Ronan’s POV
Ronan sat at the head of the table, watching her eat.
There was a focus in her face that pulled his attention, careful and precise, not like the trembling tributes he was used to.
He cleared his throat.
“So,” he said, voice easy but with something sharper underneath.
“How did you end up in a box?”
Lyra froze mid-bite.
Color rose in her cheeks.
He’d wanted to know since the moment he pulled her out of that crate.
She’d worked in kitchens for years yet could identify poisons on sight, something almost unheard of.
He softened his tone.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He muttered.
She set her fork down and exhaled.
“I was substituted for someone else.”
Ronan tilted his head.
He’d guessed as much.
“Yeah, I know that much.
The real question is why?” He asked.
She shrugged.
“Someone wanted me gone.” She whispered.
“Who?” The word came out flat, and she flinched slightly.
“I don’t think the who matters.”
“Yes, it does.” His curiosity was sharper than he expected.
This wasn’t idle gossip.
This could tell him something about the politics he despised in every other pack.
“Why?” she asked.
His mouth twitched into the smallest smile.
“Because it tells me which idiot to avoid if I’m looking for an ally.” Ronan said.
Her lips quirked despite herself.
“I should hope he’s allergic to surprises.
Otherwise he might come looking for me, for daring to speak the truth.” She caught herself and muttered a quick apology.
Ronan blinked, caught off guard by how funny that was.
His wolf stirred with unexpected amusement, and something in his chest tightened at the sound of it.
“Surprises, huh,” he said, fighting a grin.
“You’re brave, I’ll give you that.”
“I’m only honest,” Lyra said, looking at her plate.
“Brutally, unreasonably honest.
It’s kept me alive.”
“I suppose honesty can be useful,” he said.
“Though it can also get you in trouble.”
“Sometimes trouble beats lying to survive.
At least then you know what you’re dealing with.”
He studied her, surprised by the certainty in her voice.
She spoke like someone who expected the world to agree with her opinions, even if the world usually ignored her.
“Who?” Ronan asked again, sharper now.
“My pack’s Alpha heir,” she said, eyes dropping.
Ronan brow furrowed as he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing as he tried to understand why an Alpha heir would do such a thing to an Omega.
“Why?”
She took a breath.
“The mating ceremony.
I was supposed to be there, chosen by fate, or by the Moon Goddess, as they say.
I felt the pull, the mate bond.
But … he rejected me, right in front of everyone.
Said I was beneath him.
Then he chose someone else.
They both decided I had to disappear.
That’s how I ended up here.”
Ronan sat in silence, processing it.
He’d expected tears, fear, a trembling confession.
Instead she’d told him plainly, without begging.
Something about the way she carried herself, the way she did not crumble despite it all, made him feel… Protective.
Curious.
Dangerous feelings he could not name.
“You let them send you away?
You didn’t fight?”
She shrugged.
“I had no choice.
One moment he was rejecting me, the next I felt a blow, and I woke up here.” Lyra muttered.
Ronan exhaled sharply through his nose, leaning back in his chair.
He should have been angry.
Furious.
He should have asked more questions, demanded justice, threatened punishment.
But the words he wanted to say did not come.
Instead, he felt something else, something he had never allowed himself with a human or a wolf: concern.
“If you were sent back,” he said finally, “would you fight them?”
“Fight them?” Confusion crossed her face.
“I couldn’t possibly fight an alpha heir.
Not mine, not anyone’s.”
He wanted to say something, words that would comfort her, that would make her feel safe, but he decided that that was enough backstory for the night.
He nodded slowly.
The chair scraped against stone as he shifted.
“And the poison,” Ronan said, bringing the conversation back to the reason she was here.
“The ashvine?”
She straightened.
“I’ll be adding herbs to your meals, to help wean it from your system.
I’m also working with the pack physician on an antidote to cleanse your body completely.
It’s slow work.
Whoever did this was patient.
Clever.”
He listened carefully, noting the precision in her voice, the certainty.
She knew what she was doing.
“Why are you helping me?” The question came out rougher than he meant, almost a growl.
Her eyes widened, then she straightened her shoulders.
“Because you deserve to live, like everyone.
Because the poison would have killed you eventually.
And no one else seemed to care enough to stop it.
I couldn’t just watch.” Lyra said.
That hit harder than Ronan expected.
He’d spent years training a pack to survive, to endure, and trusted only a handful of them.
Yet here was a small omega who’d done more to protect him than most who carried his name.
“Okay,” he said slowly.
“So I just take the antidote and eat the food with your herbs?”
“Yes,” she said, keeping her voice calm though her heart raced.
He could hear it.
“The herbs will flush the poison slowly.
You won’t feel it all at once.
The potion neutralizes what’s already in your system.”
“Slowly,” he repeated, raising a brow.
“What if I get worse before I get better?”
“No, not worse.
Your body adjusts.
If I rushed it, it could overwhelm you.”
“So you’re controlling exactly what I get and when.” His mouth pressed thin.
“Comforting.
And terrifying.” He muttered.
She gave a faint smile.
“I know it sounds strange.
But it’s necessary.
I wouldn’t put you in danger.” She said.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table.
“And you’ll monitor me?” Ronan asked.
He shouldn’t need her, he had his own pack doctor, but for some reason, he did.
Lyra nodded.
“Every step.
I can’t risk a mistake.”
He let out a low breath, almost a laugh.
“You really care, don’t you?”