The storm had broken over Lycanthra by the time Isabella left the Grand Hall.Rain lashed against the citadel walls, drumming on the glass corridors like an impatient heart. Servants scattered as she passed, heads bowed, wary of her silence. The torches flickered, bending their light across the marble floors in molten gold and shadow.
She did not look back at the throne room.She didn't need to. The echoes of laughter, the scent of power, and Ryan's anger still clung to her like smoke.
She had wounded his pride—and she knew it.A part of her regretted it. A larger part did not.
Her gown whispered as she walked, the silver-stitched hem damp with the touch of rain. Her thoughts spiraled in a dozen directions: the coming Moon Convergence, the fragile alliances, the hunger in the eyes of the court… and the man who had left that same hall like a storm barely contained in human form.
Her chambers were dim when she entered. A fire had been lit, though she did not recall summoning anyone to do it. The scent of cedar and wolf musk lingered faintly in the air.
He was already there.
Ryan stood near the window, his broad shoulders tense beneath a loose black shirt, his wet hair slicked back. The moonlight spilling through the rain-streaked glass turned him almost spectral—a king carved out of midnight and restraint. His golden eyes glowed faintly, reflecting the firelight in feral flickers.
"Enjoyed yourself?" His voice was low, roughened by fury and something darker. "You humiliated me in front of the entire court."
Isabella did not flinch. She moved to the table, pouring herself a goblet of crimson wine, her every movement deliberate, calm. "You humiliated yourself, Ryan. I merely stopped you from tearing your brothers' throats out like a beast."
"I am a beast," he said coldly. "That's what they made me."
She turned to him, her eyes gleaming in the firelight. "No. You chose it. You wear that savagery like a crown."
He laughed—harsh and humorless. "Better a savage than a liar. Tell me, Isabella, how many truths do you still keep from me? How much of what you are is real, and how much is the queen's mask you wear so well?"
The words struck sharper than she expected. Her hand trembled slightly as she set the goblet down.
"I could ask you the same," she said. "You hide behind dominance because it's easier than feeling. You lead because you fear the silence that comes when no one's left to obey you."
He moved before she could step back.
In two strides, he was before her—his presence consuming the room, the heat of him tangible even through the thin barrier of her composure. His hand came down on the table beside her with a sound like a thunderclap.
"Careful," he murmured, his breath brushing her ear. "You're standing on dangerous ground."
"I've been walking on dangerous ground since the night you took me from Theralis," she whispered. "This is no different."
His jaw clenched, but the fury in his eyes faltered. For a heartbeat, the fire softened—replaced by something raw and familiar. His gaze dropped to her lips, then to the pulse at her throat.
"You defied me," he said, but it came out quieter now, almost broken. "In front of them all."
"I reminded them that their king can bleed," she said softly. "And that his queen can make him."
The silence between them deepened, thick with heat and thunder. He should have walked away. She should have dismissed him.Neither did.
Ryan's hand rose, brushing a lock of her dark hair from her face. His fingers lingered too long, tracing the curve of her jaw, the line of her throat where her pulse throbbed steadily beneath pale skin.
"You think this bond gives you power," he murmured. "But it's a chain—for both of us."
"I never asked for it," she whispered.
"Neither did I."
Their eyes met, and the bond surged—violent and alive. It was no longer the subtle pull of before, but something molten, electric. She felt his heartbeat like it was her own. The air thickened, filled with the scent of rain and pine and blood.
"Ryan," she said, but his name came out like a prayer.
He drew closer, the tension breaking, their bodies barely inches apart. His breath was warm against her lips, his voice lower now, fractured. "You don't understand what you do to me."
"Then explain it," she challenged, though her voice trembled. "Explain what this is."
He hesitated—then, for the first time since she had known him, his eyes dimmed with vulnerability.
"It's madness," he said. "I can't sleep. I can't think. I can't breathe unless I know you're near. And it terrifies me, Isabella—because I was never meant to need anyone."
Her breath caught. She had expected fury, not confession.And yet, beneath the words, she felt the truth resonate through the bond.
She reached out, her hand resting lightly against his chest. Beneath her palm, his heart thundered—steady, wild, and very much alive.
"You're not alone in that," she whispered.
For a moment, neither moved. The storm outside raged, the fire cracked, and the moonlight turned their shadows into one.
Then Ryan pulled back, as if the admission burned him. He turned away, raking a hand through his hair.
"This can't continue," he said hoarsely. "Not like this. The Convergence—my brothers—the council—they already see you as a threat. If they sense this bond's weakness—"
"This bond isn't a weakness," she cut in sharply. "It's what will save you."
He looked at her over his shoulder, golden eyes glinting. "Save me from what?"
"From yourself," she said simply. "From becoming the beast they whisper you are."
He stared at her for a long time, unreadable. Then, with a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl, he crossed the room again—closer this time, but not touching.
"If you ever undermine me in public again," he murmured, "I'll make sure the entire court knows exactly what happens when a queen defies her king."
She arched a brow, unfazed. "Promises, promises."
A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. "You really don't fear me, do you?"
"I stopped fearing you the moment I realized you were afraid of me."
His laughter was soft, genuine this time. "You're dangerous, Isabella."
"I learned from the best," she said.
Their gazes locked one last time. Neither spoke. The silence that followed was heavier than any words—an unspoken truce, fragile and necessary.
When he finally left her chambers, the rain had begun to ease. Isabella stood at the window, watching the clouds break apart over the mountains. A faint light bled through—the first hint of dawn.
She pressed her palm to the glass, feeling the fading echo of his presence through the bond. Somewhere deep within her, the blood moon stirred—a whisper of prophecy, of power yet unclaimed.
And for the first time, she didn't resist it.