CHAPTER 255: IT’S ABOUT SERENA

"I need some time alone," was what he heard from the other side of the locked down. Darius twisted the knob again and the door did not budge.

A flurry of questions surfaced in his mind almost leaving his lips but instead he settled on a smile. "Alright, I will check on you soon."

He waited until he heard a muffled thank you from Serena and then left her doorside. She had only requested for the letter to be brought to her after she had left the room where he had broken the news to her.

His hands felt cold, he squeezed them and rushed downstairs. Once out in one of the open courtyards he let out a long and tired sigh.

The stream of thoughts and conscience within him was not comfortable with being a dam. HeDarius clenched and unclenched his fists, Livia knew but she hardly approved of Serena, Nathan was more of a confession and he hardly saw the man anyway. The Moonseeker was more or less a deity, casual conversations would unnerve him.

Guilty nearly swallowed him at the thought of the next person coming to mind, his Nana. He owed her that much at least. Seeing as how he could not bring himself to take Serena out of Ironshade, it was a childish dream but he could make it work. He was not sure when it would happen.

And that is why he mounted his horse and rode straight to where he found himself on many moonless nights when he was troubled in the early days of his rule.

The moonlight shone faintly on the cobbled path, the hooves of his horse ringing hollow in the stillness. Darius kept his eyes ahead, shoulders hunched as though the night itself pressed down upon him. A faint mist clung to the fields, silvered grass bending as he passed. He had no mind for the scenery, for it was only his thoughts that drove him forward. The wind pressed damp strands of hair against his brow, and he must have looked no better than a wayward hound in the rain, all strength stripped to weariness.

By the time the lights of the small dwelling came into view, his chest had loosened, though guilt coiled stubbornly in his belly. He dismounted quietly, his boots sinking into the damp earth. For a moment he lingered by the door, hand raised but unwilling to knock. He felt like a boy again, foolish and ashamed, though there was no reason to be. At last, with a drawn breath, he rapped softly.

The latch shifted, and the wooden door opened with a creak. There she was, small in stature, hair white as frost, her eyes gentle and bright even under the dim lantern light. Elder Evelyn did not speak at first, only took one look at him and shook her head.

"My boy," she said, her voice soft yet firm. "What a sorry state you come to me in."

Darius tried to muster words, yet they failed him. His throat tightened.

"I..." he began, but she raised a wrinkled hand.

"It is rude to bring complaints upon one’s tongue when first stepping over another’s threshold. Come in, Darius. Sit, eat, then speak what weighs you down."

Chastened, he obeyed. He ducked beneath the low beam and stepped inside. The warmth of the hearth wrapped around him, the scent of herbs and broth mingling with the faint sweetness of dried apples. Evelyn busied herself at once, pulling bread from a cupboard, slicing cheese, and ladling out a portion from the pot that simmered gently over the fire.

He sank onto the chair by the table, folding his hands, trying to still their restless twitching. His mind clamored with words he longed to say, yet her quiet motions stilled him. She set a bowl before him and pressed a spoon into his hand.

"Eat," she commanded softly. "You cannot war with shadows on an empty stomach."

He gave a faint smile, shaking his head. "You treat me as though I were still ten."

"And you look it, with that forlorn expression. Eat."

He obeyed, tasting the warmth, though he barely registered the flavor. She sat across from him, her eyes studying his face with the calm patience of one who knew his every mood since he was a child.

"You have that same look your father carried," she said at length. "When the weight of the world sat too heavy upon his shoulders. Though yours, Darius, comes not from madness but care."

The words struck deep, though he could not answer. His jaw clenched, and he lowered his gaze to the bowl. Evelyn did not press him. She began to speak instead of lighter matters: how the younger wolves of the pack had fared in their lessons, how the harvest had gone better than last year, how a new litter of pups had brought cheer to the women at the hearth.

He listened, letting her words wash over him. She spoke not of Dawnbreak, not of politics, nor the tangle of alliances that gnawed at his thoughts daily. It was as if she had swept those troubles aside to grant him a moment’s rest. His chest eased, and for the first time in hours he allowed himself a small smile.

"You always know what to speak of," he murmured.

"That is what age brings, child. Knowing when silence heals, and when light chatter eases a weary mind."

His heart ached with gratitude, yet the pressure within him did not fade. He set down the spoon, unable to pretend longer.

"Nana," he began, his voice low.

She turned her full gaze upon him, and he faltered. Those eyes were too knowing, too kind. Words swelled in his chest but refused to form. He clenched his hands upon the table, every muscle taut.

"You would think me foolish," he whispered.

"I have thought you many things, but never foolish."

Her answer steadied him, though his pulse still hammered. He looked away, toward the fire. The flames licked at the logs, sparks rising.

"It is about Serena," he said at last, the name heavy upon his tongue.

Evelyn leaned back slightly, her brows lifting. She did not speak, only waited.

He drew a breath, released it shakily. His chest rose and fell, and then the words tumbled out before he could stop them.

"She is my mate."

The silence that followed seemed to stretch for an eternity. The crackle of the hearth filled it, the distant hoot of an owl beyond the window. Darius stared at the table, unable to meet her gaze. His heart pounded as though it would break his ribs.