Transcription
She spent 5 years hiding inside the enemy's castle, but he could sense her scent whenever she came close. And every time he thought he would finally find her, she had already slipped away once more. She was not merely a maid, but he could never be allowed to know that.
Now, with the ball approaching, she had been invited to be humiliated, and she could not simply accept it in silence. That night, she did not hide. She descended the staircase and silenced the entire hall. Everyone was shocked, but no one more than him because the king felt it instantly. And when fate finally reveals itself, the alpha king does not let his Luna escape again.
Chapter 1.
The scent arrived before he did. Rosalyn froze mid-motion, her hands submerged in the icy water where she was washing the last dishes from the morning meal. She did not need to look to know. Her entire body recognized that presence before her eyes could confirm it. The prickle at the back of her neck. The sudden tightness in her chest. That strange heat that climbed her spine and stole her breath. The king was coming.
She dropped the plate back into the basin with a clatter that made Mistress Martha lift her eyes from the stove. Rosalyn did not wait for the scolding. She hastily dried her hands on her soaked apron and slipped out through the back door, the one that led to the herb gardens before anyone could question her. The cold morning air struck her face like a slap, but she did not slow her pace. She crossed the small walled garden, hid behind the woodshed, and only then allowed her lungs to drag in air in great gulps.
5 years doing exactly this, fleeing whenever that unmistakable scent of leather, cedar, and something wilder announced the proximity of Alpha King Hansel. Years ensuring their paths never crossed directly, that he never saw her long enough to truly notice her. Because Rosalyn knew with a certainty that terrified her, what would happen if he ever stopped to look at her? If those eyes she had only ever seen from afar, hidden among shadows and pillars, truly saw her, everything would collapse.
She rested her head against the rough wood of the shed, closing her eyes. Her life depended on remaining invisible. It depended on no one asking questions about the kitchen maid who had arrived 5 years earlier with no proper references, no family, no verifiable past. Mistress Martha had accepted her only because Rosalyn's former lady in waiting had a distant cousin working at the castle. A fragile connection, but enough to open that door when Rosalind had nowhere left to run.
And where would she run if she fled? Back to Gideon, back to that room where she had spent years imprisoned, seeing the world only through a narrow window while the mage who had killed her mother usurped her kingdom and stained her name with lies. Never. The memory still burned like a live ember. Her mother wasting away in that enormous bed. The once beautiful face turning gray day after day as Gideon's poison did its silent work. Rosalind had been 12 when she watched the queen draw her final breath, when she understood she was completely alone in the grip of a murderer.
Gideon had arrived in the kingdom 3 years before that with his charming smile and silken words about powerful alliances and ancient magic. Rosalyn's mother, widowed for only 2 years and crushed beneath the weight of ruling alone, had believed him. She married the mage in a grand ceremony the entire kingdom celebrated. But Gideon had never wanted the queen. He wanted the crown. And the moment he secured it, the woman who had given him access to the throne became disposable.
Rosalyn squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the image of her mother away. Not now. Not when she needed to keep a clear head. After the queen's death, Gideon kept Rosalind alive, but only technically. He locked the girl in her chambers, telling the kingdom that the princess was in deep mourning, that she needed time, isolation. Months turned into years, and isolation became imprisonment. Rosalyn spent the years from 12 to 17 in that luxurious room that served as her cage. Years watching the world through a single window with her only company being Sarah, the lady in waiting who remained loyal even when it meant sharing captivity.
It was Sarah who finally saved her. Sarah who spent months planning, bribing guards, stealing provisions. Sarah who risked her own life so Rosalind could escape on a moonless night, dressed in peasant clothes, carrying only a small bag with a few precious belongings. Rosalyn's chest tightened at the thought of her friend. She had given Sarah nearly all the jewelry she had managed to hide, enough for the woman to flee as well, to start a new life beyond Gideon's reach. She kept only three things she could not abandon. The dress her mother had given her on her last birthday before dying, a delicate pair of shoes, and a necklace with a single emerald that had belonged to her grandmother.
Everything else, the remaining jewels, the gold coins she carried, she traded for food, shelter, and passage until she arrived here in the kingdom of Alpha King Hansel, a kingdom that considered hers a declared enemy. Rosalind let out a bitter laugh. The irony was too cruel to ignore. She hid in the castle of the man who, if he knew who she truly was, would likely throw her into the dungeons.
Because everyone knew the constant provocations coming from the neighboring kingdom, the threats over border territories, the absurd demands, the veiled insults signed in the name of Princess Rosalind. Gideon used her name as a shield, of course. He kept it secret that the princess had fled, spreading rumors that she still lived in the castle, that she ruled at his side, but preferred solitude. And so he dragged Rosalyn's reputation through the mud while consolidating his own power. And the worst part, Rosalyn could do nothing.
If she revealed who she was, Gideon would hunt her down. But if she stayed hidden, her name would continue to be used to threaten the only place where she had finally found some semblance of peace. Some peace. What a joke. How could she have peace when her entire body reacted like that whenever the king was near? When something primitive inside her, something she did not even know existed until she came here, whimpered softly every time his scent drifted through the corridors. When she, who had never manifested her wolf form, who had never received proper training to control what ran in her veins, suddenly felt the animal instinct clawing beneath her skin, demanding she go to him. It was madness. Impossible. She was no one. A fugitive made with no past, no real name, no future. And he was. He was everything she could never have.
The kitchen bell rang three times, calling her back. Rosalyn took a deep breath, straightened her apron and hair, and returned to the suffocating heat of the furnaces. Mistress Martha skewered her with a look. "Where the hell were you? We've got dozens of nobles arriving today, and you decide to wander off."
"Sorry, Mistress Martha. I needed some air."
"Air? The robust woman snorted, shoving a bowl of dough into Rosalyn's hands. "You can get air after all this bread is baked. And don't even think about disappearing again, girl. We'll need every pair of hands today."
Roselyn nodded silently, plunging her hands into the dough. Around her, the kitchen buzzed with preparations. Ball week was beginning. As every spring, King Hansel's castle opened its doors to nobles from every corner. An old tradition, they said, a celebration of peace and prosperity. But Rosalyn knew the truth. It was a marriage fair in disguise, where families pushed their daughters toward the most coveted unmarried king on the continent. And as every year, Rosalind would watch the ball from afar, hidden in the shadows, savoring for a few hours the ghostly memory of when she herself had been a princess who dreamed of balls and beautiful dresses.
Gideon had never allowed her to attend festivities. Even before imprisoning her, he kept Rosalind away from social events, claiming she was too young, too shy, unsuitable. And after he locked her away, the subject was no longer even discussed. So Rosalind had never danced at a ball, never felt the weight of a gown swirling around her legs, never known that world that should have been hers by right. But she could watch it. And she did every year, hidden behind heavy curtains, imagining how things might have been if fate had been kinder.
"Rosie." Martha snapped her out of her thoughts. "Go help unload the carriages. I need everyone up there."
Rosalyn's stomach dropped. Up there meant the east wing, where the most important guests were housed. It meant being closer to the king. But refusing would raise more suspicion than obeying. She climbed the stone stairs with legs that felt like lead. Crossed corridors she knew as well as the lines of her own hands. 5 years had taught her every secret passage, every forgotten staircase, every route that allowed her to cross the castle unseen when necessary.
The main courtyard was in chaos. Carriages arrived in succession, some modest, others absurdly ornate. Nobles descended with practiced movements, displaying their finest clothes and most charming smiles. Rosalyn kept her head down, hauling heavy trunks alongside other maids. No one looked at them. Maids were invisible, part of the furniture, exactly as she needed to be.
It was when the grandest carriage of all stopped before the main steps that Rosalind felt the first stab of unease. The door opened and a young woman stepped down with studied grace. Blonde hair fell in perfect curls. A sky blue gown clung to curves deliberately displayed. Beautiful. Dangerously so. But it was not the beauty that made Rosalyn's blood freeze. It was the face, Lady Catherine of Thornwick.
The memory hit Rosalind with physical force, herself at 11, still an awkward child trying to learn the posture her mother demanded. Catherine had been 13 then, already beautiful, already cruel. She visited the castle with her parents, close allies of Gideon, and Catherine made sure every visit was a personal hell. "Look at her, mother." Young Catherine's voice echoed in memory. "So clumsy! How is that creature supposed to be queen someday?" The laughter, the mockery of her perpetually unruly hair, her dresses that never sat quite right, every imperfection an 11-year-old girl carried.
And when Gideon killed the queen, when he imprisoned Rosalind, Catherine came one last time. She entered the prison room with a venomous smile and said, "What a shame, princess. It seems your kingdom needs someone better in charge. Someone who knows how to rule properly." Those were the last words they ever exchanged before Rosalind fled. And now Catherine was here in King Hansel's castle. Beautiful and dangerous as ever.
Rosalyn turned her face away, hiding behind another group of maids. Her heart hammered so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it. Catherine could not see her, could not recognize her, could not.
"You there?" Catherine's voice cut through the air. "Maids, come help with my trunks."
Rosalind had no choice. Staying away would draw more attention than obeying. She approached with the others, head bowed, praying that 10 years and the transformation from princess to maid would be enough to make her unrecognizable. Catherine climbed the steps with delicate strides, not sparing a glance for the maids carrying her belongings. "Careful, those trunks cost more than you earn in a year."
The other maids murmured, "Yes, my lady," in unison. Rosalyn stayed silent, gripping an ornate trunk and starting up the stairs. It was when she reached the top that she felt it, that fixed gaze on her back. She turned instinctively and met Catherine's icy blue eyes locked on her. For an endless second, the world stopped. Rosalyn saw the exact moment something shifted in that stare. A flicker of recognition. No, it could not be. She was different now, older. Her face marked by 5 years of hard labor. There was no way Catherine could recognize her. But the slow smile that spread across Catherine's lips made Rosalyn's stomach twist.
"You," Catherine said, pointing at her. "What's your name?"
Her voice came out hoarse. "Rosie Mady."
"Rosie." Catherine savored the name. "Look at me properly when I speak to you."
Roslin lifted her chin, forcing herself to hold that cold gaze, every muscle taut, ready to run. Catherine studied her for long seconds. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled. "You have very pretty eyes, green as emeralds." It's not common to see maids with such delicate features."
It was not a compliment. It was a veiled threat. "Thank you, my lady," Rosalyn managed to murmur. "Go take my things to my chambers." Catherine waved her away. "And be careful. Any damage and you'll pay for it."
Roselyn nodded and fled inside the castle before her legs could give out. In the luxurious chambers of the east wing, as she arranged Catherine's belongings with trembling hands, Roselyn tried to convince herself she was imagining things. Catherine had not recognized her. Impossible. It was just paranoia.
But when she returned to fetch more trunks, she found Catherine standing in the center of the room, holding a green dress against her body and studying herself in the mirror. "Still here, Rosie?" Catherine asked without taking her eyes off the reflection.
"I came for the rest, my lady?"
Catherine set the dress aside. "You know, Rosie, you remind me of someone. She turned slowly. "Someone I knew a long time ago. A clumsy girl who never knew her place."
Rosalyn's blood froze. "I don't know what you mean, my lady."
"Don't you?" Catherine's smile was pure malice. "What a pity. Because that girl, well, she vanished. They say she still lives, but no one has seen her in years. A mystery, don't you think?"
She knows. "That sounds like a fascinating story, my lady," Rosalyn said, keeping her voice steady through sheer willpower, but I need to return to my duties."
"Of course." Catherine turned back to the mirror, adjusting her curls. "Oh, Rosie, one last thing."
Rosalyn paused at the door. "There's a grand ball in a few days. Everyone is welcome, even maids." Catherine met her gaze in the reflection. "You should go. A pretty young thing like you deserves a magical night, don't you think?"
It was not kindness. It was provocation. "That would not be appropriate, my lady."
"Nonsense." Catherine spun around, eyes gleaming with cruelty. "In fact, I'll give you a gift, a dress, so you can attend the ball properly. It would be dreadful to leave someone so special out of the celebration."
Rosalyn's heart pounded. "That's not necessary, my lady. I—"
"I insist." Catherine's voice allowed no argument. "Consider it a welcome gift. I do love being generous."
Rosalyn left that room with the terrible certainty that something very bad was about to happen.
Chapter 2.
The box was waiting outside her door when Rosalind came back from the kitchens. Her heart sank the moment she saw it. Wrapped in fine paper and tied with an emerald green ribbon far too expensive to be anything but mockery. She knew even before opening it that nothing good would come from it. But she had to see. She had to confirm just how far Catherine's cruelty would go.
She picked up the box with hands already trembling with dread, stepped into the tiny room, and shut the door. The lone candle on the small table cast dancing shadows over the peeling walls. Her refuge, her hiding place, the only space in the entire world she could call her own. She set the box on the narrow bed and slowly pulled at the ribbon. The paper came undone, and Rosalind recoiled with a scream lodged in her throat. Cockroaches. Dozens of them, black, huge, disgusting, crawling over fabric that had once been white, but was now caked in mud, torn in several places, stinking as if it had been dragged through the stables. They poured out of the box in waves, spilling over the bed onto the floor, and Rosalyn stumbled backwards so fast she slammed her back against the wall. Revulsion. Horror. But more than that, humiliation so deep it burned like acid.
That was when she saw the note pinned to the filthy fabric with a golden needle, Catherine's perfect handwriting, mocking her in black ink. "I found a dress suitable for you to wear to the ball, you filthy little maid." And beneath it, in smaller letters, more sinister. "I know your little secret."
Something snapped inside Rosalind. The tears came first, hot, furious, overflowing before she could stop them. Years swallowing silent humiliations, lowering her head, choking down insults, accepting it all because she had no choice. And Catherine knew. She knew who she was, knew she was hiding. And instead of simply handing her over to Gideon, she chose to torture her first. She chose to prove she could destroy her in every possible way before delivering the final blow.
Rosalyn's hands clenched into fists so tight her nails cut into her palms. The crying turned into sobs. The sobs turned into something darker, sharper. Rage, pure, distilled rage built up over years of forced silence. "If you already know," she said out loud to the empty room, the words scraping out between clenched teeth. "Then I'm going to finish ruining everything."
She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, leaving grimy streaks across her face. It did not matter. None of it mattered anymore. If Catherine was going to expose her either way, if everything was about to collapse, then it would collapse on Rosalyn's terms. "I'm going to the ball."
The decision came with a cutting clarity, not as a maid, not hidden in the shadows, watching from afar while Catherine danced with the king. She would go as the princess she was, as the woman who had been robbed of everything, yet still had too much pride to die on her knees. She knelt and dragged the suitcase out from under the bed, the only thing she had brought from her former life and had hidden there for 5 years, never daring to open it for fear the memories would destroy her. But now, now she needed those memories. She needed that strength.
Her hands shook as she unlatched the rusted locks. The lid opened with a creek. And there it was, the dress. Rosalyn drew the fabric out carefully, feeling its weight between her fingers. Blue, so blue it looked as if it had been made from the night sky itself. The bodice was structured, embroidered with golden thread in delicate patterns. Flowers, vines, ancient symbols of her bloodline. The skirt was full, layered in panels that seemed to float, each one decorated with more embroidery that caught the candle light like constellations. Her mother had given her that dress on her last birthday before she died. She had it made especially for Rosland, saying it was for a future ball, an important celebration. "When the time comes," the queen had said, kissing her daughter's forehead. "You'll wear this and everyone will see the incredible woman you've become."
Rosalyn pressed the fabric to her chest, a fresh wave of tears threatening to rise, but they were not tears of grief now. They were tears of fierce resolve. "It's time, mother. They're going to see me."
She took the shoes as well, delicate in a shade of blue that matched the dress, embroidered with gold flowers so fine they looked painted on. And last, the necklace, her grandmother's emerald, heavy, the size of a hazelnut, hanging from a chain of old gold. It had belonged to the queen before Rosalyn's mother, and to the queen before her. Generations of strong women who had ruled with wisdom. Rosalyn closed her fingers around the stone, feeling its cold weight in her palm.
Almost everything she had once owned was gone. The other jewels sold for food and passage, coins traded for shelter, belongings given to Sarah so her friend could start over. She had kept only those three things because she could not bear to abandon them because they were all that remained of who she truly was. And tonight she would wear all of them.
She tore off the plain maid's dress with rough movements and threw it to the floor. Years pretending to be someone she wasn't. Enough. Putting the gown on felt like a ritual. The bodice held her like a second skin, the laces at the back needing to be tightened with effort. Normally, she would have had a lady to help her, but Rosalind had learned to manage alone. The skirt fell around her legs like water, its weight comforting, reminding her of who she used to be. She slipped on the shoes, fastened the necklace around her throat, the emerald resting directly over her heart.
Then she went to the small cracked mirror on the wall, the only one she owned. The woman staring back at her was a stranger, but a princess. The dress shaped every curve the maid's rags had hidden. The deep blue made her green eyes blaze like gemstones. And her hair, her hair. Roselyn let it down from the tight bun she always wore, allowing the waves to spill freely over her shoulders and back. She did not recognize herself, and at the same time, she recognized herself perfectly. "This is me. This has always been me."
She heard music beginning to play in the distance. The ball had begun. Rosalyn drew a deep breath, her hands still trembling, but not with fear anymore. With adrenaline, with rage turned into something stronger, courage, she left the room and started down the service corridors. Servants passing her stopped, wide-eyed, bowing automatically, not understanding who that noble woman was, emerging from the depths of the castle. Rosalyn did not look at any of them. She kept her chin lifted, her shoulders straight, every step measured. Like a princess? No, like a queen.
She climbed the stairs leading to the main floor, crossed the corridor that opened onto the upper balcony of the great hall, and stopped before the double oak doors that opened onto the central staircase. On the other side, she could hear voices, laughter, music, the ball in full swing. Her last chance to turn back, to return to her room, take off the dress, become invisible again. But Catherine knew. And if Rosalind went back now, she would be destroyed either way. Only this time in silence, without dignity, without choice. No. She placed her hands on the doors and pushed.
Hansel was standing at the edge of the dance floor, pretending to listen to something Lord Blackwood was saying about harvests and taxes when the entire hall seemed to murmur at once. It was subtle at first, a few heads turning, a few whispers. Then it spread like ripples, people stopping mid-conversation, mid-step, everyone looking the same way toward the central staircase. Hansel turned, following the collective gaze, and his world stopped completely.
A woman was descending the stairs. No, not just a woman. An apparition. Something so breathtaking it seemed impossible to be real. The dark blue gown floated around her like midnight water. Golden embroidery catching the candle light and turning her into something luminous, spellbound. Each step was pure grace, measured as if she had been born for that staircase, for that moment. But it was her face that stole all the air from Hansel's lungs. Beautiful. So beautiful it hurt to look. Golden blonde hair fell in waves over bare shoulders, framing a face with delicate lines and unmistakable strength. Green eyes. Even from that distance, he could see they were green. sweeping the room with a mix of defiance and vulnerability.
And when those eyes found his through the crowd, Hansel felt it like lightning splitting his chest, like fire racing through his veins, like the entire universe had been rearranged in a single second. His wolf surged awake with a roar that echoed through every fiber of his being. Mate. The word detonated in his mind with absolute primal certainty, unshakable. Her. It's her. It has always been her. The scent, that aroma that had haunted him for years, appearing and vanishing like a ghost, was now so strong, so clear.
Hansel could not understand how he had never found her before. Wild jasmine mixed with something deeper, older, the blood of a powerful line. "How did I miss it? How did I never see her?" But even as the question formed, part of him already knew the answer. She had been hiding, deliberately, slipping away every time he came close. Not tonight. Tonight she was coming down that staircase as if she owned the castle, as if everyone there ought to bow. And Hansel realized with a jolt that made his heart race even harder that he wanted to bow. He wanted to drop to his knees before her and swear he would spend the rest of his life protecting her, worshiping her, becoming worthy of her.
But who is she? The entire hall was silent now, everyone watching. No one knew who she was. No noble recognized her. No family claimed her as their own. Catherine stood near the staircase, and Hansel saw the moment her expression shifted. Surprise, then anger, then something that looked almost like fear. But he did not care about Catherine. He could not care about anything but the woman reaching the final step, placing her foot on the marble with a grace that stole breath from anyone watching.
Hansel moved without thinking. He crossed the hall, the crowd parting automatically for him, his eyes never left hers, and he could have sworn he saw the same recognition in those green depths, the same certainty, the same inevitability. He stopped in front of her, close enough to feel the heat of her skin, to see the tiny golden flecks in her green eyes, to hear her quickened breathing. "Who are you?" The words came out rougher than he intended.
She lifted her chin, and though fear was clearly swimming in her eyes, there was something defiant in the gesture. "Rosie," her voice soft but steady, familiar in a way it had no right to be.
"Rosie," he repeated, tasting the name. "Rosie from where? Which family?"
"Just Rosie. That's not an answer." Something crossed her face. Pain perhaps or fear. But when she spoke, her voice was calm. "It's the only one I have."
Around them, whispers burst to life. Who was she? Where had she come from? Why did no one know her? How dared she present herself without family, without lineage? But Hansel did not care about the whispers. He could not care about anything but the woman in front of him and the certainty swelling in his chest. "You're a mystery," he said softly, stepping closer. Her eyes flashed. "I have to be."
Before he could ask what that meant, one of the elders appeared at his side, stern-faced. "Your majesty, the guests are waiting. There are other ladies who—"
Hansel did not take his eyes off her. "But your majesty."
"I said later." The elder backed away, clearly displeased. Hansel was already extending his hand to Rosie, palm open, waiting. "Dance with me."
It was not a request, but it was not an order either. It was something in between. An invitation waited with fate. Then slowly she placed her hand in his. The contact was electric, literally. A spark of pure energy shot from the place where their skin met, raced up Hansel's arm, and burst in his chest. He saw her eyes widen. She felt it, too.
He led her to the center of the dance floor, aware of every gaze fixed on them. The music started again, a waltz, perfect. He set his hand on her waist and she placed hers on his shoulder. And then they were moving, turning slowly through the hall as the rest of the world fell away. "Do you feel it?" he asked quietly for her ears alone.
"Feel what?"
"This?" he tightened his hand slightly at her waist. "This connection, like everything finally makes sense." He saw her throat bob as she swallowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Liar." The word came out gentle, almost fond, and he saw the smallest hint of a smile touch her mouth before it vanished. They danced in silence for a few measures, and Hansel used the time to memorize her. Every detail, the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the delicate curve of her throat, the enormous emerald resting over her heart, a jewel worth more than entire kingdoms.
"Who are you really?" As if she could read his mind, Rosalind looked away, fixing her gaze somewhere over his shoulder. "I shouldn't be here," she murmured.
"Where should you be then?"
"Anywhere but here with anyone but—" she stopped, biting her lip. "Anyone but me?"
She finally looked back at him, and the ache in those green eyes nearly made him stop dancing. "Especially not with you."
"Why?"
"Because this is impossible." Her voice cracked on the last word. "Everything about this is impossible."
Hansel drew her a fraction closer, breaking every proper distance, unable to care. "Let me decide what's possible." His voice came out more intense than he meant. "I've spent years searching. Years feeling like something was missing, like someone was missing. And now you're here and I—" He stopped trying to find words for what he felt. How could he describe something so vast, so fundamental. "I'm sure," he said at last. Every word waited with absolute truth. "I'm sure you're who I've been looking for. I'm sure you're my Luna."
Shock flashed across her face, then panic. "No." It came out as a desperate whisper. "I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because you don't know me. You don't know who I am, where I come from, what I—"
"Then tell me." He cupped her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Tell me who you are."
For a second, Hansel saw she almost gave in, almost told him. But then something closed in her eyes like a door slamming and she stepped back. "I have to go."
"What? No, wait."
"I'm sorry." Her voice trembled. "I'm sorry, but I have to go now." And then before he could react, before he could catch her, Roslin let go of his hand and ran. She crossed the hall in quick steps, the blue dress streaming behind her like water. She flew up the staircase with a speed that defied those delicate shoes and vanished through the double doors.
Hansel stood in the middle of the dance floor, the entire hall watching, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. Then he moved. He ran after her, ignoring the elders calling. Raphael calling everyone. He took the stairs two at a time, burst through the doors, looked wildly down both sides of the corridor. Empty. How had she disappeared so fast?
"Rosie," he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone. "Rosie, wait." Nothing. He sprinted down the corridor, checking every door, every passage. But it was as if she had dissolved into air.
He returned to the hall, breathless, and found Raphael waiting. "Your Majesty, who was that woman?"
"I don't know." The answer came out raw, frustrated, desperate. "But I need to find out. Gather the guards. I want everyone searching for her now."
"Searching where? We don't even know her full name."
"Rosie?" Hansel grabbed Raphael's arm. "She said her name is Rosie. I need to find her. Do you understand? I need to."
Raphael nodded, hearing the urgency in the king's voice, and hurried away to give orders. Hansel turned back to the hall, scanning every face, every figure. He had to ask. Someone had to know who she was. That was when he saw Catherine. The blonde was leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, an odd smile on her lips. It was not the charming smile she had worn in recent days. It was sharper, crueler.
Hansel strode up to her. "Lady Catherine, do you know that woman, Rosie?"
Catherine's smile widened. "I do, your majesty."
"Then tell me who she is."
"Oh, but where would the fun be in that?" Catherine tilted her head. "Let me just say, she's full of secrets, and perhaps she isn't who you think she is."
"I—"
"What does that mean?"
"It means," Catherine stepped closer, lowering her voice. "That you should be careful. Not everything that shines is gold, your majesty. Sometimes it's just a maid in stolen clothes."
Before Hansel could respond, before he could demand a clear answer, Catherine drifted away with graceful steps, leaving him with more questions than answers. A maid, stolen clothes. But that dress was worth a fortune. That emerald was old blood, old lineage, and the way she moved, the way she spoke. No, she was not just a maid. Impossible.
Rosalyn did not stop running until she was back in her room, the door locked, her back pressed to the wood as she fought for breath. Her heart hammered so hard she was certain it would crack her ribs. Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking. "What did I do? What did I do?" She had seen recognition in his eyes. She had heard the words she never should have heard. "I'm sure you're my Luna." Because he was right. Tragically right. But it changed nothing. He was king of a realm that considered hers its enemy. She was a fugitive, a liar. The princess who was supposedly threatening this very castle. If he discovered, she had to leave. Now, before Catherine told him, before everything collapsed, she stripped off the dress with trembling hands, folded it back into the suitcase with the shoes. The necklace, she hesitated over. It felt like her last connection to her mother, to who she truly was, but she put it away, too. She needed to travel light. She pulled the maid's clothes back on, locked the suitcase, shoved it under the bed. She took only a small pouch with a few coins she had saved over the years. And then in the middle of the night, while the ball still raged on and the castle was distracted, Rosalyn slipped out through the service door she knew so well. Through the gardens, along the walls, through the passage she had discovered years ago, away, anywhere that wasn't here. But she had no idea the trap was already set and that Catherine had sent messengers hours earlier. Gideon was waiting.
Chapter 3.
The forest was too dark. Rosalyn stumbled over another root, her hands scraping against the rough bark of a tree as she tried to regain her balance. Her lungs burned, her legs ached, but she could not stop. She could not. She had been walking for hours. The moon could barely break through the thick canopy, casting warped shadows that seemed to move to follow her. Keep going. Just keep going. But where? Where could she go that Gideon would not find her? That Catherine would not reveal her location.
The king's image rose in her mind without permission. Those golden eyes fixed on her, the warm hand holding hers, the low voice saying with such certainty, "I'm sure you're my Luna." Rosalyn clenched her fists, forcing the tears back. But it hurt. That connection beyond logic, that primal recognition, screaming that he was hers. But staying would destroy everything. It would expose who she really was.
A branch snapped behind her. Rosalyn froze, her heart slamming. She turned slowly, eyes straining into the darkness. Nothing, only shadows and silence. You're imagining things. Keep walking. She took a few more steps, but the feeling of being watched would not go away. It grew, intensified like an itch beneath her skin. Another sound. Closer now. "Who's there?" she called, hating how her voice shook. Silence.
And then suddenly they emerged. Men, six of them. Faces hidden beneath hoods, moving between the trees like ghosts surrounding her. Rosalyn backed away, panic exploding in her chest. "Stay back." But they kept closing in, forming a tight circle. And then one of them spoke, his voice rough, familiar in a way that made her blood run cold. "The princess has finally decided to come out of hiding."
No. The man lowered his hood, revealing a face she would recognize anywhere. Rodri, captain of Gideon's personal guard. "How?" Roselyn tried, but her voice failed.
"You truly thought you could hide forever." Roderick smiled, the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. "Lady Catherine was very helpful. She told us exactly when you would leave, where you'd be, everything we needed." Catherine, it had been planned from the beginning.
Rosyn turned to run, but they were faster. Hands grabbed her by the arms, the shoulders, yanking her back with brutal force. She fought, kicked, tried to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth, smothering the sound. "Quiet, Princess," Rodri hissed in her ear. "Or this will get a whole lot uglier." They bound her hands behind her back with coarse rope that bit into her skin. Then her ankles, limiting her to short shuffling steps, and when she tried to scream again, they shoved a cloth into her mouth, gagging her. Terror. Pure absolute terror.
"The master will be pleased," Rodri said, hauling Rosalind by the arm. "Very pleased." Gideon, just hearing the name made something inside her twist with fear. They marched for hours. Rodri and his men dragging Rosalind whenever she stumbled, never letting her stop or rest. The forest gradually thinned, opening into clearings she did not recognize. They were heading for the border out of Hansel's kingdom to Gideon. Roslin tried to think of a way to escape, but with her hands bound, her feet hobbled, and six trained wolf men around her, there was no chance. None. When the sun began to rise, they stopped in a small clearing. Rodrik shoved her to the ground, and she fell to her knees in the wet grass. "We'll rest here," he announced to the others. "But stay sharp. We don't want surprises." Rosalyn stayed where she had fallen, her body aching, her mind racing. She had to think. She had to find a way out.
Hansel had not slept. Rosie had vanished from the ball. He spent the hours searching, questioning, turning over every corner of the castle and the grounds beyond it, and nothing. It was as if she had dissolved into thin air.
"Your Majesty," Raphael entered the throne room where Hansel stood before the enormous map covering the western wall. "The guard searched every nearby village. No one has seen a woman matching the description."
Hansel's hands clenched. "Keep looking. Widen the perimeter."
"Your Majesty, with respect, we don't even know her full name. We don't know where she came from."
His voice came out harder than he meant. "No matter how long it takes, find her." Raphael bowed and left. Hansel turned back to the map, but the lines blurred before his eyes with his wolf howling constantly, clawing beneath his skin, demanding he run search for her. But search where. He had questioned everyone at the ball. No one knew her. No one knew where she had come from. Some had not even seen her clearly. Too absorbed in their own conversations and dances. Except Catherine. Catherine clearly knew something. But when Hansel pressed her, she only wore that enigmatic smile and said it was not her place to reveal another's secrets. Liar. She knows exactly who Rosie is. But even veiled threats did not make Catherine talk, and Hansel could not imprison her without cause. Not when her father was a powerful noble, not when it would spark diplomatic troubles he did not need right now.
His wolf growled, restless, more than restless, agitated in a way Hansel had never felt before. As if it knew something he did not, as if it sensed something beyond ordinary human senses. Hansel returned to the window, staring out at the forest stretching beyond the castle walls. Where are you? As if an answer, his wolf surged again. Stronger this time. A pull in his chest, a clear direction. North. She's to the north.
Hansel did not know how he knew, but he knew with an absolute certainty that defied explanation. He was about to call Raphael back when he felt it. A presence in his mind. Not his own thoughts, but something external. Pressing, asking entry, the guard's mind link. Hansel opened the mental channel he shared with his wolves. The sacred bond that allowed instant communication across distance. All alphas possessed some level of this ability. But Hansel had developed it to the point where he could connect to his entire guard at once. The mental voice of Garrett, one of his most seasoned guards, rang out clearly.
"Your Majesty," Garrett, what is it?
"I'm patrolling the northern border. And your majesty, I smell something. Old powerful bloodline."
Hansel's heart lurched. "Where?"
"About three leagues beyond the northern forest. But your majesty, there's more. The scent is accompanied. Others wolves not ours."
Rosie. Hansel did not need confirmation. He knew it in every cell of his body. "How many?"
"Six."
"Well-armed. Moving toward the eastern border. Trying to leave the kingdom, taking her away."
Hansel opened the mental channel to his entire guard. The 20 elite wolves sworn to protect him and the realm. Their voices answered instantly. Layered presences rushing in. "Your majesty, rally at the north gate. Now."
"We have a mission." He did not wait for replies. He knew they would obey. He tore down the stairs, crossed the courtyard, reached the north gate as his guard began to gather. 20 wolves in human form, all looking at him with absolute focus. Ready, always ready.
"Garrett caught a scent in the northern forest," Hansel explained quickly. "Old blood with armed men. We're going to investigate. And if it's who I think it is, we're bringing her back."
"And the men, your majesty?" asked Thomas, another veteran guard.
"That depends on their intentions." Hansel's eyes flashed gold for a brief moment. "But if they're doing what I think they are, there will be no mercy." Nods of understanding. His guard understood.
Hansel closed his eyes, opening the mind link fully. He felt each of his wolves connect. 20 distinct presences joined and woven with his in an invisible powerful net. "Garrett," he called mentally. "Hold the trail. We're coming to you."
"Yes, your majesty. I'm tracking them. They stopped in a clearing. Looks like they're resting."
"Good. Give me your position." Garrett shared the mental image. Years of practice had made it possible. Hansel could see through Garrett's eyes. The clearing, the trees, the rough layout. Hansel knew that place. He knew exactly how to reach it.
"Move," he ordered aloud. And then he ran. He passed through the gates, his guard right behind him. The moment they reached the cover of the trees, Hansel stopped only long enough to strip off his boots, then his shirt, then his trousers. Around him, the others did the same, and then together they shifted. The change came as naturally as breathing, bones rearranging, muscles expanding, fur erupting. In seconds, the man vanished and the wolf emerged. Enormous, black as night, golden eyes blazing with power and purpose. The others shifted in quick succession. Wolves of different sizes and colors, all powerful, all lethal, the king's elite guard.
Hansel lifted his head and howled, a sound that rolled through the forest, announcing a hunt, announcing danger to anyone who stood in his way. And then they ran in wolf form. They were faster than any horse, quieter than any hunter. They cut through the forest like shadows, vaulting fallen trunks, weaving past trees with flawless precision. And through the mind link, they kept constant communication.
"Garrett, do you still have them?"
"Yes, your majesty. No movement yet. Six men confirmed and a woman bound."
Rage. Rage so pure and violent it made Hansel's wolf snarl loud enough for the others to hear. "Distance less than a league now. Come in from the west. Better cover." Hansel adjusted course, the others following perfectly. Through the link, he could feel each of them. Their positions, their emotions, their readiness for battle. It was more than communication. It was absolute unity. 21 wolves moving like a single organism, thinking like one mind.
"Thomas, take five to the eastern flank. We close in from both sides."
"Yes, your majesty." He felt Thomas and five others peel off their mental presences sliding into the assigned position.
"Rodrik," another guard called. "Three to the south. Cut off any escape route."
"Understood." More wolves splitting away, taking positions. And through it all, Hansel remained aware of each of them, coordinating, adjusting.
"Your Majesty," Garrett's mental voice carried urgency. "They're moving, getting ready to leave. How long do we have?"
"Minutes, maybe less, faster." All of you now. Their already impossible speed surged. Trees blurred around them. Wind screamed in their ears.
"In position," Thomas reported. "I have eyes on the clearing. Wait for my signal."
"No one attacks until I give the order."
"Yes, your majesty." Hansel slowed as the clearing opened ahead. He stopped at the edge of the treeline, his massive body hidden in shadow. Around the clearing, he felt his other wolves settle into position, invisible, silent, deadly. Then he looked to the center and he saw her. Even from a distance, even with golden blonde hair, tangled simple clothes, and a dirty face, he would recognize her anywhere. Rosie on her knees in the grass, hands bound behind her back, a cloth gagging her mouth, and the man beside her, tall, bald, a scar cutting across his face, held a rope tied to her bindings as if she were an animal.
Every hair on Hansel's body lifted. A low, lethal growl vibrated in his chest. "Your Majesty?" Thomas asked mentally. "Orders?"
Hansel watched for a few seconds more. Counted the men. Six, as Garrett had said. Dangerous, but nothing 21 wolves could not handle. And then he saw one of them, the scarred one, jerk Rosie to her feet. She staggered, nearly falling, and he yanked the rope hard enough to make her grimace in pain. Something inside Hansel shattered.
"Attack!" The command rippled instantly through the mind link, and then from every direction at once, 21 wolves exploded out of the forest.
Chapter 4.
Everything happened in seconds. One moment, the clearing was quiet, Gideon's guards getting ready to leave. The next wolves exploded out of the forest from every direction. Rosalyn saw panic flash across Rodri's face before he could even bark in order. The other guards barely had time to drop what they were holding before the first wave hit them. And then they shifted too. Six men became six wolves in seconds. Brown, gray, one mottled. Big, muscular, lethal guards trained personally by Gideon. But it didn't matter. The wolves attacking were on an entirely different level. Rosalind watched, frozen as Hansel's guard moved with surgical precision. It wasn't just brute force. It was flawless strategy, absolute coordination, as if each wolf knew exactly where the next one would be before the movement even happened. A pale gray wolf, probably Thomas, clamped onto one of Gideon's guard's throat and slammed him into a tree with enough force to crack the trunk. The guard dropped, unconscious before he even hit the ground. Another royal guard wolf, this one golden brown, dodged an attack.
With speed that looked impossible and countered, jaws closing on the opponent's shoulder. Gideon's guard howled in pain, trying to wrench free, but another royal wolf was already on him, pinning him down. It was a slaughter, not a battle.
In less than 3 minutes, all six of Gideon's guards were on the ground. Some unconscious, others too badly hurt to keep fighting. All of them completely defeated. And then Rosalyn saw him. At the center of it all, commanding with a presence that stole the air from the entire clearing, stood the largest wolf she had ever seen in her life. Black as the darkest night, enormous, so huge he made the other wolves look like pups. Golden eyes blazing with fierce intelligence and absolute power. Hansel.
The wolf walked toward her and measured powerful steps. He stopped a few yards away. Those golden eyes fixed on her with an intensity that ripped all the air from her lungs. And then before she could do anything, another sound cut through the air. Laughter, cold, cruel, familiar. "How touching. The alpha king himself came to rescue his damsel."
Rosalyn felt her blood turn to ice. No. Gideon stepped out of the trees on the opposite side of the clearing, wearing robes that drifted around him like smoke. His face, the face she hadn't seen in 5 years, the one that haunted her nightmares. And in his hands, he held something that glimmered with bluish light. Wolf's bane. Rosalind recognized it instantly. The plant that was a deadly poison to wolves. Gideon had spent years studying every way to kill or weaken werewolves, and now he held enough to bring down an entire pack.
The royal guard wolves sensed the danger, too. They edged back, snarling, positioning themselves between Gideon and their king, but Gideon only smiled. "You thought it would be that easy?" He lifted his hand, and the wolf's bane flared brighter. "I've studied wolves for decades. I know exactly how to destroy them." And then he threw it. He didn't throw the physical wolf's bane. He threw a cloud of enchanted pollen extracted from it. The blue substance burst into the air like smoke, spreading fast, swallowing every wolf at once.
The effect was instant. Rosalind watched the wolves stagger. Some dropped to their knees. Others shook violently, fighting the poison rushing through their veins. And Gideon laughed. "Pathetic. All of you. Thinking brute strength beats ancient magic." He strode farther into the clearing now, confident. "I'm taking the princess back. I'm chaining every one of you. And I'm finally going to show this kingdom who really holds power."
But something happened that made Gideon's smile falter. The black wolf, Hansel, didn't fall. He swayed. Yes. Rosalyn saw his muscles tremble, saw the strain it took for him to stay on his feet. The wolf's pain was clearly affecting him, but not enough. Hansel took one step toward Gideon, then another. Each movement was a visible fight against the poison, but he kept advancing. Gideon backed up, the smile vanishing completely. "Impossible. I threw enough to drop 20 wolves. How are you?"
Hansel was snarling now. A sound so deep Rosalyn felt it vibrating in her bones. And when he spoke, truly spoke, his voice rough and guttural, yet perfectly understandable, even in wolf form. Each word carried power that made the very air tremble. "You've never heard that a wolf grows stronger when he's near his Luna?"
Gideon froze. His eyes snapped from Hansel to Rosalind, then back again. Understanding and horror crossed his face. "No," the word came out a whisper. "She can't be."
"It's over, Gideon." Hansel kept moving forward, each step steadier now, as if Rosalyn's nearness truly was strengthening him, burning the poison away. "You lost."
And then he attacked so fast Gideon barely had time to lift his hands to defend himself. The black wolf hit him with the force of an avalanche, slamming him to the ground. Gideon tried to conjure something. Rosalyn saw light beginning to bloom in his palms, but Hansel was faster. His jaws clamped down around Gideon's wrist, making the mage scream. The magic vanished instantly, and then Hansel flung him aside as if he weighed nothing. Gideon rolled across the ground, scrambling to rise, but Hansel was on him again. This time his claws tore through the robes, cutting skin, leaving bleeding marks.
"Stop!" Gideon shouted, his voice finally losing that cruel confidence. "You can't kill me. I'm regent of a kingdom. That would start a war."
Hansel stopped, but didn't back away. He stayed there, massive and threatening, above Gideon's body. And then, slowly, he began to shift back. Rosalind watched, unable to look away, as the black wolf shrank, fur retracting, bones reforming. In seconds, where the wolf had been, the man stood. Hansel, naked, sweating, with scratches already beginning to heal, yet more imposing than ever. One of the guards, the pale grey one, threw a cloak over the king's shoulders. Hansel tied it at his waist without taking his eyes off Gideon.
"You're right. I won't kill you." His voice was calm, but edged with menace, "But you're going to wish I had." He gestured, and two guards, already back in human form, grabbed Gideon by the arms and hauled him up. The mage fought, but he was too injured, too weak.
Hansel finally turned, and his eyes met Rosalins's. Everything else disappeared. The guards, Gideon, the entire clearing. There was only him walking toward her and her heart pounding so hard it hurt. He dropped to his knees in front of her, hands going to the ropes binding her wrists. Firm fingers, surprisingly gentle, worked the knots, freeing her. Then he removed the gag and flung it away with a look of disgust.
Rosalyn sucked in a deep breath, her jaw aching from being gagged so long. She tried to speak, but no words came. Hansel studied her face with an attention that made her shake. "Are you hurt?" His voice was low, controlled, but Rosalyn could hear the barely contained fury underneath.
"No," she managed at last. "Just scared."
Something softened in his eyes. "You don't have to be anymore. You're safe now."
"How did you find me?"
"My guard caught your scent. A small smile touched his mouth. You have a very distinctive scent."
Rosalind lowered her gaze, shame burning. He knew then. He had to know. "Why didn't you tell me?" The question came softly, but full of hurt. "Why did you run?"
Tears stung behind her eyes. "Because you're the enemy of my kingdom. Because I... I am Princess Rosalind."
He finished for her. She jerked her head up, meeting that golden stare pinned to her. "You knew?"
"I suspected. Since the ball." Hansel dragged a hand through sweat-damp hair. "The dress, the jewels, the way you moved, the blood in your veins. You weren't a maid. You never were. And seeing Gideon here hunting a runaway princess, I put the pieces together."
"Then you understand." Rosalyn felt the tears finally spill. "You understand why I ran, why I couldn't stay. You consider my kingdom the enemy. The threats, the provocations. Everything is signed with my name. You would never accept me. Never."
"Rosalind." He cupped her face in both hands, gentle but firm, making her look at him. "You're my mate, my Luna, the companion the moon goddess chose for me. But even if I didn't want it," he went on, his voice growing more intense, "even if I tried to fight it, even if it went against every shred of logic and reason, I would never reject you. I can't. My wolf wouldn't allow it. My heart wouldn't allow it."
"My kingdom." Everyone knows Gideon has been making decisions in your name for years. Hansel wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "The council knows. The elders know. Half the continent knows that mage stole your throne and dragged your reputation through the mud."
Rosalyn sobbed, relief mixing with years of fear as everything finally collapsed. "I was so afraid. So afraid you'd hate me, that you'd throw me out, that you'd look at me."
He waited until she did. "Ever since I first caught your scent years ago, my wolf hasn't given me peace. He knew you were close. He knew you mattered. And when I finally saw you at the ball," his voice went rough, "my whole world made sense for the first time."
"I felt it too," she admitted, voice shaking. "From my first day in the castle, that's why I always ran when you got close. I was afraid you'd discover everything."
"Don't run again." It wasn't an order. It was a plea. "Please don't run from me again."
Rosalyn didn't answer with words. Instead, she closed the distance and kissed him. It was different from what she'd imagined in all those years watching him from afar. It was better, infinitely better. His mouth was firm but gentle, meeting hers with a restrained hunger that made her tremble. His hands slid into her hair, her golden curls fallen loose and messy, while hers found his shoulders, feeling tense muscle under skin. The kiss deepened, and Rosalyn felt something awaken inside her, something that had been dormant all her life, waiting. Her wolf, the one she had never been able to call forth, the one she thought was broken or missing, finally stirred.
When they broke apart, both of them breathless, Hansel stared at her with awe. "Did you feel it, my wolf?"
Rosalyn touched her own chest, stunned. "I... I always thought I didn't have one, that something was wrong with me. But he's here. He always was. He was waiting for me."
Hansel smiled, that rare smile that changed his whole face, "just like I was waiting for you."
One of the guards cleared his throat discreetly. "Your majesty, what do we do with the prisoner?"
Hansel rose, pulling Rosalind up with him. She swayed, her legs numb from being bound so long, but he held her steady. Together they turned to where Gideon was being held by two guards. The mage watched them with pure hatred in his green eyes. "She's a liar," Gideon spat. "A runaway! She abandoned her kingdom. She has no right. You murdered the queen."
Rosalyn's voice came out steadier than she'd ever felt. "You poisoned my mother. You stole the throne. You used my name for threats I never made. And you kept me imprisoned for 5 years."
"Prove it." Gideon smiled. Even wounded, even defeated. "Prove any of it."
"I have a witness." Rosalyn lifted her chin. "Sarah, my lady's maid. She helped keep me alive all those years. She knows everything."
"A servant?" Gideon laughed. "You expect them to believe the word of a servant against mine?"
"No." Hansel spoke, his voice sharp as a blade. "I expect them to believe her, backed by an alpha king, and by the court I'm going to convene." Gideon's smile faltered.
"You will be tried publicly," Hansel continued. "For murder, for usurpation, for every crime you've committed. And when you're found guilty, and you will be, you'll spend the rest of your miserable life in the deepest dungeons I own."
"You have no authority over me. I'm regent of a sovereign kingdom."
"Not for much longer." Rosalyn stepped forward, Hansel's hand firm around hers. "Because I'm taking my throne back. I'm exposing every lie you told, and I'm making sure everyone knows who you really are."
Gideon stared at her with hatred that could burn. But he was beaten, and he knew it. "Take him," Hansel ordered, "and make sure he's heavily guarded. That mage is dangerous even without his herbs." The guards dragged Gideon away, his protests fading until they disappeared completely.
Rosalyn let out a shaky breath. It was over. Finally over. "Let's go home."
Hansel wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close. "You need rest, and we have a lot to talk about."
"Home?" Roselyn looked at him. "I don't... My castle is yours now."
He kissed her forehead. "If you want it, if you want me."
Her answer came without hesitation. "I do."
The journey back took hours. Hansel offered to carry Rosalind in wolf form. She could ride on his back, but she refused. She wanted to walk. She wanted to feel the earth under her feet, the open air on her face, the freedom that had been stolen for so long. And she wanted to be beside him. They walked hand in hand, the guard around them forming a protective ring. No one spoke much, but the mind link between the wolves was constant. Rosalind could sense it. A low hum of connection, even though she wasn't part of it. Not yet.
When they finally reached the castle, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in oranges and pinks. Raphael waited at the gate. "Your Majesty, you... you found her."
"We did." Hansel squeezed Rosalyn's hand. "And I have an announcement to make. Gather the court, everyone. Now."
"Your majesty. But now, Raphael." The tone allowed no argument. Raphael nodded and hurried inside.
Roselyn looked at Hansel. "What are you going to do?"
"Claim you as if it were obvious in front of everyone so no one can question it. So they all know you're my Luna, my queen, my mate. But my reputation, it will be cleared. I'll make sure of it." He turned to face her fully. "Rosalind, you spent years hiding, years running, years without a voice. No more. From today on, you don't hide from anyone."
Tears burned again, but this time they were gratitude. They entered the castle together. Servants stopped to stare, whispers starting instantly. But Rosalyn kept her head high, her hand steady in Hansel's.
In the great hall, the court was already beginning to gather. Nobles, counselors, guards, all curious, all speculating. And then Catherine walked in. Her eyes met Roselyn's and widened, not in surprise, in absolute fury.
Hansel guided Rosalind to the dais where the throne stood. But instead of sitting, he remained standing before everyone. Rosalind at his side. When the hall was full, when the last noble had found their place, Hansel spoke. "Members of the court, elders, nobles, I gathered you to make an announcement that will change this kingdom." Absolute silence. "The woman at my side is Princess Rosalind of the neighboring kingdom." Murmurs burst instantly. Rosalind saw shocked faces, confused ones, some horrified.
"Silence." Hansel's voice rang out. "For years, we believed this kingdom was our enemy. That Princess Rosalind was responsible for threats and provocations, but we were wrong." Then he told them everything about Gideon murdering the queen, about stealing the throne, about imprisoning Rosalind, about using her name for actions she never approved. "And today," Hansel concluded, "we captured Gideon. He will be tried for his crimes, and Princess Rosalind will have her kingdom back."
The elders exchanged looks. Aldrich rose to his feet. "Your majesty, this is... this situation is complex. If the princess is from the kingdom we considered our enemy, it's not our enemy anymore."
Hansel cut in. "Because from today on, we will be one kingdom." Confusion. More murmurs. "What does that mean, your majesty?"
Hansel turned to Rosalind, his eyes finding hers. And there, before everyone, he knelt. "It means I've found my Luna, my destined mate," his voice echoed into a stunned silence. "And I will claim her now before all of you." He extended his hand, palm up. "Princess Rosalind, every word heavy with emotion. Will you accept being my Luna, my queen, my mate for all the days we have left?"
Rosalind felt the tears falling freely now. The entire hall waited. Hundreds of eyes fixed on her, but only one pair of golden eyes mattered. "Yes." The word came out clear, steady, filling the hall. "I accept."
Hansel rose and pulled her into his arms, kissing her in front of everyone. And this time, Rosalyn felt no shame and no fear. She felt finally home. When they broke apart, the hall erupted in murmurs. Some shocked, others stunned, but some... some applauding. Catherine, Rosalyn noticed, was gone. She'd fled, unable to watch her final defeat.
The days that followed were a whirlwind. Gideon was tried publicly. Sarah, found living peacefully in a distant village, testified. Other servants who had escaped Rosalyn's kingdom over the years, came forward as well. Gideon's guilt was proven beyond any doubt. He was sentenced to life imprisonment in the deepest dungeons. He would never see daylight again.
And Rosalind. Rosalind reclaimed her kingdom. Hansel sent troops to restore order. Gideon had left the realm in chaos, crushing taxes, unjust laws, fear everywhere. But with the mage imprisoned, the people rose against his followers. Within weeks, order was restored, and Rosalind was hailed as the true queen.
What surprised the kingdom most, though, wasn't only the princess's return. It was who she truly was. The castle workers, those who had known Rosie, the kitchen maid, were the first to recognize her. And instead of feeling deceived, they felt honored. The princess had worked beside them, shared their meals, listened to their stories, treated every person with respect and kindness, even when she herself had nothing. "We always knew there was something special about her," Martha the cook said, tears in her eyes. "The way she treated everyone, how she never complained, how she always helped even when she was exhausted." The villages around the castle reacted the same way. Rosalind had been in the markets for years, talking with merchants, helping families when she could, and now they learned that the gentle young woman was their rightful queen. The devotion was immediate, genuine, and when Rosalind officially took the throne of her birth kingdom, now united with Hansel's through the mate bond, the people celebrated in the streets. Flowers were thrown in her path. Children shouted her name. Elders wept with relief. "At last. At last. Their true queen was home."
But Rosalind knew being queen demanded more than the people's love. It demanded strength, skill, power. Things Gideon had deliberately kept her from developing. Hansel made it his task to teach her. "You never had the chance to train properly," he told her one morning, leading her to the private training grounds. "Gideon kept you weak on purpose. That ends today."
And so it began. Every morning before the sun fully rose, Rosalyn met Hansel on the fields and he taught her. First came combat in human form. Swords, daggers, hand-to-hand. Rosalind already had some practice. Years of secretly watching training had taught her a lot. But Hansel refined every movement, corrected every stance, pushed her past what she believed she could do. "Again," he would say when she fell for the 10th time. "Lunas have to be as lethal as alphas. Up." And she got up every time. Bruises piled up. Muscles screamed. But Rosalind absorbed every lesson with the hunger of someone who had spent 22 years without any of it.
After the 15th fall, Rosalyn stayed on the ground a few seconds longer, her body protesting. "Again," Hansel said, offering a hand to help her. She took it, letting him pull her back to her feet. She was panting, drenched in sweat, every muscle shouting. "I don't know if I can," she admitted, hating the weakness in her own voice.
Hansel studied her face for a moment. Then, surprisingly, he smiled. "Want to hear a secret?" He leaned closer, voice low, intimate. "A Luna's kiss can give an alpha extra strength, and it works the other way, too."
Rosalyn blinked, confused. "What? Want to kiss so you'll have more strength?" His eyes lit with humor and something deeper. Before she could answer, he pulled her in and kissed her. It was quick but intense. And when they broke apart, Rosalyn felt renewed energy surge through her veins. She didn't know if it was real mate bond magic or simply the effect he had on her. It didn't matter. She snatched her sword off the ground and attacked with fresh force. This time she won.
Weeks passed. She grew faster, stronger, more confident. She could disarm seasoned guards. She could predict movements before they happened. But the true transformation came when Hansel began teaching her to fight in wolf form. "You never had the chance to learn how to fight, hunt, use all your wolf instincts. Gideon kept you from it." It was true. Roselin could shift, but she didn't truly know how to use that form. She didn't know how to fight with claws and jaws. She didn't know how to hunt or track. "Teach me," she asked. And he did.
Rosalyn shifted, the change smoother each time. In seconds, the woman vanished, and the she-wolf emerged. Golden fur that shone under moonlight. Smaller than Hansel's black wolf, but elegant, powerful in her own right. Green eyes glowing with intelligence and determination. Hansel shifted too, the enormous black wolf appearing where the man had been. And he began to teach her how to hunt, how to track, how to use her heightened senses, hearing, scent, sight that pierced darkness, how to fight with claws and jaws, how to move with the deadly grace she wolves were born with, but that she had never been allowed to practice.
Months passed like that, training at dawn, kingdom duties by day, and at night. At night they ran together in wolf form. They tore through forests that now belonged to both United Kingdoms. The moon above spilling silver light over black and gold fur moving in perfect harmony. One night, resting in a particularly beautiful clearing, Roselyn shifted back to human form. Hansel did the same seconds later, sitting beside her in the soft grass. "Happy?" he asked, slipping an arm around her.
Rosalyn leaned her head against his shoulder, looking up at the moon shining above. She thought about everything that had happened, the years imprisoned, then running. Then she thought about now, about being queen for real, about having people who loved her, about learning to fight, to defend herself, to be strong, about having a mate, a husband, a best friend, and the great love of her life, teaching her, supporting her, loving her without condition. "Yes," she answered, turning to kiss him. "For the first time in my life, I'm completely happy."
Hansel smiled against her lips. "Good, because I plan to spend the rest of my life making sure it stays that way, my Rosalind." And he kept that promise.