bChapter /bb180 /b

Peace is a fragile thing.

It takes months to build, but only a breath to shatter.

For weeks after the full moon run, Valmont thrived in a way I had only dreamed it could.

Laughter returned to the streets.

Wolves trained together, not out of fear, but strength.

Children yed in fields that once whispered with sorrow. Even the air felt different – no longer stagnant, but alive, humming with hope.

I believed we had turned a page.

That the shadows Henri left had finally been burned

away.

But shadows have long memories.

It began quietly, as most storms do. A messenger arrived at the gates one gray morning, weary and mud–stained. He carried no crest, no banner. Only a single name on his lipsb, /bspoken with the urgency of someone who had run too far without rest.

“Isolde,” he said.

The name struck Francesco like a blow.

I felt it through our bond – the sharp intake of his breath, the tightening of his chest. His expression, always so carefully controlled, faltered for a fraction of a second.

Who?

I had never heard that name before.

But the way his jaw clenched, the way his golden eyes darkened, told me enough.

Whoever she was, she was no stranger to him.

F

“She seeks audience,” the messenger added. “She says she has nowhere else to go.”

Francesco dismissed the man with a nod, but when he turned to me, I saw the weight in his

gaze.

“Eine,” he said slowly, “there is something you should know.”

The tone of his voice made my heart skip.

I knew from his expression this woman was more than ba /bstory from his past.

15:28 Fri, b19 /bbSept /b

We met her in the great hall.

The moment she stepped inside, the air shifted.

Isolde was striking- tall, with dark hair braided down her back and eyes like storm clouds.

Time and hardship had carved lines into her face, but they only sharpened her beauty, gave it an edge. She carried herself with grace, but beneath it, I caught the trembling of a woman on the brink.

When her eyesnded on Francesco, she froze.

For a moment, the mask slipped, and raw emotion flickered across her features–longing, regret, and something deeper.

“Francesco….” she breathed.

I had never hated the sound of my mate’s name until that moment.

He didn’t answer her at once.

His body was taut, every muscle wound tight, but his voice was steady when he finally spoke. “Call me Alpha. Or King.

Isolde.”

Just that. His tone t, distant.

I saw her flinch, though she tried to hide it.

And pride bloomed in me at his response

his side now.

–

a reminder that no matter who she had once been, I was the one standing at

Through the bond, I felt his turmoil. Pain. Anger. And buried deep, so deep I might have missed it if not for our link

shard of old hurt.

–

ba /b

Isolde’s gaze shifted to me then, and for a heartbeat, something flickered in her eyes. Surprise. Calction. “This must be heri,/ii” /ishe said softly. “The one fate gave you? I thought you would end with Luna Anastasia. But I suppose I was wrong.

After all, Lycans can choose their mates, unlike usmon wolves.”

Her words were edged, meant to cut.

“Yes,” Francesco said firmly, ignoring the sting of herment. He moved closer to me, his arm brushing mine – a subtle im, but also a shield. “My Luna. Eine Lycaon.”

Jinclined my head, polite but cool. “You’vee a long way. Why?”

She drew a shaky breath, as if preparing for battle. “Because I have nothing left. My mate-” Her voice cracked. “He found his true bond. I wasb… /bcast asideb./b”

A ripple of murmurs swept the hall.

Wolves shifted, exchanging nces.

Rejection was a wound few survived unscarred.

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15:28 bFri/bb, /bb19 /bbSept /b

日b30/bb% /b

“I have nowhere to turn,” Isolde continued, her eyes glistening. “No pack, no family. I thought-” She hesitated, her gaze darting to Francesco. “When I heard about this ce, under the rule of the Italian Lycan King. I thought perhaps… here, I could find shelter. At least until I can stand on my own.”

The hall fell silent.

Francesco’s face was carved from stone, unreadable.

But through the bond, I felt his storm – memories crashing against the present.

“She lies,” Marlow muttered under his breath, his hand already at his de. Audrey elbowed him sharplyb, /bbut her eyes

never left Isolde.

Alfonso scribbled in his ledger, eyes flicking between us all, already calcting consequences.

And me? My heart pounded, torn between jealousy andpassion.

She was broken – that much was clear.

But she was also the woman who had once held my mate’s heart.

25

I knew Francesco had stories before me, before Anastasia. But meeting one of those women in flesh and blood, here in our

hall, was a test I never thought I’d face.

I forced my voice steady. “We will consider your request. But understand this – you are under our roof now, not his alone. If you stay, you stay as one of our people. Not the King’s past.”

Isolde’s lips parted, as if argue, but Francesco’s voice cut through the tension.

“Luna Eine speaks true,” he said. “If you remain, it will be as a guest of this pack. Nothing more.”

My chest swelled with relief at his words.

For a heartbeat, something flickered across her face disappointment? Bitterness? But it was gone too quickly to name.

She bowed her head. “I understand.”

That night, Francesco was restless.

We sat in our chamber, the fire low, shadows dancing across the walls.

He paced before the hearth, his movements sharp, his silence heavy.

“Talk to me,” I urged, watching him.

He stopped, his hands flexing at his sides. “I never thought I’d see her again.”

I waited, patient, giving him space.

“She wasb…/b” He exhaled harshly, dragging a hand through his hair. “Before I was King. Before bAnastasia/bb. /bI bthought /bbshe /bbwas /b

b3/5 /b

b15:28 /bbFMI/bb, /bb19 /bbSept /b

my

+20

future. You know how Lycans can choose, if fate hasn’t yet revealed the true bond. I nearly made that choice. I nearly

made her mine.”

Painnced through me, sharp and unexpected.

He felt it through the bond and winced. “Eine-”

“Go on,” I whispered, giving him a small smile to sho

I was steady.

Everyone has a story.

Better to hear his truth than let shadows fester.

“She betrayed me,” he said tly. “With another. I gave her everything, and she cast it aside like it meant nothing. She told me he was her fated mate; and that I was nothingpared to him. I swore then that love was weakness. That I would never give anyone the power to wound me again. Until Anastasia. And we both know how that ended.”

His eyes lifted to mine, dark and fierce. “Until you.”

I rose and crossed to him,ying my hand on his chest.

His heart thundered beneath my palm. “You don’t owe me apologies for your past,” I said softly. “But don’t hide it from me either. Not when it still hurts you.”

His hand covered mine, holding it tight. “I feel guilty. Having her here, speaking her name in front of you… it feels like betrayal, even though it isn’t.”

“It isn’t,” I said firmly. “She may have been your past, Francesco. But I am your present. Your future. Remember that.”

Emotion surged through the bond – raw, unguarded.

He pulled me into his arms, holding me as if I were the only thing anchoring him.

His lips found mine, desperate, tender, iming.

“You are everything,” he whispered against my mouth. “Everything I never thought I’d have.”

The kiss deepened, fire and need igniting between us.

His hands framed my face, mine clutched at his shirt.

For a moment, there was no past, no shadow, only us – burning, unbreakable.

When we finally pulled apart, breathless, I rested my forehead against his. “Whatever she seeks, we face it together. She cannot undo what the Goddess has written.”

His eyes shone, fierce and soft all at once. “Never.”

He showed me with his kisses, his touch, the depth of his devotion–reminding me with every breath that I was bnot /bsimply his Luna, but his mate, his choice, his everything.

b15.28 /bFIIb,/bb|| /bbπερι /b

His hands were reverent, his whispers worshipful, and the night became a tapestry of firelight and love.

Days passed, and Isolde settled uneasily among us.

She kept to herself, polite, grateful on the surface.

But I watched her closely. Too closely.

Her words were always sweet, her gratitude perfectly timed.

But sometimes, I caught her gaze lingering on Francesco too long. hmm….

Sometimes, I caught the bitterness hiding in her smile when she thought no one was looking.

One evening, as I walked past the training yard, I heard her voice carried on the wind.

“…he could have been mine, if fate had not been cruel.”

My blood ran cold.

So, she was not here only for shelter.

She was here for him.

And perhaps… for something darker?

AD

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