Chapter 2

Three weeks after the coronation, the royal hunting grounds buzzed with excitement. Pack leaders from across the kingdom had gathered for the grand royal hunt celebration—a tradition dating back centuries. I stood at the edge of the gathering, no longer at Magnus's side where I belonged, but relegated to the shadows like an unwanted ghost.

"Mother! Mother!" Calvin's excited voice cut through the murmur of conversation. My seven-year-old son's face lit up with joy as he ran toward me, his dark curls bouncing with each step.

I knelt to catch him, breathing in his sweet scent—pine needles and sunshine. "There you are, my little wolf. I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Father said I could play by the forest edge with the other pups," he said, his eyes wide with excitement. "He said I'm old enough now."

Something cold settled in my stomach. "Did he now?" I glanced toward where Magnus stood with Lilliana, her hand possessively on his arm as she laughed at something he said.

"Can I go? Please?" Calvin bounced on his toes, already pulling away from me.

"Just stay where I can see you," I said, reluctantly releasing his hand. "And take Liam with you."

I watched as he darted off to join the other pups, my heart swelling with pride and fear in equal measure. Even from a distance, I could see the future king in his confident stride, the way the other children instinctively followed his lead.

The celebration continued around me—hunting parties forming, boasts being made, alliances being strengthened through shared blood and sport. I remained apart, a silent witness to a world that no longer included me.

It was nearly sunset when the first cries of alarm pierced the air.

"Prince Calvin is missing!"

My head snapped up, maternal instinct flooding my veins with ice. "What?"

"The prince!" A young Delta warrior burst into the clearing. "He's gone! We can't find him anywhere!"

Time slowed as I pushed through the crowd, my heart hammering against my ribs. "When? How?"

"No one saw," the warrior admitted, his eyes downcast. "He was playing near the eastern border, and then... he was just gone."

I didn't wait for Magnus or the formal search parties. My wolf surged forward, guiding me through the trees where Calvin's scent still lingered. I followed it desperately, calling his name until my voice gave out.

Hours passed in a blur of desperate searching. When they finally found him, I was kneeling in the dirt, my hands raw from digging through underbrush.

"Your Highness," a voice said softly. "You need to come."

The world tilted as they led me to a small clearing near the territory borders. There, beneath the emerging stars, lay my son's broken body.

"No," I whispered, the word escaping like a prayer. "No, no, no..."

I fell to my knees beside him, gathering his small form into my arms. Blood matted his hair, his skin torn by what could only be claw marks. His eyes, so like mine, stared emptily at the darkening sky.

"My baby," I sobbed, rocking him gently as if he might wake. "My sweet, sweet baby."

My wolf howled—a sound of such primal anguish that it echoed through the forest and beyond, carrying my grief to every corner of the kingdom. I felt her tearing at my insides, desperate to break free, to hunt down whoever had done this.

Magnus appeared beside me, his face a mask of controlled grief. He placed a hand on my shoulder—not in comfort, but in warning.

"This is a tragedy," he announced to the gathered pack leaders, his voice steady. "My son has fallen to the rogues that threaten our borders."

I looked up at him through my tears, suddenly seeing the calculation in his eyes. "This wasn't just rogues," I said, my voice raw. "Look at these wounds—they're too precise, too deliberate."

"Enough," he snapped, his Alpha tone washing over me. "You're distraught."

"I want an investigation," I insisted, clutching Calvin closer. "Someone did this to him. Someone planned this."

Magnus's jaw tightened. "I will not have you spreading hysteria among our allies. This was a rogue attack, nothing more." He turned to the assembled leaders. "This tragedy only strengthens our resolve to eliminate the rogue threat once and for all."

As he spoke of politics and power, I held my son's cooling body against my chest. Something inside me broke—not just my heart, but something fundamental to who I was.

Three days after we laid Calvin to rest, I slipped away from the palace. The funeral had been grand—a spectacle for the packs to witness their king's strength even in grief. But I had not been part of that show.

I walked deep into the sacred Moonwood Forest, where ancient wolves once performed the most sacred rituals. The full moon bathed the clearing in silver light as I knelt on the moss-covered ground.

"I can't bear this pain," I whispered to my wolf. "I can't live in a world without him."

My wolf whimpered, but I silenced her. From my pocket, I withdrew a silver blade—ancient and ceremonial, stolen from the royal vault.

"I, Aria Reynolds," I began, the forbidden words falling from my lips like stones, "reject my wolf, reject my birthright, reject this life that has brought me nothing but pain."

I drew the blade across my palm, watching as silver-tinged blood welled up. "By blood and moonlight, I sever what the Goddess joined."

A searing pain shot through my chest as the ritual took hold. My vision blurred, darkness creeping in from the edges.

"Aria! Stop!"

The voice came from far away—familiar yet unexpected. Through the haze of pain, I saw a figure burst into the clearing.

Westley Reynolds, my mate's brother, knelt beside me. His eyes widened in horror at what he was witnessing.

"What have you done?" he gasped, knocking the blade from my hand.

"Why are you here?" I whispered as consciousness began to slip away.

His hands cupped my face, his eyes intense with something I couldn't name. "I felt you," he said simply. "I always feel you."

As darkness claimed me, I wondered distantly why the Lycan King's brother would care whether I lived or died.