."
Ronan's expression shifted—shock, awe, pride.
"Three heirs," he murmured. "Three forces."
He pressed his palm gently over my stomach, reverent. "You didn't just survive the prophecy," he said. "You became it."
I leaned into him, finally letting myself rest.
Outside, the realm buzzed with rumors. The Purge retreated to regroup. Allies questioned. Enemies plotted.
But inside these walls, for the first time in years, I felt safe.
Not because the danger was gone.
But because I was no longer alone.
And somewhere deep within me, three small hearts beat steadily—no longer secrets.
But a promise.