Caelan
I stand at the window of my chambers, watching the moon rise over the Lycan Realm. It is full tonight, bright and heavy in the sky, like an eye that never blinks. The Moon has always watched us. It has always been decided for us. And I have never questioned it. Not once.
My reflection stares back at me from the glass. I look like a king. Strong jaw, broad shoulders, eyes that carry the weight of every wolf in this kingdom. I was born for this. Raised for this. My father told me before he died that being king means sacrifice. It means putting the realm before yourself. Always.
I believed him. I still do.
Tomorrow, the council meets to finalize my wedding. Lady Isolde will become my queen in three months. The date is set. The invitations are being written. The entire kingdom is preparing to celebrate. I should be happy. I should feel proud. This is what every Lycan king has done for centuries. We marry our fated mates. We strengthen the bloodline. We keep the realm stable.
Isolde is perfect. She is beautiful, intelligent, and strong. Her family is one of the oldest in the realm. The Moon chose her for me when we were both children. I felt the bond awaken the first time we met as adults. It was like a thread pulling tight in my chest, warm and insistent. The magic is real. I know it is.
So why do I feel so empty?
I turn away from the window and walk to the table where my crown sits. It is made of silver and black stone, ancient and heavy. I pick it up, feel the weight of it in my hands. This crown has been worn by my ancestors for a thousand years. Every single one of them followed the Moon's law. Every single one of them married their destined mate.
I will do the same. I have no choice.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.
"Come in," I say, setting the crown down.
Marcus enters. He is my closest friend, my most trusted advisor. We grew up together, trained together, fought together. If there is anyone in this world I can speak freely with, it is him.
"You look like a man about to walk to his own execution," Marcus says, closing the door behind him.
I try to smile, but it does not reach my eyes. "I am fine."
"Liar." He crosses the room and leans against the table, arms folded. "You have been distant for weeks, Caelan. Even Isolde has noticed. She asked me if something was wrong."
Guilt twists in my chest. Isolde does not deserve this. She has done nothing wrong. She is kind, patient, everything a queen should be. And yet, when I am with her, I feel like I am playing a role. Like I am pretending to be someone I am not.
"I am just tired," I say. "There is a lot to prepare."
"You are a terrible liar."
I meet his eyes. Marcus knows me too well. He can see through every mask I wear.
"What do you want me to say?" I ask, my voice harder than I intend. "That I am not sure about this? That I do not feel what I am supposed to feel? That would make me a coward, Marcus. A bad king."
"It would make you honest."
I shake my head. "Honesty does not matter. Duty does. The Moon chose Isolde for me. The bond is real. I feel it. That should be enough."
"But it is not."
The words hang in the air between us. I want to deny it, but I cannot. Because he is right. The bond is there, but it is not enough. It has never been enough. I have spent years waiting to feel more, waiting for love to bloom the way the old stories say it should. But all I feel is obligation.
"I do not have a choice," I say quietly. "The kingdom needs this. If I do not marry Isolde, the realm falls apart. The Moon will punish us. You know the stories, Marcus. Kings who refused their fated mates brought ruin to their people. I will not let that happen."
Marcus is silent for a moment. Then he steps closer, his voice softer. "You are the strongest king we have ever had, Caelan. But strength is not just about following orders. Sometimes it is about knowing what you truly want."
I look away. "What I want does not matter."
"It should."
Before I can respond, another knock echoes through the room. This one is sharper, more urgent.
"Enter," I call.
A guard steps inside, his face tense. "Your Majesty, forgive the interruption. The prisoner has arrived."
I frown. "What prisoner?"
"The rogue Lycan, Your Majesty. The one captured near the eastern border. The council ordered him brought here for judgment."
I had forgotten about that. There have been reports of rogue wolves causing trouble, refusing to submit to the crown. They are dangerous, unpredictable. The council wants me to make an example of them.
"Bring him to the throne room," I say. "I will deal with this now."
The guard bows and leaves. Marcus gives me a long look.
"You do not have to do this tonight," he says.
"Yes, I do. A king does not delay justice."
I pick up my crown and place it on my head. The weight settles over me, familiar and suffocating. I walk toward the door, and Marcus follows.
I do not know it yet, but everything is about to change.