The Luna's pendant lay discarded on white sheets. Raina's fingers wouldn't stop shaking as she folded the letter one final time.

"I won't raise a child in a house built on lies."

4 months. That's how long she'd lasted as Thorn Greystone's wife. 4 months of cold dinners and colder silences. 4 months of pretending a treaty marriage could become something real. 4 months was also how long it took her to understand she'd been a fool.

Raina placed the letter on the pillow where he'd rested his head once during a storm when he'd held her and whispered promises that evaporated with morning light. The memory burned. She pressed one hand to her stomach, to the secret growing there that no one knew existed, not even him, especially not him.

The pendant caught lamplight as she turned away. Heavy silver etched with wolves and ancient symbols. Her mother had clasped it around her neck on the wedding day, hands trembling, trying to smile through tears. "You'll be safer here than with us." A lie. Or maybe hope disguised as comfort. Either way, Rea had worn the collar every day since. The weight of it a constant reminder she was property now. A treaty signed in flesh and ceremony.

She left it behind. The traveling cloak felt lighter without that silver pressing against her throat. Raina moved through the dark chamber one last time. Expensive furniture. She'd never chosen silk bedding that smelled like loneliness, walls that had witnessed her slow disappearance. Dawn was still hours away. The manor slept. This was her window. Rea slipped into the hallway and didn't look back.

The pendant felt heavy against Raina Ashmore's collarbone as she stood at her chamber window. January frost painted the glass. Below, Greystone territory spread across the valley, stone buildings with steep roofs, walls built to withstand centuries of war. Beautiful, the way fortresses were beautiful, formidable, and cold.

Today marked one month since the wedding. 30 days of silence. Raina pressed her palm against the freezing glass. The chill helped, reminded her she could still feel something, even if numbness had started to settle into her bones. Behind her, the bed lay pristine, untouched. Thorn Greystone had never crossed this threshold. Not on their wedding night, not any night after. They existed in separate chambers, separate worlds, a marriage that lived only on paper and in public halls.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. "Come in."

A young maid entered with breakfast. The girl kept her eyes down, setting the tray on the small table by the window. Oatmeal, tea, berries arranged with care that felt impersonal.

"Thank you," Raina realized she didn't know the girl's name. "One month here, and she'd learned so little." The staff moved around her like water around stone, present, but never touching. The maid curtsied and vanished.

Raina sat, ate without tasting. Through the window she watched the estate wake. Guards changing shifts. Servants hauling supplies. Somewhere in the manor, Thorne was already working. Always working. Alpha duties, pack business, anything except marriage.

The war had ended with her father's surrender. Gareth Ashmore had bent the knee, ceded territories, and offered up his daughter as the price of peace. Offered was generous. Delivered felt more accurate. Still, Raina had worn her wedding gown with quiet dignity. Had stood beside Thorn Greystone and spoken vows before hundreds of witnesses. Had believed, stupidly, desperately, that someday this arrangement might grow into something real. Four weeks had taught her otherwise.

She finished her tea and stood. Time to perform another day of beautiful pretense.

The great hall hummed with morning energy. Pack members filed in for breakfast. Warriors comparing training bruises. Advisers arguing policy. Servants managing the controlled chaos. Long tables stretched the room's length, dark wood polished until it gleamed. Tapestries lined the stone walls. Battle scenes. Victory celebrations. Greystone history woven in thread and triumph. Rea's people appeared only as shadows in the background. Defeated, kneeling.

She took her seat at the high table. Luna's chair, always empty until she filled it. Thorne was already there. He sat reviewing documents. Dark hair pulled back. Jaw carved from granite and duty. 28 years old but carrying generations of weight. Alpha since his father died in the war. The war Raina's father had started. Or maybe Thorne's father started it. Wars had many beginnings, depending on who told the story.

He glanced up as she sat, their eyes met for a heartbeat. "Luna." Formal, distant, the tone reserved for visiting diplomats. "Alpha." She matched his coldness. He returned to his papers. She turned to her plate. Food appeared. Eggs, bread, fruit. She would eat without tasting, as always. This was their dance. Sit together, ignore each other, maintain appearances.

Then, as old arrived, the chief adviser swept into the hall like winter made flesh. Tall, elegant, dark hair coiled with precision. 32 and beautiful in ways that felt calculated. She'd held her position for six years. Some whispered she'd earned it in Thorne's bed. Isolda claimed the seat at Thorne's left. Close. Familiar. Her hand brushed his arm as she pointed to something in his documents. He didn't pull away. Raina focused on cutting her eggs into precise pieces. Small bites, careful chewing, face neutral.

"The Northern Patrol reports movement near the border." Isolda said, her voice carried that professional yet sultry tone she'd perfected. "Nothing confirmed, worth monitoring. Increased patrols."

Thorne's response was immediate, decisive. The alpha voice Raina had never heard directed at her. "Of course," his oldest smiled. "I'll handle it personally."

"You always do." Was that warmth in his tone? Rea couldn't tell. She'd spent so many hours analyzing his voice for hidden meanings that every word had become suspect.

Breakfast crawled past. Thorne worked. Isolda orchestrated. The pretense continued. Finally, Thorne stood. The hall quieted. "Council meeting in 1 hour. Standard agenda." He left without looking at Raina. Isolda followed, their heads bent together discussing pack business or something else.

Raina sat alone at the high table. She should attend those council meetings. But no one had invited her, and she hadn't found the courage to ask. She touched the pendant at her throat. Collar dressed as jewelry.

Winter became early spring. Month one bled into month two. Frost melted. New grass pushed through frozen ground. Life returning everywhere except her marriage. Rea learned the estate's geography, the east-wing library where she read books she couldn't absorb, gardens where she walked alone each afternoon, the chapel where she sat, sometimes not praying, just existing in the quiet. She learned the pack's rhythm, morning warrior training, afternoon administration, evening meals, council meetings she never attended. She learned to make herself small, unobtrusive, present but invisible. And she learned to watch Isolda. The adviser was always there at Thorne's side, in his study, walking the grounds with him. Her hand on his arm, her voice in his ear, shaping decisions or simply sharing them, hard to tell from a distance.

Rea told herself it didn't matter. This wasn't a love match. This was politics, a treaty sealed with vows. She hadn't expected romance. But some nights, lying in her empty bed, she wondered what being wanted might feel like.

Month three brought Dr. Winona Marsh into her life. The pack healer worked from an office in the manor's south wing. Raina had avoided it, avoided anything requiring explanation, but persistent headaches finally drove her there. Winona was 58, silver-threaded dark hair, crows' feet that spoke of earned wisdom. She examined Raina with gentle efficiency.

"Tension," Winona announced. "You're carrying stress in your neck and shoulders."

"Can you fix it?"

"I can treat symptoms. The cause is harder." Winona's eyes held too much kindness. Raina felt something crack.

"I'm managing."

"Managing isn't the same as living." Winona pulled up a chair. "You're not the first treaty bride to walk these halls, but you're the first I've seen who looks so absent."

"I'm here."

"Your body is. But Raina," the use of her name, not her title, felt like a lifeline. "Where are you?"

The question broke something loose. "I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"Exist here. Be Luna when I'm not wanted. Pretend this marriage is real when we both know it's theater."

Winona reached out, squeezed Raina's hand once, brief, warm. "You don't have to be invisible. Everyone seems to prefer it that way. I see you."

Winona stood, prepared herbs for the headaches. "Steep in hot water before bed. And Raina, my door stays open, not as a healer, as someone who remembers what loss feels like."

That night, Rea drank the bitter tea. It didn't cure the headaches, but it helped something deeper. The knowledge that at least one person in Greystone Manor saw her as human.

March arrived with storms. Thunder shook the manor's foundations. Lightning split the sky in jagged white. Rain hammered stone walls with violence that matched the tempest building in Raina's chest. She stood at her window watching nature rage. The storm felt honest, unlike polite smiles and careful distance. Unlike vows spoken, but never meant. This was truth. Wind and water and chaos. The storm had built all day. By evening, it was magnificent. Raina pressed her forehead against cold glass, feeling thunder in her bones.

A knock startled her. "Come in."

The door opened. The door. Thorne stood there. Raina froze. He looked different. Hair loose and wet. Shirt clinging to broad shoulders. No formal jacket. No alpha mask. Just a man in her doorway, rain dripping.

"May I come in?" His voice came out rough. Nothing like the controlled alpha tone she knew. Raina's heart hammered.

"This is your manor. You can go anywhere."

"That's not what I asked." She stepped back. Permission without words. Thorne entered, closed the door, stood dripping. The silence stretched until thunder filled it.

"Why are you here?" Raina asked.

He ran fingers through wet hair. "I don't know. I've been walking, thinking." The storm. He stopped, started again. "Do you remember our wedding night?" How could she forget? He'd left her alone in her wedding dress until dawn, finally taught her the truth. "I remember. I was afraid." The confession came out raw. "The council warned me, said you were the enemy's daughter. Couldn't be trusted. Shouldn't be loved. Told me to treat this marriage as exactly what it was. Politics."

Raina's throat tightened. "And you believed them."

"I tried to." He moved closer. Not touching, just closer. "I thought distance would be easier, safer. But Raina," he looked at her, really looked, for the first time since the wedding. "It hasn't been easy."

Lightning flashed. In that brief illumination, she saw something in his face, something raw. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I can't stop thinking about you." The words rushed out, desperate. "Every day you're there at my table, in my hall, walking my grounds, and I tell myself, 'You're just the treaty, just necessary politics.' But then I see you reading alone, walking alone, sitting beside me at dinner, trying not to exist, and I—" Thunder swallowed the rest.

When it faded, they stood closer. Neither remembered moving.

"You could have talked to me," Raina said.

"Anytime these three months. I know. Instead, you let me feel like nothing."

"I know." His jaw clenched. "I was a coward. Am a coward. But I'm here now. And I need to know. Is there any part of you that wants this marriage to be real?"

The question hung heavy as the storm. Raina should say no. Should protect herself. Should remember three months of invisibility. Instead, she reached up, touched his face, felt stubble rough against her palm. His breath caught.

"I want to stop feeling like a ghost," she whispered.

"You're not a ghost."

"Then what am I?"

"You're my wife," he said it like discovery, like truth finally surfacing. "And I've been too afraid to admit what that means." His hand covered hers, pressed her palm to his jaw. Heat raced through her veins.

"Show me," Raina whispered. "Show me what it means."

Thorne kissed her. His mouth claimed hers with desperate intensity. Surrender after fighting too long. Rea gasped and he deepened the kiss. One hand slid into her hair, the other pulled her close. The storm raged, but Raina barely heard it over her hammering heart. His kisses moved along her jaw, down her throat. His hands trembled as they explored. Not practiced, just honest, raw.

"Are you sure?" he whispered against her skin.

Raina pulled him toward the bed. What followed was intense, passionate, deeply intimate. He touched her like she was precious, like she mattered, whispered her name against her shoulder, held her close when lightning split the sky. For one perfect night, she believed she was wanted.

Afterward, they lay tangled together. Rain drummed against windows. His fingers traced patterns on her bare shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"For what?"

"For making you feel unwanted. For keeping distance."

"The council warned me against caring for you." His arm tightened. "They said you were a means to an end. That I should never forget your family's role in the war." Pain flickered through Raina's chest, but Thorne continued. "I tried to follow their advice. Thought distance would be easier. Instead, it made everything worse." He kissed her temple. "You deserve better."

"We can start over," Rea whispered.

"I'd like that." They fell asleep wrapped together. For the first time since arriving at Greystone Manor, Raina felt like she belonged.

Morning came harsh. Raina woke to empty sheets. Thorne was gone. The pillow beside her still bore the indent of his head, but the man himself had vanished. She sat up slowly, pulled the blanket close, looked around as if last night might have disappeared with him. It hadn't. Her dress lay on the floor, his shirt draped over a chair, his scent lingered on her skin. Last night had been real, so why did the empty bed feel like betrayal?

Raina dressed mechanically, washed her face, tried to calm the anxious flutter in her chest. He probably had early duties, alpha business, nothing personal, nothing cruel. She repeated this through breakfast, where Thorne sat reviewing papers, barely glancing at her. Through the afternoon, when she saw him in the courtyard with Isolda, the adviser's hand on his arm. Through dinner, where he spoke to everyone except her.

By evening, Rea understood the storm night had been a mistake, a moment of weakness he now regretted. She was still the treaty, still politics, still nothing.

Two weeks passed in careful distance. Thorne maintained formality. Raina pretended her heart wasn't breaking. She threw herself into routine. Morning garden walks, afternoon reading, quick dinners before retreating to her chamber.

Isolda noticed during Raina's third visit that month. "You look pale."

"I'm managing."

"When did you last bleed?"

The question caught her off guard. "A few weeks." More than a few. Rea thought back. The wedding in January. The storm night in March. It was now April, her last cycle.

"Oh," Winona's expression softened. "Let me examine you."

The exam was gentle, professional, but Raina knew before Winona confirmed it. "You're pregnant, Luna."

The words echoed. Pregnant, carrying Thorne's child, the heir to Greystone territory, growing inside her while Thorne kept careful distance.

"How far along?"

"About 4 weeks, very early." Winona made notes. "I need to tell you something. First-time mothers with your blood type often face complicated pregnancies. You'll need monitoring and you should avoid stress."

"Stress?" Rea almost laughed. "Does anyone else know?"

"Not yet. But you'll need to tell the alpha soon."

Would she? Maybe the pregnancy would make Thorne happy. Bridge the gap between them. Make her matter. Or maybe it would just complicate an impossible situation.

"I need time," Rea said, "to decide how to tell him."

Winona nodded. "Don't wait too long. Your health depends on proper care."

Rea left in a daze. Pregnant. 4 weeks. A life Thorne didn't know existed. She needed to tell him tonight, before fear won. She walked toward his study, practicing words, gathering courage. But as she approached the heavy door, voices drifted through. Thorne's deep tone and Isolda's. Raina's hand froze on the doorknob. She should knock, should announce herself. Instead, she stood in the dim hallway and heard her world shatter.

"Your Luna looks at you like she worships the ground you walk on." Isolda's voice carried mockery.

Silence. Then Thorne spoke. "She's the council's solution to a war. Nothing more."

The words hit like blows. Raina pressed against the wall, struggling to breathe.

Isolda laughed. Light, cruel. "And yet you went to her chamber during the storm, Thorne. The staff talks."

"It was a mistake, cold, final, one I won't repeat. But you have a reputation to maintain, and besides," her tone dropped, intimate. "When will you honor our understanding?"

Silence stretched long enough to condemn. Raina waited, praying he'd deny it. Defend her. Say something, proving the storm night meant something. He said nothing. His silence destroyed her.

Raina stepped back, hands shaking, vision blurring. The pendant at her throat felt like it was strangling her. She pressed one hand to her stomach. Protective, instinctive. The baby deserved better. Better than a father who saw its mother as nothing. Better than a pack where the Luna was mocked. Better than a home where love was just another political tool.

Raina walked back to her chamber. Her wolf went silent inside her. Understanding the storm night had been a mistake. Nothing more. She moved mechanically now. Pulled her traveling cloak from the wardrobe, laced sturdy boots, gathered essentials: gold coins, a knife, dried provisions. She paused at her jewelry box. The Luna's pendant lay inside, heavy silver marking her status. She left it behind. Instead, she took only the simple bracelet her mother had given her. Wooden beads carved with protection symbols. "Never forget who you are," her mother had whispered.

On the wedding day, Raina fastened the bracelet, looked around the chamber that had been her prison. Expensive furniture, silk bedding, everything beautiful and cold, except the bed where Thorne had held her. She forced herself to look away, placed one hand on her stomach, whispered to the life growing there. "You will never grow up unwanted. I promise."

Then she sat at the writing desk, pulled out parchment, wrote carefully. "Thorne, I won't raise a child in a house built on lies. You made your feelings clear. I was the council's solution to a war. Nothing more. I'm sorry I forgot that, even for one night. Don't look for me, Raina."

She folded the letter, left it on the bed, then she left. The manor slept. Guards stood at post, but didn't question the Luna. She pulled her hood up, kept her face shadowed. The main gate stood open. Callum Pierce commanded the night watch. Recognition flickered across his face as she approached. For a moment, she thought he'd stop her. Instead, Callum stepped aside. "Safe travels, Luna." His voice held understanding. Maybe approval. Raina nodded once. Didn't trust her voice. She walked through the gates.

Behind her, Greystone Manor rose against storm clouds. Somewhere in that fortress, Thorne sat in his study, probably still with Isolda, discussing politics and strategy and matters more important than the wife he dismissed. He had no idea Rea carried his child. By sunrise, Raina Ashmore would be gone, and Thorn Greystone would wake to discover that some treaties, once broken, could never be repaired.

The forest swallowed her. Trees thick enough to block moonlight, paths leading nowhere and everywhere. Raina walked until her legs burned, until the manor disappeared, until she crossed into neutral territory where his authority meant nothing. Only then did she stop. Only then did she let herself feel it. Grief, rage, bone-deep exhaustion of being unwanted. She sank against a tree, wrapped her arms around herself, and finally let the tears fall. For the marriage that never was. For the man she'd stupidly started to love. For the storm night that promised beauty and delivered heartbreak.

She cried until no tears remained, then dried her eyes, placed both hands on her stomach, made a silent vow. This baby would know love, would grow strong, would never feel dismissed. Even if that meant spending her life in hiding. Even if it meant never seeing Greystone again. Even if it meant raising the heir alone. Some cages were gilded, but still cages. And Raina Ashmore had just broken free.

Dawn broke gray. Birds began their songs. The world waking. Rea stood, brushed dirt from her cloak, oriented by the rising sun. South toward Clearwater, the border town where territory lines blurred and questions weren't asked. She took one last look north toward Greystone, toward everything she was leaving, then turned her back on it all, walked toward an uncertain future with nothing but clothes on her back, coins in her pocket, and a life growing inside her that no one knew existed.

By the time Thorne found her letter, she'd be miles away. By the time he realized what he'd lost, it would be too late. Some mistakes couldn't be fixed with apologies. Some hurts ran too deep. And some women, once they learned to choose themselves, would never settle for being chosen last. Rea walked into the dawn, alone, but not broken. Pregnant, but not powerless. A Luna without a pack, a wife without a husband, a mother preparing to protect her child from a world that had never protected her. The forest stretched ahead, unknown, dangerous, free. And for the first time in 4 months, Raina Ashmore breathed without silver choking her throat. She was no one's treaty now. She was just Raina, and that might be enough.

The town of Clearwater earned its name honestly. Two rivers converged at its heart. Water so clear you could count stones even in the deepest parts. The town straddled borders between Greystone territory and unclaimed lands, a place where questions weren't asked. Raina arrived on a humid June morning, 6 weeks since leaving Greystone Manor. 6 weeks of walking, hiding, moving village to village like a ghost. She was showing now, not obviously to strangers, but the swell of her stomach made certain movements awkward. Made her aware of the life growing despite everything.

The community center sat in the main square. Modest stone and timber with a hand-painted sign: "Literacy classes. All welcome." Rea had seen the notice at the end. Teaching something useful that didn't require explaining herself. She pushed open the door. Inside smelled of old books and fresh bread, tables scattered throughout, shelves lined with donated volumes. And sitting at the largest table, sorting primers, was a woman with silver hair and eyes that had seen too much to be fooled. The woman looked up, studied Rea with unnerving focus.

"You're here about teaching." Statement, not questioned.

Rea nodded. "I saw the notice."

"Can you read?"

"Yes."

"Can you teach patients to adults who've lived ashamed they couldn't?"

Raina paused. "I can try."

"I—" The woman smiled. Slow. "Seems all right. So far." Good answer. "Most promise they can. Trying is more honest." She stood, extended a hand. "Juniper Ashwood. I run this place."

"Raina." No last name offered. None requested. They shook. Juniper's grip was firm, calloused, hands that had worked hard for everything. "You're pregnant."

"Yes."

"And running from something."

Raina's throat tightened. "Is that a problem?"

"Depends what you're running from. Danger that'll follow and hurt my students."

"Not alone."

"Yes, the kind that taught you to value freedom." Juniper tilted her head. "No, we all run from something. Question is whether you're running towards something better."

"I don't know yet." Honest again.

"You'll do fine." Juniper returned to sorting. "Start tomorrow. Morning classes are reading basics. Afternoon is writing. I pay what I can, not much. But there's a cottage behind the center. Empty since the last teacher left. You're welcome to it."

Raina's eyes burned. Kindness after so much coldness felt like being burned and healed simultaneously. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't met the students." Juniper glanced up, eyes softening. "But I suspect you know about stubborn." Raina almost smiled a little.

The cottage was small. One room with a sleeping loft, fireplace, table and two chairs, window overlooking the river. Simple, clean, terrified. "This means—" Raina sat down her bag. "This is home now." This small room in a border town where no one knew her name, where she could just be Raina. She placed both hands on her stomach, felt the swell beneath her palms. "We're safe here for now." The baby didn't respond, but Raina felt a flutter. Maybe real, maybe imagined. Either way, it steadied her. One day at a time.

Students arrived next morning, seven of them, ages 19 to 63. A farmer who'd hidden illiteracy behind numbers. A seamstress who'd memorized patterns but couldn't read measurements. A grandmother wanting to write letters to scattered grandchildren. They sat nervous, ashamed, hopeful. Rea understood that combination.

"Reading isn't magic," she began gently. "Just symbols representing sounds. You already know the sounds. You speak them daily. We're connecting them to shapes on paper."

The farmer, Thomas, with weathered hands, shook his head. "I've tried. My brain doesn't work that way."

"Your brain works exactly as it should. We're finding your way of learning. Everyone has one." She started with names. Each person writing the first letter. One shape, one small victory. The grandmother, Clare, traced a 'C' with shaking fingers. When finished, tears rolled down her cheeks. "I wrote my name. I'm 63 and I just wrote my name." The room fell silent. Everyone staring at that single letter. Proof change was possible. Learning had no age limit. Shame could transform into pride with one mark on paper. Raina's eyes burned.

"Yes," she said. "Tomorrow you'll write another and another until the whole word is yours."

Teaching became her anchor. Every morning students arrived. Every morning she helped them claim small victories. Thomas learned to read seed packets. The seamstress began writing pattern notes. Clare started a letter to her grandson. Every evening, Raina returned to her cottage, cooked simple meals, read by firelight, felt her pregnancy progress. Winona's prediction proved true. Nausea lasted longer than normal. She tired easily. Some mornings standing required concentrated effort, but she was managing, surviving, building something almost like a life.

Juniper became more than an employer. Some evenings they'd sit by the river watching water flow, talking about everything and nothing. "I was a Luna once," Juniper said one late August evening. The confession came quietly. Raina looked at her, surprised but not. "You left 40 years ago, 29 years old, married to an alpha who saw me as a symbol, not a person. Pretty decoration for ceremonies. Womb for heirs." No bitterness in Juniper's voice, just fact. "I gave him two sons. Did my duty. Then I left."

"What happened to them?"

"They're alphas now. Different packs. They don't speak to me. Haven't in decades." Pain flickered across Juniper's face. Brief. Controlled. "That's the price I paid. But Raina, I'd pay it again because I learned something you can't pour from an empty cup."

Rea's hand moved to her stomach. "I'm afraid of raising a child alone. Of not being enough."

"Alone doesn't mean insufficient, and fear just proves you care." Juniper placed a weathered hand over Raina's. "The women who should be afraid are the ones who feel nothing." They sat in silence, river rushing past. Two women who'd chosen themselves over systems designed to make them small.

"Do you regret it?" Raina asked.

Juniper considered. "I regret the world made leaving necessary. The leaving itself, never."

"How do you know you made the right choice?"

"Because I'm still here, still breathing, still finding reasons to wake up." Juniper squeezed her hand. "That's not surviving. That's living." The words settled into Raina's bones. Permission she hadn't known she needed. She deserved to live.

While Raina built a new life, Thorn Greystone was dismantling his old one. He found her letter at dawn, lying on the bed where he'd held her. "I won't raise a child in a house built on lies." Child. Rea was pregnant, carrying his heir, and she'd left because he'd made her feel worthless. Thorne read the letter 17 times, memorized every word, every accusation, every truth he couldn't deny. Then he went to find Callum Pierce.

The guard captain stood at his post. When Thorne approached, Callum's expression remained professional, but something in his bearing suggested he knew why the alpha was there.

"You let her leave."

"Yes, Alpha."

"Why?"

"Because she asked, and keeping her here felt more like imprisonment." Thorne wanted to be angry, but how could he when Callum was right.

"Did she say where?"

"No, Alpha, but I'd imagine somewhere you're not." The words cut deep.

Thorne returned to his study, sat at his desk, stared at papers covering its surface. Pack business, territory disputes. Everything that had seemed important yesterday, all meaningless now. He had lost his wife, his child, his chance at something real.

The door opened. Isolda entered without knocking. "The council is asking about the Luna's absence. What should I tell them?"

Thorne looked at her. Really looked. For the first time in years, he saw past beauty and competence to something calculating beneath. "Tell me about the tea."

Isolda's expression didn't change. "What tea?"

"The tea you brought Raina regularly for months."

"I was being hospitable." Thorne stood, walked to the window. "Winona tested the residue in Raina's tea set. Found traces of golden seal root, white willow bark, vitex berry." Silence behind him. "Fertility blockers. You were dosing my wife."

More silence. Thorne turned. Isolda stood frozen, mask cracking. "Why?"

"How?"

"Because she didn't deserve you." Sharp. Honest. "I've served this pack six years, stood beside you through every crisis, earned my place, and the council forced you to marry your father's killer's daughter. Some treaty bride who knew nothing."

"You don't decide what she deserved." Lethal quiet. "And you certainly don't poison her for your ambitions."

"I didn't poison her, just delayed the inevitable."

"You sabotaged my marriage."

"Your marriage was already sabotaged." Thorne moved closer, his oldest stepping back, fear in her eyes for the first time. "The conversation I had with you, the night Raina left, you arranged it, left the door open, made sure your voice carried scripted questions to make me sound cruel." Isolda lifted her chin. "I gave you opportunities to correct me. You chose silence."

"Oban," Thorne said, "because I'm a fool, you exploited that. But Rea didn't deserve to be collateral damage."

"She left. So clearly, she didn't want to be here."

"She left because you made her believe she was unwanted."

"I served this pack," Isolda's voice rose. "Gave everything. And you threw it away for a woman you didn't even want."

"You're right. I didn't want her at first." The admission tasted like ash. "I was afraid of wanting her. Afraid of what the council would say. Afraid of betraying my father by loving his killer's daughter. So, I kept distance. Was cold. Was cruel." Thorne picked up Raina's letter. "But somewhere along the way, I fell in love with her."

"Love," Isolda spat the word. "You barely spoke to her."