By the time Elsie returns to the hall from Misae's chamber, the celebration is in full bloom. Nobles lean too close over their goblets, laughter spilling like wine over the long tables. The music swells, trying to be heard above the rising din.
She steps through it all with her chin lifted, like a prestigious Queen would. But the faint redness clinging to her eyes betrays her, and she prays to all gods up there no one is watching closely enough to notice.
Ace turns toward her just as she steps close to him to take her seat beside him. His face still does not give away any of his thoughts, that stupid gorgeous face is always blank as a blank page, but his eyes linger longer than it requires to acknowledge someone.
"You took your time," he says, his tone even, giving away nothing.
Elsie smooths her gown as she sits, folding her hands to still their slight trembling. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I needed the air."
For a moment, he studies her in silence, eyes not leaving her face at all. Then, his voice lowers, meant only for her.
"Were you crying?"
The question slips beneath her defenses like a knife under silk. She feels blood rushes to her cheeks, and heat rising up her neck from embarrassment.
"No," she whispers too quickly. "Of course not."
Something unreadable flickers in his eyes, though the rest of his face remains unshaken. His goblet sits untouched, even as courtiers call for another toast.
"I would rather truth than courtesy, Elsie," he says softly, words meant for her alone.
Her breath falters, heart squeezing inside her chest. She cannot help but lift her eyes to his and be caught in that steady darkness of his eyes. For a heartbeat she almost breaks, almost lets him see through her.
But then laughter erupts from the floor below, snapping the moment apart. Elsie gulps around the lump lodging inside her throat, plastering a smile on her face and lifts her goblet with careful grace.
"It was nothing," she says quietly. "Only a weakness I'd rather not bring to your table."
Ace does not press further. But his gaze does not leave her, even as hers drifts elsewhere.
🤍
The celebration had long since quieted, nobles and servants drifting away to their chambers, laughter fading into soft echoes through the corridors.
Elsie sits before the mirror in her chamber, her hair undone, milky silken strands spilling over her shoulders. The younger maids move about in silence, unpinning jewels and folding her garments, but she barely notices them — her thoughts are far elsewhere.
"Misae," she calls at last, her voice low. "Stay. The rest of you may leave us."
The maids bow and slip out, the door clicking shut behind them. Silence settles loud, broken only by the faint rustle of linens as Misae draws closer, her hands gentle as always.
Elsie stares at her reflection on the mirror, at the faint redness clinging to her cheeks, the heaviness beneath her eyes. "I need to tell you something," she whispers. "Something I have not told anyone."
Misae's eyes soften, her touch pausing briefly at Elsie's hair. "Then tell me, child. You know I carry your secrets as my own."
Elsie's fingers twisting in her lap as the memories from the mating cabin flashes before her mind's eye. "At the temple… before the marking… I thought—" Her voice falters, shame and confusion catching in her throat. "I thought I was going into heat."
Misae's brows lift with what seems like surprise, though her expression remains calm. "What did you feel?"
"A fire in my belly, sharp and aching," Elsie murmurs, her voice trembling. "Slick—too much, it shamed me. I thought I was sick, or broken because I've had my heat months ago, there's no way I was going into another one so soon. It's as if my body is screaming in its own language for his touch."
Elsie's eyes burn into Misae as she says the next words, "I craved him. It felt like I'd die— the world would end if I didn't feel his touch against my skin." A laugh tinged with disbelief stumbles past her lips, "Can you imagine? I yearned for that stranger. What was that mother?"
Misae doesn't say a thing, eyes plastered onto the wall. Elsie cannot stand her silence anymore. "There's no way you won't know, Mother. Tell me, what was that feeling?"
"False heat," Misae breaths at last. "So it's true, then."
Elsie blinks. "False heat?"
Misae moves around to face her directly, taking Elsie's hands into her own. "It is said only the fated ones feel it — a heat that comes before the bond, proof that the omega's soul has already chosen its alpha. It is not sickness and you don't have to be ashamed of feeling something real. It is the wolves recognizing each other before the flesh does."
Elsie's breath catches in her throat, her heart stumbling against her ribs. "Then… my wolf…"
"Chose him," Misae whispers, her gaze fierce yet tender. "Chose him as your alpha for life."
Elsie's throat tightens, her eyes blurring. The weight of those words sinks deep into her bones, both terrifying and wondrous.
Good god, what in the hell is going on?
For a moment, the silence suffocates the chamber, fills with nothing but the sound of Elsie's shallow breaths. Then, Misae speaks again, her tone more careful this time.
"But child," she starts, "wasn't the late queen his fated omega?"
What?
How is that even possible?
Elsie's heart lurches. She searches Misae's face desperately, but finds no answers there — only the echo of a question she herself has never dared to voice.
Elsie feels her breath get knocked out of her lungs at Misae's words. The late queen. The whispers, the warnings, the shadow that seemed to follow her marriage.
Her hands clench tighter in Misae's. "If she was his fated… then why—" Her voice breaks, trembling. "Why would my wolf choose him too? That cannot be. Fated bonds don't repeat. They say there is only one."
Misae shakes her head slowly, her eyes narrowing as if searching for pieces of an old puzzle. "That is what the stories say. One bond. One fate. Yet you felt it, Elsie. You cannot deny what burned inside you."
Elsie swallows hard, her chest rising with a shuddering breath. "It doesn't make sense. Am I cursed? Or is he?"
Fear.
Pure and utter fear digs its cold claws into her soul.
"No," Misae whispers firmly, reaching up and cupping Elsie's face in her weathered hands. "You are not cursed, little one. If anything… This may mean everything we thought we knew was not really true."
Elsie's eyes blur with tears, one slipping past her water line and making its way down her reddened cheek. "Then why does it scare me so?"
"Because the unknown always does," Misae says gently, brushing a thumb across her cheek. "But remember what I told you. Not every rumor is true. He may not be the monster they claim. And you—" She presses Elsie's hand to her own heart. "—you may be the one to prove it."
Elsie's eyes shut close, feeling her heart beat loudly against her chest. The late queen's ghost lingers in her thoughts, but so does the memory of that searing, undeniable pull inside her at the temple.
When she finally speaks, it was no more than a whisper. "If my wolf truly chose him… then I pray he is worthy of it."