Morning arrived without mercy.
Sunlight crept through the narrow window of Princess Veyla Aurelion's chamber, pale and indifferent, illuminating the exhaustion she could no longer hide. She had not slept. Not truly. Her body had drifted into shallow stillness at best, never sinking deep enough to forget the ache.
It had changed overnight.
Less sharp.
More demanding.
She sat on the edge of the bed, hands braced on the mattress, breathing slowly through the pressure beneath her ribs. The bond pulsed in quiet insistence, like a tide that no longer crashed but refused to retreat.
Distance had not weakened it.
It had taught it patience.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Princess," a guard said carefully. "The council requests your presence."
Veyla straightened.
"Of course," she replied.
Her voice was steady.
Her legs trembled when she stood.
Across the citadel, Khorg Ironmaw watched the sunrise from a narrow balcony, fists clenched against the stone railing. He had not slept either. The night had been an endless loop of pacing, stillness, pacing again—his wolf prowling relentlessly beneath his skin.
The nausea had not returned.
Instead, something worse had replaced it.
An ache.
Not in his stomach.
In his bones.
He could feel her now in a way he had not the night before—not as scent, but as absence shaped into pressure. Every instinct screamed that something vital had been taken from him and locked behind walls and rules.
Seven paces.
Twelve hours.
Numbers meant nothing to a beast that measured the world by proximity.
Khorg exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Hold," he growled to himself.
His wolf did not answer.
On the opposite side of the citadel, Vinculus Noctaryn finished adjusting the cuffs of his gloves with surgical precision. His composure was flawless. His mind was not.
The morning had brought no relief.
The subtle instability in his blood had settled into a persistent hum, like glass vibrating at the edge of shattering. He could control it—for now—but the effort grated.
He hated inefficiency.
He hated variables he could not dominate.
And he hated that a single thought of the princess—her posture, her voice, the calm defiance in her eyes—tightened something unpleasant in his chest.
He left his chambers without pause, cloak flowing silently behind him.
The corridor outside the council hall filled slowly.
Veyla arrived first.
She took her place just inside the threshold, stopping well before the chalk line that still marred the stone floor. It had been reinforced overnight—etched deeper, reinforced with subtle magic.
As if that would matter.
Khorg entered moments later.
The bond surged instantly.
His wolf slammed forward, furious at the sight of her, at the knowledge that she was near enough to claim but forbidden to touch. His nose twitched sharply as the faintest trace of her scent reached him—muted, restrained, but unmistakable.
Mate.
His stomach tightened—not in revolt, but in warning.
He forced himself to stop.
Eight paces.
Too far for comfort.
Close enough to hurt.
Veyla felt it too.
The pull flared, sudden and dizzying, stealing her breath for half a second. She gripped the edge of the table discreetly until the world steadied again.
This was not supposed to happen.
They had not crossed any lines.
Yet her body reacted as if they had.
Vinculus entered last, eyes flicking briefly to the distance markers before settling on Veyla. The moment his gaze met hers, something twisted sharply in his chest.
Annoyance flared.
He looked away first.
Madame Zora strolled in moments later, yawning theatrically.
"Good morning," she said brightly. "You all look terrible. Excellent."
No one laughed.
The council began.
Reports were delivered. Messengers spoke of unrest, of rumors spreading through the outer courts—whispers of a cursed princess, of a failed ritual, of an alliance held together by threadbare magic.
Veyla listened without interrupting, even as the ache grew heavier with each passing minute.
Then—
Khorg shifted.
Just one step.
Barely noticeable.
But the bond reacted instantly.
The air seemed to thicken, pressure rolling outward from the space between them. Khorg's wolf surged violently, instincts roaring triumph and panic at once.
Closer.
Veyla gasped softly.
Her knees buckled for a fraction of a second before she caught herself.
Vinculus's head snapped up.
"Enough," he said sharply.
Too late.
The chalk line beneath Khorg's boot cracked.
Magic flared—subtle but unmistakable.
Pain ripped through Khorg's body, sudden and brutal, dropping him to one knee with a strangled growl. His stomach twisted violently now, the corrosive edge of her scent flooding back with a vengeance.
Veyla cried out.
The pull snapped hard, yanking at her chest so fiercely she staggered forward instinctively—
One step.
The room erupted.
"No—"
"Princess—"
Zora swore loudly.
Veyla crossed the line.
The effect was immediate.
Khorg's nausea eased just enough for him to suck in a sharp breath. His wolf surged in savage relief, howling in triumph.
At the same time, Veyla's lungs burned as if she had plunged into icy water. Her head spun. The ache sharpened into pain.
Vinculus froze.
The scent hit him full force.
Wrong.
Overwhelming.
And—damn it—*necessary*.
Blood surged in his throat. He turned away sharply, gripping the table as the instability in his veins flared violently.
The room shook.
Zora clapped her hands once, sharply.
"Everyone stop," she snapped.
Silence slammed down.
Veyla stood frozen just past the broken line, chest heaving.
Khorg remained on one knee, breathing hard, eyes locked on her with raw intensity.
Vinculus straightened slowly, wiping blood from his lip with controlled fury.
Zora looked between them, expression dark.
"That," she said flatly, "was the smallest possible mistake."
Her gaze cut to Khorg. "You moved."
Khorg said nothing.
She turned to Veyla. "You followed."
Veyla swallowed. "He was hurting."
Zora's eyes softened briefly—then hardened again.
"And now you all are," she said. "Congratulations. You've confirmed the rules work."
Khorg forced himself upright, muscles trembling. "She shouldn't have to suffer because of me."
Veyla shook her head. "This isn't your fault."
Vinculus laughed softly—humorless. "Touching," he murmured. "But irrelevant."
Zora exhaled slowly.
"This bond isn't patient," she said. "It doesn't wait for permission. Every step toward each other will feel right—and make things worse."
She met Veyla's gaze directly.
"And every step away will feel wrong—and do damage you can't see yet."
Veyla's hands clenched.
"So what do we do?" she asked.
Zora's smile returned, thin and dangerous.
"Now?" she said. "You learn control."
The council chamber fell silent again.
Outside, the day continued as if nothing had changed.
Inside, three hearts beat out of rhythm, bound by a single truth they could no longer deny:
The line had been crossed.
And the bond was done asking politely.