Whispers moved faster than wind in the Lycan court.
Elena felt them as she walked the torchlit halls—sharp glances that snapped away too quickly, murmurs that ended the moment she turned her head. Her presence, once an oddity, had become a provocation. She wasn't just the woman with the Queen's relic anymore. She was *Lucien's guest*. His daily visitor. The one he defended.
And the court noticed.
That night, as she made her way to the quiet library in the mountain's inner chambers, she found the passage blocked.
Sera.
The Beta's expression was carved from stone.
"You don't belong here," she said, voice low but steely. "You walk in our sacred spaces, answer our king's summons, and speak as though you're one of us."
Elena swallowed. "I haven't pretended to be anything I'm not."
"You wear *her* pendant," Sera snapped, stepping closer. "And *he* watches you like you matter. Like the prophecy might be speaking through you. But even if you are Moonborn, even if you carry the blood of witches, *we* remember what your kind did to us."
"I'm not my kind," Elena said, her voice surprisingly steady. "And I never asked for any of this."
Sera's eyes narrowed. "Maybe not. But you've caught the attention of the king. And if you become his weakness—"
"Elena."
Lucien's voice was quiet but commanding as he stepped from the far hall, his eyes locked on Sera.
The Beta stepped back immediately. "My king—"
"She's under my protection." His gaze didn't waver. "You'd do well to remember that."
Sera inclined her head stiffly and walked away without another word.
Elena let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Lucien approached slowly, his presence both comforting and electric. "She shouldn't have confronted you alone. But her loyalty to the court is... difficult to argue with."
"She thinks I'm dangerous," Elena said.
Lucien's gaze met hers. "You are."
There was no menace in his voice—only truth. She felt it too. The longer she stayed, the more the magic within her pulsed like something waking from a long slumber.
They walked together down the corridor, firelight brushing the edges of Lucien's face. He stopped at a balcony that overlooked the moonlit valley. Snow dusted the trees below. The wind carried the low howl of wolves echoing through the mountains.
"She was afraid I'd be your weakness," Elena said softly.
Lucien turned to her. "You wouldn't be."
"You sound so sure."
He stepped closer. The space between them narrowed until she could feel the warmth of his skin, the slow, measured rise of his chest.
"I don't let anyone close," he said. "Not since... long before my time as king. But you—" His eyes flicked to the pendant, then back to hers. "You're different. Not just because of what you carry. But because something in you calls to me."
Elena's breath caught. "Lucien..."
He lifted a hand slowly, gently brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. She leaned into the touch without thinking.
"There's something between us," he murmured. "Something old. Familiar."
"I feel it too," she admitted. "But I don't know what it means."
"You don't have to. Not yet." He leaned in closer, his forehead resting lightly against hers. "But I won't let them hurt you."
Just then, a sharp howl cut through the air—closer this time. Urgent.
Lucien pulled away, his jaw tightening.
"What is it?" Elena asked.
He didn't answer immediately. His amber eyes darkened. "The court isn't the only place where discontent brews. Sera's not alone. And some in this mountain would rather see prophecy buried than fulfilled."
"You mean they want me dead."
Lucien nodded once. "They'll move carefully. But they will move."
A spark of fear lit in Elena's chest—but beneath it, something else rose. A defiance. A heat that began in her blood and curled toward her fingers like smoke.
"I'm not leaving," she said.
Lucien looked at her then—not as a foreigner or threat. But as something else entirely.
"Then we stand together," he said.
And when his hand found hers, fingers threading through her own, the pendant between them flared softly in response.