Magnus smiled painfully.
“I understand now.”
Erin swallowed.
“Are you going to tell Father?” she asked.
“I won’t stoop that low,” he said.
The breath Erin released shook slightly.
“Thank you.”
He almost laughed.
Thank you.
As if his silence were a favour and not the last scrap of honour he was clinging to.
But he only nodded.
“Let’s have the standard two weeks bonding before severing the mate bond.”
Erin’s eyes widened.
“Magnus…”
“You want the bond severed, don’t you?”
Erin looked away first.
That was answer enough, but she still gave him the mercy of words.
“Yes.”
Magnus inhaled slowly.
The blade, finally spoken aloud.
“But my parents don’t know about Garrick,” Erin added quickly.
“No one knows.”
“What do you expect of me then?”
“I…” She hesitated, then straightened.
“After the war, he will come back and marry me. I will come to Blood City. After the required two weeks, we can have the bond severed.” She spoke like a woman planning a future, and Magnus realised with a dull, sick ache that there had been no place for him in it except as an obstacle to remove properly.
“Agreed then,” he said.
Erin’s face crumpled just slightly.
“Magnus… I am truly sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It is what it is.” Magnus looked past Erin toward the supply station.
Lyra stood there, sleeves rolled up, handing out gear and speaking to soldiers.
She looked like Kyllian’s daughter in every way that mattered: beautiful, severe, competent.
He lifted a hand and waved her over.
Lyra spotted him and waved back, signalling that she would be there in a minute.
She turned to finish with the soldiers nearest her, gave a few quick instructions, and handed a final towel to a young fighter who looked ready to faint from being addressed directly by the Crown Princess.
She turned to Garrick.
Magnus watched.
Lyra smiled at Garrick.
Then she hugged him.
A simple farewell hug.
A soldier’s farewell.
Perfectly innocent.
Magnus’ eyes narrowed.
Garrick’s hand lingered briefly at Lyra’s back.
When Lyra pulled away, he looked after her.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Lyra jogged over, her braid swinging behind her.
“You love birds done?” she asked.
“Yes,” Magnus said with a small smile.
Lyra moved behind his wheelchair.
“Good. I was beginning to think I would have to separate you two with a spear.”
“That would have been unnecessary.”
Erin stood there, silent, guilt sitting visibly on her face.
Magnus did not look at her again.
He allowed himself to be wheeled away.
Lyra guided him through the courtyard toward the waiting car.
*****
Three days later, Erin and the rest of the royal family received the news.
The war was won.
The dragonians had retreated.
Across the capital, sirens of victory began to ring.
Then the second report came in.
The casualty list followed the announcement.
A lot of soldiers had died in the battle.
Too many.
The messenger, pale and trembling, delivered the sentence that knocked the air out of the room.
King Evander of Blood City had made the ultimate sacrifice to turn the tide of the war in their favour.
The private receiving room was silent.
Kyllian could barely breathe.
His hand tightened around the edge of the table, claws pushing through before he even realised his wolf had surged forward.
The wood cracked beneath his grip.
“No,” he whispered.
Lyra saw him sway before anyone else did.
She rushed forward just as her father doubled over, one hand braced against his chest.
Mabel shot to her feet.
“Kyllian!”
Lyra caught her father by the arm, bracing herself against his weight.
“No…” Kyllian breathed.
“No…” His eyes were unfocused, horror spreading across his face.
“Where is he?” Kyllian asked.
No one answered quickly enough.
“Where is he?”
The messenger swallowed.
He was a young officer, mud still dried along the edge of his boots, one side of his uniform scorched black.
“His body is being transported, Your Majesty,” he said, voice shaking.
“As respectfully as we can.”
Kyllian closed his eyes.
He had no idea how he would deliver the news to Magnus.
Or Damien.
Damien Dragos had already lost Luna.
Now his son was dead.
The king of Blood City had died saving werewolves.
Something like that had never been heard of.
The same vampires who once questioned Evander’s right to rule would carve his name into stone.
The werewolves would sing of him for generations, because a foreign king who gave his life for their boundary had just become impossible to forget.
If Evander had wanted to make sure his name would never be erased, he had chosen the most honourable way to die.
Kyllian forced himself upright.
Mabel moved to Kyllian’s side, one hand gripping his wrist.
“Breathe,” she said.
He looked toward Erin.
She had been standing near the window, still as stone.
Her face had gone cold with shock.
“Erin,” Kyllian said, his voice rough.
“Ready yourself. We leave for Blood City once the king gets here.”
Erin blinked.
“Father, why me?”
“Because Magnus will need you.”
“But Father,” she said quickly, “I should stay to welcome the rest of the soldiers.”
“This is not a request.”
“I can handle that.” Lyra stepped in.
Erin wanted to argue.
Goddess, she wanted to argue.
She was worried about Garrick.
She needed to see him with her own eyes.
Needed to know if he had returned from the battlefield breathing, whole, alive.
She had spent the last three days imagining every possible horror.
But refusing her father now would be cruel.
A king was dead.
A king who had gone to war for her people.
A king who had stood beside her father, beside their soldiers, beside the werewolf kingdom when he could have remained safely in Blood City with his crown, his mate.
Evander had died for them.
Whatever Erin felt for Garrick had to wait.