The morning was tranquil. No birds sang above the palace walls, and the scent of smoke from the city's torches lingered a little bit.
Aveloria hadn't slept much. Her body still ached from the half-shift the night before, and her mind refused to rest. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of her past life, Marek's face turning cold as he walked away, Rowena's deceitful tears, and the gleam of the Wanderers' claws.
She had washed up before dawn and dressed herself without waiting for the maids. The silk gown she chose was simple, pale blue with gold embroidery, the color her father used to say made her look like her mother. She hardly recognized herself when she looked in the mirror, not because her face had changed, but because something in her eyes had.
There was a hardness now. A quiet determination that hadn't existed before.
A knock came at her door. When she walked to open it, Marek stood there. He was dressed in a black tunic with a gold lining, his hair brushed neatly back, and his expression the perfect mix of charm and authority. He smiled the same way he used to, confident and self-assured, the smile that once made her heart beat.
"Aveloria," he greeted smoothly. "You look radiant."
She forced a polite smile. "Thank you, Lord Thaleborn."
He stepped closer, pretending not to notice her cold tone. "You wound me by calling me that. We share a bond now, don't we?"
Her heart twisted slightly at his words. Their mate bond pulsed faintly, not gone, not even weakened. Her body remembered what her heart wanted to forget whenever he was near. The scent of his cologne, smoke, and cedar-wood returned memories she wanted erased.
"What do you want, Marek?" she asked, crossing her arms.
He hesitated, then smiled again. "A walk. Just you and me. There's something I'd like to show you."
The palace gardens were quiet that morning. Dew clung to the petals of the moonlilies, and the air carried a faint chill. The path was lined with marble lanterns and rose bushes.
Marek led her to a secluded part of the garden, where a small table was set beneath an archway of blooming vines. Fruit, wine, and pastries waited on silver trays.
Aveloria recognized the effort. He'd gone out of his way to charm and remind her of their bond. In her first life, he'd done the same thing. Back then, she had been nervous, naive, and enchanted by his gestures. Now, she saw the manipulation behind every smile.
Still, she played along.
He poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her, brushing his fingers lightly against hers. The bond pulsed sharply, a faint ache running up her arm to her chest. Her body reacted even though her mind screamed against it.
"You've been avoiding me," he said after a moment. "I can't help but wonder if you regret our bond."
"Regret?" She tilted her head, overseeing him. "Why would I regret something fate has decided?"
He smiled, clearly pleased by what he thought was compliance. "Then you feel it too."
"I feel many things, Marek. Confusion is one of them."
He leaned forward. "You'll understand in time. You and I are destined to rule together. My father believes in our bond, and so does yours."
There it was, his true motive. Power. Position. Not love.
Aveloria hid her disgust behind a calm expression. "You sound more like a politician than a mate."
"Isn't ruling part of our destiny?" he countered.
"Destiny," she murmured, looking down at the table. "Yes. Perhaps."
For a brief moment, silence filled the air. The ache in her chest grew stronger, the bond humming between them, urging her to lean closer. She hated it, hated how much her body still responded to him.
He reached out, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. "You don't have to fight it," he whispered. "It's natural."
She met his gaze, unflinching. "And what about what's right?"
He frowned, not understanding the more profound meaning in her words.
Before he could answer, a guard rushed down the path, bowing hastily. "My Lord, my Lady…His Majesty requests your presence in the throne hall. Urgently."
Marek straightened, irritated by the interruption. "Now?"
"Yes, my Lord."
He sighed, glancing back at Aveloria. "It seems our moment will have to wait."
She nodded quickly, grateful for the escape.
When they arrived, the throne hall was already full. The nobles stood in clusters, whispering among themselves. At the far end, King Alaric sat on his throne, his expression serious. Next to him was Galen, and right in front of him stood Elder Eldric, Marek's father, and several council members.
But Aveloria's attention wasn't on them. It was the man standing at the center of the hall.
Theron Duskbane. Alpha of Moonveil.
He stood tall and composed, his silver-blond hair tied back, his tunic engraved with markings unique to his clan. His presence commanded attention, even from those who tried to avoid his gaze.
And when his eyes met hers, the bond surged. It wasn't the same as with Marek. This one burned, raw, magnetic, alive. Her heart skipped as the connection pulled tight, and she forgot to breathe for a second.
Theron's jaw clenched slightly, his control slipping just enough for her to see the recognition in his eyes. He felt it too.
"Your Majesty," Theron said, bowing respectfully to her father. "Thank you for receiving me."
Her father nodded. "Your presence is always welcome, Alpha Duskbane. Though it is rare for you to remain in Lycanthria so long."
Theron glanced briefly at Aveloria before answering. "I had business to attend to. And…matters of the heart."
The crowd murmured. Marek's hand twitched at his side.
"Matters of the heart?" the king asked, intrigued.
Theron straightened. "Yes, Your Majesty. I've come to request that Lady Aveloria visit Moonveil formally. To meet my kin. To understand the bond we share."
Gasps rippled through the room. Aveloria froze. Marek's expression darkened instantly, fury flaring in his eyes.
"Request?" Marek hissed. "You think you can just walk into Lycanthria and make claims?"
Theron turned his gaze on him, calm but sharp. "I speak only what the Moon has decided."
"The Moon doesn't choose twice," Marek snapped. "She's already bonded."
"Then explain why she bears my mark too."
The tension in the room thickened. Even the elders exchanged uneasy looks.
King Alaric looked between the two men, his brows furrowing. "Enough. We will not turn this hall into a battlefield."
But neither of the men seemed to hear him.
Marek stepped forward. "Aveloria, tell him. Tell him who your true mate is."
She hesitated. Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward her. Her heart pounded in her chest, and the two bonds flared like fire and lightning, clashing against each other until her whole body trembled.
And then—Another pulse. A third.
It hit her so suddenly she gasped, clutching the edge of her gown. Her gaze darted instinctively, and it landed on him, Galen.
He had stepped forward, trying to separate the men, his hand raised in a gesture of peace. But as soon as their eyes met, the world seemed to still.
Her breath hitched. He did too. The third bond blazed to life, pure and undeniable.
"M–Mate," she whispered before she could stop herself.
Galen froze, his brown eyes wide with disbelief. "Aveloria…"
The word echoed through the hall like thunder.
Marek turned sharply, his face twisting in shock. Theron's calm composure faltered. The elders began murmuring, their voices rising in disbelief.
"Three mates?" someone whispered.
"That's impossible." Another exclaimed.
Aveloria felt dizzy, her knees weak. The air seemed to close in around her.
Her father stood slowly, his expression torn between awe and confusion. "By the Moon…what does this mean?"
No one had an answer.
Marek's anger radiated like heat. "This is madness!" he shouted.
"A trick!" Elder Eldric laughed like a maniac.
Theron glared at him. "Fate does not trick."
"Then fate has gone mad," Marek spat. "No wolf can have three mates. It's unnatural!"
The argument erupted again, louder this time, voices overlapping as chaos swept through the hall.
Aveloria barely heard them. Her mind spun, flashes of her past and present blurring together. She remembered dying alone, the sting of betrayal, and the whisper that had brought her back. Awake, child, and rewrite destiny.
Now she understood. Fate wasn't repeating itself. It was breaking apart.
Three mates.
Marek, the man who betrayed her. Theron, the Alpha who shouldn't exist in her path. And Galen, her loyal friend, the one she had never expected.
Her life had become a puzzle with too many missing pieces. But one thing was clear: destiny was no longer in control.
She was.
And if fate thought she would crumble again, it had chosen the wrong wolf.
******************
When the meeting finally ended in chaos, the court was in shock. Word spread faster than wildfire. By nightfall, the entire palace was buzzing with the news: the Heiress of Lycanthria had three mates.
Some called it a blessing. Others whispered it was a curse.
And Rowena? She smiled when she heard.
Her maid, Obryn, rushed to her with the news, breathless and excited. "My lady, you won't believe what happened in the throne hall—"
"I already heard," Rowena interrupted smoothly, brushing her hair in front of the mirror. "Three mates. How remarkable."
Obryn giggled nervously. "Some say it's a sign of great power. Some say it is a curse. Some say—"
"People say many things," Rowena replied softly. "But power frightens people. Especially when they don't understand it."
Her reflection smiled back at her, cold and calculating.
"Tell the kitchen maids," she said. "And the laundry girls. Tell them the Heiress is cursed, that she's playing with dark magic to bind three mates to her. Ensure they say it loud enough for the guards to hear until it spreads throughout the kingdom."
Obryn hesitated. "But, my lady—"
"Do it!" Rowena snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument.
When the maid scurried away, Rowena set down her brush and leaned closer to the mirror.
"So, sister," she murmured. "You think fate favors you now. Let's see how long that lasts."