She Thought The Kiss Came From The Prince… Until She Realized It Was His Older Brother, The Alpha King.

She had always been the rejected one of the kingdom, the girl without a wolf, the one who dreamed of a prince who never truly saw her. For years, she believed she was chasing an impossible love until the day she thought she would finally be kissed by him. But the kiss did not come from the prince.

It came from his older brother, the silent king who had always watched her from the shadows. The king who had always saved her and protected her in secret. But the prince did not accept it. Now two heirs are fighting over a woman the entire kingdom once despised.

And she still does not know the most shocking truth of all. The king, the one who never looked at anyone, made a choice that shook the entire kingdom.

The quill scraped across the paper once more, leaving trails of ink Brina knew she shouldn’t be writing. The garden around her murmured with the afternoon breeze, carrying the scent of damp soil and late-blooming flowers, but she barely noticed. Her green eyes were fixed on the words spilling from her heart before reason could stop them.

I hope that one day you finally see me beyond the smiles and the quick glances you throw my way. Across the garden, masculine voices echoed in the rhythm of combat. The royal guard was training, and if she lifted her gaze, she could see the precise movements of the warriors who protected the kingdom. Men and women who had gone through the same trials she had.

The difference was simple and brutal: they had transformed, and she had not. I hope that one day you realize that while you walk past, I stay, always waiting for something that may never come. Brina bit her lower lip, feeling the weight of her own foolishness. Twenty-two years old and still writing like a girl who believed in fairy tales.

But the heart never listened to logic; it never had. Jesper had walked past her that morning in the corridor near the kitchens. He had smiled. He always smiled. And she had felt the world tilt the same way it always did, as if that smile were meant only for her, though deep down she knew it wasn’t.

I know I’m not the only one. Not the most interesting. Not the one who holds your attention for long. Yet my stupid, stubborn heart still chose you. Even knowing that loving you means accepting uncertainty and the risk of never being chosen. A shadow appeared before the voice.

“Well, look at that. Little Brina is writing again.” Brina lifted her eyes, and her stomach dropped. Ila stood there beside two other ladies of the guard, all dressed in training attire, but far too clean, far too polished, as if they had been watching rather than sweating.

Ila was beautiful in a way that hurt, with golden hair falling in perfect waves, light cold eyes, and a sharp smile. “It’s none of your business,” Brina murmured, hugging her journal to her chest.

“Oh, but I think it is.” Ila stepped forward, extending her hand with a confidence Brina had never possessed. “Show me.”

“No.” Her voice came out firmer than she expected, but it wasn’t enough. Ila snatched the journal before Brina could step back, pulling with force until the leather slipped from her fingers like sand. “Ila, give it back!”

Ila was already opening it, her eyes sliding over the words with cruel curiosity. The other two chuckled softly as if watching entertainment prepared just for them. “I hope that one day you finally see me beyond the smiles,” Ila read aloud, dragging out every word, savoring it. “I know I’m not the only one. Not the most interesting.”

She stopped, looking at Brina with fake pity. “Oh, how sweet. Too bad he’s never looked at you, right?” Heat surged up Brina’s face, burning her cheeks, her neck, and the roots of her reddish hair.

“Give me back my journal,” she said, her voice strangled. Ila tilted her head as if considering, stepping closer.

“Brina, how can you be so stupid?” Her voice was almost sweet, which only made it worse. “I told you girls. She daydreams about the prince. He’s never going to look at you, Brina. You can’t even transform.”

The sentence landed in the air like a blade. Brina reached out her hand, trying to keep her voice steady. “Give me my journal!”

“Then go get it!” Ila threw it. The journal arced through the air, spinning before landing on the grass near the training grounds, where the guard still moved in precise formations.

Brina felt the world stop. All eyes turned toward the object that had landed among them. The captain of the guard, a broad-shouldered man with old scars, bent down and picked up the journal, turning it over in his hands with a frown. “Whose is this?”

Brina couldn’t answer. Shame froze her in place, silent and motionless, while she felt the weight of every stare—the warriors, the ladies, Ila smiling. Then a voice cut through the silence.

“It’s mine.” It wasn’t the captain’s voice; it was his.

Brina lifted her eyes and saw him. Zaden, the Alpha King. Tall, broad, with dark hair falling over his shoulders, his face carved into an expression that revealed nothing. He stood near the training grounds, arms crossed, observing the world the same way he always did, as if everything in the kingdom passed through his eyes before becoming real.

He approached the captain with slow, deliberate steps and extended his hand. The man handed him the journal without question. Zaden held it carefully, as if he already knew what it was, then turned.

He walked straight toward Brina. She couldn’t move; she couldn’t breathe. His dark, unreadable eyes found hers, and for one infinite moment, the entire garden vanished. He held out the journal, offering it between them like a silent vow.

“I think this is yours,” he said, his voice low and rough, carrying something she couldn’t name. Brina took the journal with trembling hands, her fingers brushing his for a brief, unbearable second.

His skin was warm, steady, real. “Thank you,” she whispered, barely able to lift her voice. Zaden didn’t answer.

He simply held her gaze a moment longer, as if reading something she hadn’t written. Then he turned and walked back to the guard, leaving Brina standing there with her heart beating so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it. Ila watched from afar, her smile gone.

Brina clutched the journal to her chest and left the garden without looking back. That night, Brina couldn’t sleep. She lay on the small bed she shared with her mother in the quarters reserved for those who served the crown, staring at the dark wooden ceiling while the journal rested beneath her pillow.

The king’s gesture echoed in her mind, replayed and dissected detail by detail: the way he had walked toward her, the low voice, the gaze that seemed to see through her. Zaden was difficult to decipher. He was twenty-seven yet carried a presence that felt older, as if he had lived entire lives before this one.

Brina remembered him as a teenager at fifteen when his father died in battle against another wolf kingdom, and the weight of the crown fell on shoulders that had barely finished growing. She had been only ten then, but the image stayed carved in her memory—a boy trying to look like a man standing in the throne room with dry eyes and a clenched jaw while the entire kingdom waited to see if he would break.

He didn’t. Two years later, when his mother succumbed to the illness that had consumed her for so long, Zaden cried alone. No one saw, but everyone knew.

When he emerged from that grief, he came out different—harder, distant, more king than boy. Brina saw him sometimes in the corridors, during training, during council meetings where she delivered documents her mother organized. He was tall, absurdly tall, with shoulders built to carry the world.

His muscles were not sculpted by vanity, but by years of real combat and brutal drills that left marks. His hair fascinated her most, embarrassingly so—dark, long, heavy, falling over his shoulders and neck, often damp after training, a few strands sticking to his forehead and jaw.

He never seemed to care. He didn’t tie it, didn’t trim it, letting it fall wild, like another part of him that refused control. He was beautiful in a way that hurt, not because of the beauty itself, but because of the distance.

Every woman in the castle had tried something with him. Every single one. Ila had been the most obvious, showing up to training sessions with strategic necklines and rehearsed smiles.

Nothing. Zaden never looked, never yielded. It was as if he had built a wall around himself no one could climb. And then there was Jesper.

Brina sighed, turning in bed. Jesper was different—completely different. Five years younger than Zaden, the prince was twenty-two and seemed to have been born with an easier life.

Where his brother was ice, Jesper was fire: charismatic, witty, effortlessly charming. His face was young and symmetrical, with that damn smile that appeared so easily, confident and borderline insolent, as if the world were a game and he knew every rule.

His hair was as dark as Zaden’s, but fell in soft, messy waves framing his face naturally, reinforcing that air of someone who never had to try. His eyes were expressive, alert, always shining with intelligence or amusement, as if he were constantly one step ahead.

His body was athletic and toned, more graceful than imposing, with a relaxed posture even in armor. He was handsome in a dangerous way—the kind that made people forget to think. Brina knew that.

She knew Jesper entertained several ladies in and out of the castle. She knew he took nothing seriously. She knew it was foolish to feel what she felt, but the heart didn’t listen.

She had fallen for him at sixteen when Jesper helped her carry books from the library to her mother’s quarters and told a joke that made her laugh until she ached. He had smiled, touched her shoulder lightly, and that was it. Six years later, he still didn’t know.

Pathetic. Brina shut her eyes tight, trying to push the thoughts away. She wasn’t like Ila; she had no noble blood.

She couldn’t even transform—a shame to her parents, who were both former members of the royal guard. Her father had died serving as head of the royal guard and beta to the previous king, Zaden’s father. A man Zaden had watched fall.

A man the old king had honored with a promise that his widow and daughter would always have a place in the castle. That was why she was there—out of charity, out of honor to her father. Brina lived with her mother in the smallest quarters, far from the nobility, close to the servants.

She had gone through the Royal Wolf Academy like every other young person, had trained, and had waited for the transformation that marked adulthood. She waited at fifteen, sixteen, seventeen—nothing. At eighteen, when it became clear her wolf would not come, Brina was assigned to administrative duties: documents, records, organization—important work, but invisible and safe.

Meanwhile, the others transformed, fought, and shined. Brina was twenty-two and could barely hold a sword without shaking. Weak. The word echoed every time Ila or the others looked at her.

Brina buried her face in the pillow, feeling the weight of shame tighten around her chest. On the other side of the castle, Zaden sat in the office that once belonged to his father, surrounded by maps and reports that should have held his full attention.

But his mind was in the garden with her. Zaden rubbed a hand over his face, feeling exhaustion settle into his bones. He shouldn’t be thinking about Brina.

He shouldn’t be thinking about how she had stood there, vulnerable and exposed, holding that damn journal as if it were the only thing that mattered. He shouldn’t remember her wide green eyes or the way she whispered “Thank you” with a voice that sounded like it might break. But he did.

He remembered everything. Brina had grown up in the castle, a constant, almost invisible presence. He saw her sometimes carrying papers, helping her mother, or sitting alone in the garden with that distant look, as if lost in thoughts no one else could hear.

Her hair looked like fire—long to her waist, with waves catching red under the light. She was beautiful, painfully beautiful, and she had no idea. Zaden knew because he saw how she moved through the castle, shoulders slightly curved inward, as if trying to occupy less space, as if she believed she was less than she was.

The other ladies treated her poorly, and Brina let it happen; she didn’t fight back. It irritated him more than it should. She is not my responsibility.

But she was. Technically, she was. Zaden had made a promise to her father.

Not directly, but he had been there when the man died, holding the hand of the guard captain and hearing his final words: “Take care of them. Take care of my family.” Zaden’s father had promised to give the widow and daughter a safe place in the castle, and when Zaden inherited the crown, he inherited that promise too.

So, yes, technically, Brina was his responsibility. Nothing more. Zaden leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Nothing more. But the way his heart had pounded when he saw her journal fall near the guards, when he saw Ila smiling with calculated cruelty, when he realized Brina was about to be humiliated in front of everyone… that wasn’t just responsibility. Zaden opened his eyes, staring into nothing.

He couldn’t feel this. He shouldn’t. He had a kingdom to rule, real threats to face, and decisions that affected thousands.

He had no time and no right to think about a woman who couldn’t even transform, who was probably in love with his own brother, and who would never look at him twice. Let it go.

She didn’t see Jesper again that day, nor the next. When she finally did three days later, it was because Ila and the other ladies found her in the corridor near the royal quarters. “Brina,” Ila called, her voice oddly friendly.

Brina stopped, suspicious. Since the incident in the garden, the ladies had kept their distance. Seeing Ila smiling now was unsettling. “What do you want?”

“Nothing.” Ila tilted her head, her golden hair swaying. “Actually, I came to bring you news.”

Brina waited, tense. “Prince Jesper asked to meet you.”

Brina’s heart jumped. It shouldn’t have, but it did. “What?”

“He wants to kiss you,” Ila said as if stating something trivial. “Today, right here in the corridor, but it has to be a surprise, you know. He wants it to feel romantic. That’s why he asked you to wear this. And I shouldn’t even be telling you it’s a kiss—he told me to keep it a secret.”

She held out a blue ribbon. Brina stared at the fabric, confused. “A ribbon to cover your eyes,” one of the other ladies explained, smiling. “So you won’t see him arrive. He wants it to be unexpected, magical.”

Brina took the ribbon, feeling the weight of the silk between her fingers. It didn’t make sense. Jesper wasn’t the type to plan romantic gestures, but at the same time, what if it were true?

After all these years, what if he had finally noticed her? Stupid. The voice in her head sounded like Ila’s. “When?” Brina heard herself ask.

“At sunset. Put on the blindfold and wait. He’ll come.”

Before Brina could question anything, the ladies were already walking away, laughing softly, leaving her alone in the corridor with a blue ribbon and a heart beating far too fast. The sun was setting when Brina returned to the corridor.

Shadows stretched across the stone walls, and the entire castle seemed to sink into silence. She stood there with the ribbon in her hands, feeling ridiculous. He’s not coming. Logic spoke clearly, firm and merciless. You’re being tricked.

But her heart refused to listen. Brina tied the ribbon over her eyes, letting the darkness swallow her. The world vanished, leaving only her breath and the chill of stone beneath her bare feet.

Five minutes, ten, fifteen—nothing. Twenty minutes. Stupid. So stupid.

Then she heard footsteps: slow, steady, approaching. Her heart lurched. She straightened, nerves crawling up her throat like a wave. “Is it you?” she whispered, barely audible.

Silence. But she felt it—felt the presence close, real, filling the space in front of her. The heat, the scent of earth and leather, and something wild without a name.

Brina rose onto her toes, heart hammering, and met his lips. The kiss was unexpected. It wasn’t soft; it wasn’t gentle.

It was firm, deep, urgent, as if he had waited for it just as long as she had. His lips moved against hers with an intensity that stole her breath. One of his hands found her waist, pulling her closer, and Brina felt her knees weaken.

Jesper. His name echoed in her mind, but something felt wrong, off. The kiss was different from how she imagined, much more intense.

Just as suddenly as it began, it ended. He pulled away, and Brina heard his footsteps retreating—quick, strong, disappearing down the corridor. She tore off the blindfold, blinking into the dimness.

The corridor was empty. Brina turned, searching, but there was no one—only shadows and silence. Jesper. It had been him; it had to be. Who else could it be?

Brina touched her lips, still feeling the warmth, the pressure, the taste. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. For the first time in her life, she had been kissed, and it had been perfect.

On the other end of the corridor, hidden in the shadow of a stone archway, Zaden watched. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched at his sides. He had seen Brina standing there blindfolded, vulnerable, waiting.

He had seen her and hadn’t been able to walk away. Idiot. He had approached, stopped in front of her, and when she whispered, “Is it you?”, something inside him shattered because he knew she wasn’t expecting him.

If only she knew how beautiful she is. The thought came unbidden—raw, too honest. If only I could touch her. And then she had leaned up to kiss him.

Zaden should have pulled back, should have said something, should have done anything other than what he did. But he kissed her.

Now, watching her disappear down the corridor with her fingertips on her lips and her eyes glowing, Zaden knew he had made the most dangerous mistake of his life because Brina believed she had kissed Jesper, and Zaden had no idea how to tell her the truth without destroying everything. The next three days went by in a strange haze.

Brina found herself searching for Jesper in every corridor, every room, in the training yard, in the gardens. She searched without looking like she was searching, her heart racing every time she caught a glimpse of dark hair or heard a masculine laugh that might be his. But Jesper never appeared.

Or rather, he did appear, just never alone—always surrounded by guards or other ladies, always in motion, always out of reach. Until, on the afternoon of the third day, she finally found him. She was returning from the library with a stack of documents her mother had requested when she saw him in the corridor near the main staircase.

Alone—finally alone—adjusting the cloak over his shoulders as if preparing to go riding. Brina’s heart stumbled; she stopped, the papers pressed against her chest, unsure of what to do: call out, wait, or pretend she hadn’t seen him and walk past the way she always did. But then Jesper lifted his eyes and saw her, and he smiled.

It wasn’t the casual smile he tossed at everyone. It was different—slower, more focused, as if he were actually seeing her. “Brina,” he said, his voice carrying that relaxed tone that made her feel as if they were sharing a secret. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

A lie. She saw him every day, but never like this—never with his full attention on her. “I was in the library,” Brina managed, feeling heat climb up her neck.

Jesper walked toward her, hands in his pockets, posture laid-back yet eyes alert, scanning her face with a curiosity that hadn’t been there before. “Always working,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Do you ever take a break?”

“Someone has to keep things organized.”

He laughed softly, and the sound went straight to her stomach. “That’s true,” Jesper agreed. Suddenly, he was closer—too close. “You know, I’ve been thinking about you lately.”

The world tilted. “Thinking about me?”

“Yes.” Jesper held her gaze, and there was something there—something that felt real, intense. “I don’t think I’ve given you the attention you deserve.”

Brina couldn’t respond. Her throat had closed, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out any coherent thought. It was him. He was the one who kissed me. And now he’s here, finally here, seeing me.

Jesper reached out and brushed her arm just for a second, but it was enough to make her skin tingle. “We need to talk more,” he said, his voice low, almost intimate. “Whenever you have time, just the two of us.”

Before Brina could process anything, before she could say a single word, he was already moving away, throwing one last smile over his shoulder before disappearing down the stairs. Brina stayed frozen in place. He thought about me. He wants to talk. Just the two of us.

For the first time in six years, Jesper had noticed her for real, and it felt like the beginning of something she had waited for her entire life. From the top of the staircase, Zaden saw everything.

He saw his brother’s smile. He saw the way Jesper moved toward Brina—calculated, charming, wielding that effortless allure that always worked. He saw the touch on her arm.

He saw the way Brina remained there afterward, eyes glowing, cheeks flushed, as if she’d just been handed a divine promise. Something deep and heavy coiled tight in his chest. It’s none of your business, but it felt like it was. Every bit of it felt like it was.

Zaden descended the stairs with silent steps, walking past Brina without looking at her, without saying a word, because if he opened his mouth now, he wasn’t sure what would come out. He went straight to the training yard where the guard was practicing hand-to-hand combat. “Anyone want to spar with me?” he asked, his voice harsher than he intended.

The warriors exchanged looks. When the king asked to train, it usually meant someone was going to get hurt. One of the largest among them, a man named Ryker who almost never lost, stepped forward. “I’ll do it, Your Highness.”

Zaden didn’t reply. He simply removed his cloak, left with a loose tunic and leather trousers, and stepped into the sand circle. The fight lasted less than two minutes.

Zaden held nothing back, attacking with a ferocity that made the others step away. Every movement was brutal and precise, giving no room for defense. Ryker tried to counter, but every hit was blocked and returned with twice the force.

Zaden took him down three times. On the third, Ryker stayed on the ground, gasping, blood on his lip. “Get up,” Zaden ordered.

“Your Highness, I…”

“Get up!” Ryker obeyed, staggering.

Before he could get back into position, Zaden turned and walked out of the circle, leaving everyone in stunned silence. The captain of the guard approached cautiously. “My king, if I may ask, did something happen?”

Zaden picked up his cloak, wiping sweat from his face. “No,” he lied. “Just needed to train.”

He left before anyone else could question him. That night during dinner in the great hall, Brina couldn’t eat. She sat at the farthest table with her mother and a few other castle workers, pushing food around her plate while her eyes kept straying toward Jesper at the high table.

He was there beside his brother, laughing at something one of the councilmen said, completely relaxed, completely beautiful. As if sensing her stare, Jesper turned his head. Their eyes met.

He smiled—not a big smile, just a small curve of the lips, but it came with a look that lasted a second longer than it should have. Brina tore her gaze away, heart racing, cheeks burning. “You okay, dear?” her mother asked softly beside her.

“I’m fine,” Brina whispered, still unable to look up. But she wasn’t fine. She was unraveling and rebuilding herself at the same time, every interaction with Jesper undoing years of resignation and stitching something new—something dangerously close to hope.

At the high table, Zaden sat in the main chair, his plate untouched, watching the scene with an expression that revealed nothing. He saw Jesper’s smile. He saw Brina’s reaction, and he felt his fingers tighten around the wine goblet.

He’s going to hurt her. The certainty was absolute. Jesper didn’t love Brina.

To him, this was just another conquest, another pretty woman who looked at him with adoration. He would play with her feelings until he grew bored, until someone else caught his attention. Then he would discard Brina the way he discarded every other, and Brina would break.

Over the next days, Jesper began appearing more often—not obviously, but enough for Brina to notice. He found her in corridors, always with a casual comment that made her laugh, or showed up in the library while she sorted books, offering help she didn’t need but accepted just to keep him near. Once he brought her flowers from the garden and handed them to her with a mischievous smile, saying he’d thought of her when he saw them.

Brina kept the flowers as if they were made of gold, and Jesper knew exactly what he was doing. He’d noticed the way she looked at him now, the way her eyes lit up whenever he appeared, and how her breath caught when he stood too close. It was pure adoration—no games, no masks.

It was pleasant, easy, and different from the other ladies who demanded constant attention, promises, and more than he ever intended to give. Brina didn’t demand anything; she simply looked at him as if he were the best thing that had ever happened to her. Jesper liked that.

It wasn’t love, not even close, but it was comfortable and good for his ego. Brina was beautiful in a quiet way—delicate, nothing like the obvious, showy beauty of the others. There was something about her that intrigued him: a fragility mixed with an inner strength he couldn’t fully decipher.

So he kept feeding her attention, kept smiling, and kept making her believe that maybe, just maybe, he was starting to feel something too. He never corrected the misunderstanding because the truth was far too convenient. Zaden, on the other hand, was reaching his limit.

He saw everything: saw Jesper circling Brina like a patient predator, saw the way she glowed in his presence, saw his brother tossing crumbs of attention while she gathered them like feasts, and he couldn’t stay silent anymore. On a gray afternoon, he found Brina alone in the small garden near the rose bushes, already wilting with the coming autumn. She sat on the stone bench with an open book on her lap, eyes lost somewhere far away.

Zaden stopped a few steps away, hands clasped behind his back, watching her for a moment before speaking. “Brina?”

She startled, almost dropping the book, and turned to him wide-eyed. “Your Highness.” Brina stood quickly, offering a rushed curtsy. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Sit,” Zaden said, his voice softer than he intended. She obeyed, tense, while he moved closer and stood beside the bench, looking at the roses instead of her. “I need to talk to you,” he began, choosing his words carefully. Brina waited, hands fidgeting in her lap. “It’s about my brother.”

Her body stiffened instantly. “Jesper? What about him?”

Zaden finally looked down, meeting her green eyes. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him.” It wasn’t a question; it was an observation heavy with something Zaden tried to hide.

Brina frowned, her defenses rising immediately. “And that’s a problem?”

“It can be.”

“Why?”

Zaden rubbed his face, fighting the frustration threatening to burst. “Because I know my brother, Brina. I know him better than you do, and I know how he is with women.”

Her cheeks flushed, not with shyness, but with anger. “With all due respect, Your Highness, that’s none of your business.”

“It is,” Zaden shot back, harder than he meant. “When it involves someone under my protection, it is my business.”

“Protection?” Brina let out a short, humorless laugh. “I didn’t ask to be protected. I’m not a child who needs supervision.”

“It’s not about that.” Zaden stepped closer, and the air between them thickened. “It’s about the fact that Jesper doesn’t know how to tell attention from affection. He likes being admired, likes having someone look at him as if he’s special, but he doesn’t know how to love. Not yet. And when he gets bored, he leaves.”

The words came out with more emotion than Zaden had permission to feel. Brina stood facing him, her eyes shining with a mix of hurt and fury. “Why do you care?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

Because I can’t stand the thought of you looking at him that way and then crying. Because it hurts. The thoughts rose sharp, brutal, too honest, but Zaden couldn’t say that. He had no right. “Because I made a promise,” he said, his voice rough. “To your father before he died. He asked my father to take care of you and your mother, and when my father died, that responsibility became mine. I promised you’d be safe, that no one would hurt you, that I’d protect you from any threat—even if that threat was my own brother.”

Brina stared at him, processing the words. There was truth there; Zaden could see she believed it. “A promise,” she repeated, her voice lower now.

“Yes.”

“So that’s all it is—responsibility?”

No. The word screamed inside him. “Yes,” Zaden lied.

Brina stepped back, putting distance between them, and something in her expression shifted—closed off, colder. “Thank you for your concern, Your Highness,” she said, formal and distant. “But I can take care of myself, and I don’t need anyone deciding for me who I should or shouldn’t spend time with.”

Before Zaden could reply, she was already leaving the garden, walking away, leaving him alone with the sound of the rain finally beginning to fall. Zaden closed his eyes, frustration burning in his throat. Stupid. He had tried to protect her and had only pushed her further toward his brother.

Over the next days, Brina avoided Zaden. Not obviously, but every time she saw him in the corridors, she turned away. When he entered a room, she found an excuse to leave.

During meals, she kept her eyes on her plate, refusing to glance at the high table. Jesper noticed. He noticed something had happened between Brina and his brother, noticed how she clung even more to his attention now, as if trying to prove something.

Jesper, being Jesper, took full advantage. He stayed closer, more present, touched her shoulder more often, whispered things in her ear that made her laugh, and went out of his way to find her when Zaden was around, just to see his brother’s reaction. The reaction was always the same: the tight jaw, the clenched fists, the stare that could turn someone to ash.

But Zaden said nothing; he couldn’t without revealing something he himself didn’t want to admit. It was late one night when Brina ran into Zaden in the corridor near the library. She was returning to her quarters with a candle in hand, far too late to be awake, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Then she saw him stepping out of the library with a book under his arm, his hair damp as if he had just bathed, his tunic open at the chest revealing marked skin and defined muscles. They stopped at the same time. The corridor was empty and silent, with only the faint torchlight along the walls and her candle creating flickering shadows. “Brina,” Zaden said, his voice low.

“Your Highness.”

He stepped toward her, and Brina felt her heart race without permission. “You’re avoiding me,” he said. Not a question.

“I am,” she admitted, lifting her chin. “I thought it was for the best after our conversation.”

Zaden stopped just a few steps away—too close. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“But you did. Zaden, you have no right.” The words escaped before she could stop them. “You have no right to decide what’s best for me. You don’t know me. You don’t know what I feel, and you can’t just show up and tell me I’m wrong for liking someone.” Her voice trembled at the end, betraying more emotion than she intended.

Zaden closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tight. “I know,” he said, opening them again. There was something raw there, something vulnerable. “I know I have no right, but I can’t stay silent and watch you get hurt.”

“How do you know I’ll get hurt?”

“Because I know my brother. And because…” He stopped, the words dying in his throat.

“Because what?” Brina pressed, stepping closer, the candle trembling in her hand.

Zaden looked at her—really looked—and for a moment, Brina saw everything he was trying to hide: the inner battle, the conflict, the desire he refused to name. “Because you deserve more,” Zaden finally said, his voice thick. “You deserve someone who chooses you, someone who doesn’t play with your feelings.”

The air between them thickened. Brina felt her breath catch. “And you think Jesper can’t be that person?”

I know he can’t, because that person should be me. But Zaden didn’t say that; he couldn’t. He simply held her gaze, letting the silence speak for him. Then, because staying was becoming unbearable, he turned and walked away, leaving Brina alone in the corridor with a candle trembling as much as her hands.

Ila watched everything from afar. She had seen the way the king looked at Brina, had seen the attention Jesper gave her, and felt jealousy burn like acid. What does she have that I don’t? Ila had tried with Zaden—she had done everything right, dressed well, fought well, showed strength and beauty, everything a king should want in a partner.

But he never looked, never bent. Now he was looking at Brina, at the girl who couldn’t even transform. Jesper was giving her attention too, after giving Ila attention for weeks and making her believe something might happen.

Now he only had eyes for Brina, and Ila wasn’t going to accept that. She turned to the two ladies accompanying her, a cold smile curving her lips. “I think it’s time we teach Brina a lesson,” she said, her voice low and venomous. “A lesson she’ll never forget.”

The other two exchanged looks, understanding perfectly. That cold morning, Brina was in the smaller gardens helping her mother gather the last herbs before the frost when she saw Ila approaching alone for the first time in weeks—without the other ladies, without the cruel smile, just a neutral expression, almost tired. Brina straightened, tense, bracing herself for a verbal attack, but it didn’t come. “Brina.” Ila stopped a few steps away, hands clasped in front of her body. “May I speak with you?”

“Speak?” Brina couldn’t hide her suspicion.

“Yes, alone. Just… please hear me out.” There was something different in her tone, something that almost sounded like remorse.

Brina’s mother shot her a warning look, but Brina gave a small shake of her head. “It’s fine, Mother. I’ll be right back.”

Ila turned and began to walk, and Brina followed, keeping her distance. They crossed the main gardens, passed the stables, and followed the stone path that led to the river cutting through the castle lands. The water ran fast there, swollen by recent rains, its constant roar muffling any other sound.

When they reached the riverbank, Ila finally stopped and turned. “I know I was horrible to you,” she began, and her voice sounded sincere. “I know I treated you badly, that I was cruel, and I… I wanted to apologize.”

Brina blinked, too surprised to respond right away. “Apologize?”

“Yes.” Ila lowered her eyes, looking genuinely ashamed. “I was jealous of you—of the way people look at you, the way the king treats you. It’s not an excuse, I know, but it’s the truth.”

Brina didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected Ila to be capable of admitting something like that. “I don’t… I don’t want any of that,” Brina murmured. “I don’t want attention. I don’t want enemies. I just want to live in peace.”

Ila offered a faint smile. “I know, and you deserve that. That’s why I wanted to talk, to clear the air so we can… I don’t know, start over.” She held out her hand.

Brina looked at the outstretched hand, feeling relief begin to loosen the tension in her shoulders. Maybe things could get better; maybe Ila was being sincere. She reached out to take her hand, and that was when she felt the shove—hard and brutal from behind.

Brina didn’t even have time to scream before she fell, her body twisting in midair, arms flailing for something that wasn’t there. The water swallowed her in an icy shock that ripped all the air from her lungs. Cold—so cold it burned.

Brina fought to rise, to reach the surface, but the current dragged her under, strong and relentless. She managed to lift her head for a single second, just long enough to see the three ladies on the bank: Ila in the center with the other two beside her, all watching. “This is a lesson, Brina!” Ila shouted over the roar of the water. “So you learn where you belong!”

Then Brina was pulled under again, the current carrying her downstream. Water flooded her mouth and nose, burning. She tried to swim, tried to fight, but her strength was fading.

The cold was stealing her movements, making her limbs heavy and useless. She struck rocks, pain exploding through her shoulder and hip, and swallowed more water. I’m going to die. I’m going to die here. The thought came, terrifying.

Somewhere deep in her mind, a voice screamed, Fight! Don’t give up! Fight! Brina tried with everything she had left, but the river was stronger—it always had been.

Zaden was in the council chamber when he felt it. It wasn’t a thought or logic; it was pure instinct slicing through him like a blade. Danger.

He stood so abruptly that his chair crashed backward. “Your Highness!” one of the counselors began, but Zaden was already gone, ignoring protests and questions. He ran through the corridors, heart pounding, following something he couldn’t explain: scent, lupine instinct.

Something was wrong—terribly wrong. Brina. Her name exploded in his mind with absolute certainty.

Zaden burst out of the castle, crossed the gardens, and followed a scent only he could track, an invisible trail pulling him forward. When he reached the river, saw the three ladies standing on the bank staring at the water, and caught sight of reddish hair disappearing and reappearing farther downstream, the world stopped. He was running again, faster, drawing his sword only to fling it onto the grass, kicking off his boots without slowing.

Zaden dove into the river without hesitation, the icy shock meaning nothing as he swam with brutal strength, cutting through the current, muscles burning, focus absolute. He reached Brina just as she was slipping beneath the surface, her eyes closed, her body limp. Zaden grabbed her, pulling her against his chest, and fought to get her back to the bank.

The water resisted and tugged, trying to tear her from his grip, but Zaden was stronger—he always had been. He held her as if his own life depended on it and swam until his feet found purchase, until he could stand, until he finally collapsed onto the grass with Brina in his arms. She wasn’t breathing.

The terror that slammed into Zaden was so intense it nearly paralyzed him. He rolled her onto her side and struck her back; Brina coughed. Water spilled from her mouth and nose, and she coughed again, her body convulsing as she fought to expel the river from her lungs. “Brina.” Zaden cradled her face, brushing wet hair from her skin. “Brina, look at me. Look at me.”

She opened her eyes, green and disoriented, and saw him. “Zaden,” she rasped, her voice broken.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m here. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

Brina began to shake, not just from the cold, but from shock. Zaden pulled her into him, wrapping her completely, trying to warm her with his own body. She was freezing, so cold it terrified him. “Don’t let go of me,” Brina murmured against his chest, her hands clutching his soaked tunic. “Please don’t let go.”

“Never,” Zaden promised. It was the rawest truth he had ever spoken. “I will never let go of you.”

Then, because the fear was still too fresh, because the image of her sinking still burned behind his eyes, and because the relief of holding her alive was too much to contain, Zaden did what he shouldn’t have done: he kissed her. It wasn’t planned or thought through; it was pure instinct. His lips met hers—cold and wet, but alive, so alive.

The kiss was desperate and urgent, as if he needed to prove she was there, breathing, safe. His hands framed her face, fingers tangling in her drenched hair, and Zaden kissed her as if it were the last thing he would ever do. Brina felt it—everything: the firmness of his lips, the urgency, the way his hands trembled slightly as they held her face, the taste of river water, desperation, and something deeper, unnamed.

This kiss—the memory exploded: the corridor, the blue ribbon, the waiting, the footsteps, the question Is it you? This kiss was the same. Exactly the same. It wasn’t Jesper; it had never been.

It had always been Zaden. Brina pulled away sharply, eyes wide, breath caught. Zaden froze; the entire world froze. “Brina, I’m sorry. I acted on impulse.”

Brina stayed silent. The words wouldn’t come. She didn’t know what to say and simply nodded.

Zaden stood, stepping back to create distance. “What happened?” he asked, his voice shifting and hardening. “Why were you in the river? How did you fall?”

Brina blinked, returning to the present, to the cold, to the pain in her body. “Ila,” she said, her voice trembling. “She… she asked to talk, said she wanted to apologize, brought me here, and then someone pushed me.”

The change in Zaden was instant. His expression closed completely, becoming something dangerous, lethal. His eyes darkened almost to black, his jaw locked, and Brina saw—truly saw—the alpha behind the king for the first time.

Not the civilized man who ruled with words and strategy, but the wolf who would kill to protect what was his. “They tried to drown you.” It wasn’t a question.

“I think… I think they just wanted to scare me. Teach me a lesson.”

“They almost killed you.” The fury in his voice was tangible.

Zaden turned, looking upriver where the ladies were likely still nearby. Brina saw his muscles tense and saw the decision harden in his dark eyes. “Zaden,” she began, but he was already moving.

He retrieved the sword he’d thrown onto the grass and pulled on his boots, then turned back to her, his expression softening only when his gaze landed on Brina. “Stay here,” he ordered, concern beneath the command. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.”

Before she could protest, he was already climbing the bank. Ila and the other two were still near the river when Zaden arrived. They turned at the sound of footsteps, and Ila’s smile died instantly when she saw him.

The king was soaked, dark hair dripping, tunic plastered to his body, and something in the way he moved made their survival instincts scream. “Your Highness,” Ila tried, her voice sharper than she meant. “We were only…”

“Silence!” Zaden cut in, the word a blade. He stopped in front of them, and all three stepped back instinctively. “You pushed Brina into the river.” It wasn’t a question; it was an accusation.

“It was… it was just a joke,” one of the others tried. “We didn’t mean…”

“You nearly killed her.” The silence that followed was absolute. Zaden looked at each of them slowly, and when he spoke again, his voice was low, controlled, and more terrifying than any shout. “You will return to the castle. You will go straight to your quarters. You will wait for my orders. You will speak to no one. You will not leave. You will do absolutely nothing except wait. Do you understand?”

All three nodded, mute with fear. “And if you try to flee, if you try to hide what you did, if you try to place the blame on someone else…” Zaden stepped closer, his presence crushing. “I promise you will wish I had been more merciful.”

He didn’t need to say anything else. The ladies ran. In the days that followed, the entire castle felt the shift.

Zaden summoned Ila and the other two for a private audience—no shouting, no witnesses. No one knew exactly what was said, but when they emerged, all three were pale and shaking. The punishments were announced publicly: Ila and the others were temporarily removed from the royal guard.

Not expelled, but demoted, reassigned to lesser duties, far from elite training and the court’s social circles. They lost access to noble quarters and were moved to simpler accommodations, stripped of the privilege of attending banquets, balls, and important gatherings. For women accustomed to status, admiration, and social power, it was a brutal fall.

Zaden made it unmistakably clear in a short but devastating declaration in the main hall: “Anyone who touches Brina again—by word, by action, or even by look—will answer directly to me. And there will be no second chance.”

The hall fell into deadly silence. The message was received. From that moment on, Brina was no longer an easy target—not because she had suddenly become strong, but because she had been chosen to be protected by the king, by the alpha, and no one was foolish enough to challenge that.

Brina spent the following days in a strange state of confusion. She had survived; she was safe. But everything she thought she knew about herself and what she felt had been shattered and rebuilt into something new.

It was never Jesper. Every time the thought returned, Brina felt the ground vanish a little more beneath her feet. She began to distance herself from him, not dramatically, but in small ways.

When Jesper sought her out in the corridors, she made excuses. When he brought her flowers, she thanked him but no longer kept them. When he tried to talk, she kept her answers brief, polite, and distant.

Jesper noticed. For the first time in his life, he realized he was losing something, and he didn’t like it. He was used to being the center, used to getting attention whenever he wanted, used to being desired, admired, and chosen.

Now, Brina looked at him differently, as if she were seeing through him, as if everything she once felt had evaporated. Worse, she was looking at his brother. Jesper saw it—saw how Brina searched for Zaden with her eyes during meals, saw how she tensed whenever the king entered a room, and saw the way they avoided being alone together, as if afraid of what might happen.

For the first time, Jesper felt real jealousy. Jesper decided to confront Brina and found her in the garden alone, sitting on the same bench she often used, staring at roses now completely wilted by the cold. She was so lost in thought she didn’t hear his steps.

“Brina.”

She turned, and Jesper was there, closer than she expected. Something was different about him today—something tense. His eyes lacked their usual playful shine.

“Jesper.” She stood instinctively, creating distance. “I was… I was just leaving.”

“No.” He stepped forward when she tried to pass. “Not before we talk.”

“I need to go.”

“No.” Jesper moved closer, and Brina felt her back hit the bench. There was nowhere to go. “You’re avoiding me. You’re different.”

“Jesper, please.”

“You still like me,” he said. It wasn’t a question; it was a declaration fueled by the certainty of someone who had never been rejected. “I know you do. You always have. Everyone knows.”

“Things have changed,” Brina tried, her voice weaker than she wanted.

On impulse, Jesper leaned in to kiss her. “No!” Brina turned her face away, pushing against his chest. “No, stop!”

But he didn’t. “Brina, stop fighting this.” His voice dropped—persuasive, dangerous. “You want me. You always have. You just need to stop thinking and feel.” He tried again, hands rising to grip her face, forcing her to look at him.

Brina pushed harder, heart racing not with desire, but fear. “I said no!” she managed, her voice shaking. “Jesper, let me go, please!”

“Why are you doing this?” Frustration now edged his voice. “Why are you being difficult? You always looked at me like I was everything, and now that I finally see you, now that I want you, you pull away?”

“Because I don’t want you!” The words came out hard and honest. “Just… just let me go, please!”

Jesper didn’t let go. He was too used to getting what he wanted, too used to being desired, and wounded pride turned into dangerous stubbornness. He tried to kiss her again, this time more forcefully, leaning in and holding her in place.

Panic exploded inside Brina. She tried to push him away, tried to twist free, but she was trapped between him and the bench. Jesper was stronger, and she didn’t know how to stop him without screaming, without causing a scandal that would destroy everything.

Then he was gone. It happened so fast Brina barely saw it. One moment Jesper was looming over her; the next he was flying backward, yanked away by hands she recognized.

Zaden. The king was there, eyes blazing with fury, jaw locked, with something wild in him Brina had never seen before. This wasn’t the civilized man who ruled with words; this was the wolf, the alpha, pure and lethal. “Get away from her!” he growled, his voice low and rough, vibrating with barely restrained violence.

Jesper stumbled, catching his balance, looking genuinely shocked for a second. Then pride surged back, and he straightened. “This is none of your business, brother.”

“None of my business?” Zaden stepped forward, his presence crushing. “You were forcing her. She told you no, and you kept going.”

“She’s confused!” Jesper shot back, his voice rising. “Confused because of you! You got into her head, made her think…”

“She told you no,” Zaden cut in, each word a blade. “That doesn’t mean confusion. It doesn’t mean you get to insist. It means no.”

“Since when do you care about this?” Jesper shouted, real hurt breaking through. “Since when do you care about anything besides the damned kingdom? Since when does Brina matter this much to you?”

The silence that followed was heavy. Zaden didn’t answer with words, but the look he gave Brina—quick, vulnerable—said everything, and Jesper saw it. “You…” Jesper let out a humorless laugh. “You feel something for her? That’s… that’s ridiculous! She’s… she can’t even transform! For the good of the kingdom, you shouldn’t even want her! She’s weak!”

The punch hit Jesper before he could finish—sharp, violent, precise. It connected with his jaw hard enough to snap his head sideways, hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. Jesper dropped to his knees, a hand flying to his face, blood spilling from his split lip.

“No,” Zaden said, his voice deathly calm. “You don’t speak about her like that. You don’t speak about her at all. You don’t look at her. You don’t go near her ever again.”

Jesper spat blood onto the grass, lifting his eyes to meet his brother’s. “Does she love you?” he asked, his voice warped. “Is that it? Did you finally find someone who looks at you without fear?”

“Get up,” Zaden ordered, ignoring the question.

“Why?” Jesper smiled, bitter and cruel. “Going to hit me again? Hurt your own brother over a girl who…”

“I said, get up!”

Jesper obeyed, unsteady, wiping blood away with the back of his hand. For a moment, it looked like he might strike back, his muscles tensed and fists clenched. “Don’t make me fight you,” Zaden said quietly, but the warning was real. “You’ll lose, and you’ll get hurt far worse than you already are.”

“You hit me,” Jesper said, still stunned. “You hit your own brother for her.”

“I hit you because you forced a woman who told you no,” Zaden corrected. “And I would do the same to anyone who did that—even you, especially you who should know better.”

Jesper stared at him, breathing hard, blood dripping from his chin. Then, because there was nothing left to say, because he had lost in every possible way, he turned. Before leaving, he looked at Brina one last time.

“Say it,” he asked, his voice rough. “Say you love him. That you choose him. At least say something.”

Brina remained silent. Jesper let out a broken laugh and left the garden, trailing blood and shattered pride behind him. When his footsteps had completely faded, when only the wind in the trees remained, Zaden finally turned to Brina.

The anger had given way to pure concern. He approached slowly, as if afraid of startling her. “Are you all right?” His voice was rough, heavy. “Did he hurt you?”

Brina shook her head, but she was trembling—not from the cold, but from shock, from everything. “I tried… I tried to make him stop, but he wouldn’t.”

“I know,” Zaden interrupted, pain in his voice—pain for her, for what she had endured, for the fear he had seen in her eyes. “I know, and I’m sorry. Sorry I didn’t get there sooner. Sorry for…” He stopped, running his hands over his face, and when he spoke again, his voice was broken. “You’re undoing me, Brina. Every time something happens to you, every time I see you in danger, I… I can’t think. I can’t breathe. All I can feel is that I need to protect you, that I need to keep you safe, and I don’t know what to call that anymore. I don’t know how to pretend it’s just responsibility.”

The words hung between them. Brina looked at him, seeing the raw vulnerability, the unspoken admission of what he felt. Something inside her—something that had begun with the kiss in the corridor, grown in the garden conversation, and exploded in the river rescue—collapsed completely.

She stepped forward and pulled him to her. The kiss was different from all the others: it wasn’t desperate like the river, nor confused like the corridor. It was chosen, conscious, real.

Brina kissed him like someone who finally understands, like someone who finally chooses. Zaden tried to pull back, hands resting gently on her shoulders. “Brina, wait,” he said against her lips. “You’re shaken. You’re scared. I can’t take advantage of that.”

“I’m not confused,” Brina replied, holding his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. “I like you, Zaden. I don’t know when it started—maybe it was always there and I was just looking in the wrong direction—but I like you, and I don’t want you to push me away. Not again.”

Zaden searched her face for doubt, for hesitation. He found none, and then, finally, he gave in. The kiss deepened—urgent and intense, hands tangling in hair, bodies pressing closer.

It wasn’t gentle; it was pure need, months of restraint erupting all at once. When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless. Zaden rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed.

“This changes everything,” he murmured. The days that followed passed with a new kind of strangeness.

Brina and Zaden no longer hid, not completely. They weren’t obvious; they didn’t make public displays. But they also didn’t pull away when the eyes of the kingdom settled on them, and the kingdom noticed.

They noticed the way the king searched for Brina with his gaze during meals in the great hall. They noticed how she no longer looked away when she met his eyes. The murmurs began softly, then grew: The king and the girl without a wolf. Impossible. He had never looked at anyone before. She must have done something, used something.

But the whispers were no longer laced with open cruelty—not after what had happened to Ila and the others. No one was foolish enough to challenge the king’s protection. Brina felt the stares, heard the hushed voices when she passed, but for the first time in her life, she did not shrink.

Because when doubt began to creep in, when insecurity threatened to return, she remembered. She remembered the kiss in the garden, the way Zaden had looked at her afterward—raw and vulnerable, admitting without words what he felt. She remembered how he had struck his own brother to protect her, how he had gone into the river without hesitation, how he had always, always been there, even when she had been too busy looking in the wrong direction.

Five days after the incident in the garden, Zaden found her alone. Brina was in the small room where her mother worked, organizing old guard records, when she heard the door open. She turned, expecting to see her mother returning.

It was Zaden. He closed the door behind him, and the small space suddenly felt even smaller with his presence filling it. His dark hair was tied back loosely, a few strands escaping and falling across his face.

He wore a simple tunic without his usual formality, and there was something different in his expression, something nervous. “Your Highness,” Brina began, but he shook his head.

“Zaden,” he corrected softly. “When we’re alone, it’s just Zaden.”

The name sounded far too intimate coming from his lips. Brina nodded, feeling her heart quicken. He moved closer, stopping on the other side of the table that separated them, his hands resting on the aged wood.

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

“You can,” Brina encouraged gently.

Zaden drew a deep breath. “The annual Wolf Ball is in three days.”

Brina nodded. She knew; everyone did. It was the most important event of the year, when the entire kingdom gathered, when pairs were presented, and when destinies were observed and judged.

She had never gone. Women without a transformation rarely attended, and when they did, they remained in the shadows, serving, never participating. “I want you to go,” Zaden continued, holding her gaze. “With me. As my partner.”

The world stopped. Brina blinked, processing the words, trying to understand if she had heard him correctly. “Your partner?”

“Yes.” Zaden walked around the table, closing the distance until he stood only a few steps away. “I want you at my side. I want to dance with you.” His voice lowered at the end, heavy with restrained emotion.

Brina felt the air leave her lungs. “Zaden, that’s… that’s public. Everyone will see. Everyone will talk. They’ll judge.”

“Let them talk,” he said, absolute certainty in his tone. “Let them judge. I don’t care. The only thing that matters is what you want. So tell me, do you want to go with me?”

Brina looked at him, at the dark eyes fixed on her with a breath-stealing intensity. The answer was so obvious she almost laughed. “Yes,” she said simply, honestly. “I do.”

The relief that crossed Zaden’s face was so pure it made her heart ache. He took the final step between them and cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing her cheeks gently. “Are you sure?” he asked, giving her one last chance to retreat. “Because once we walk into that hall together, once I present you as my partner, there’s no going back. The entire kingdom will know, and they will have opinions. They’ll question it. Some will accept it, others will resist. It will be difficult.”

“I know,” Brina said, covering his hands with hers. “And even so, I want it.”

Zaden pulled her to him and kissed her. It wasn’t urgent like the others; it was slow and deep. The three days passed in a blur.

The night of the ball arrived wrapped in mist and promises. The great hall of the castle had been transformed: torches cast golden light across the stone walls, long tables along the sides overflowed with food and wine, and the scent of roasted meat and spices filled the air. The entire kingdom seemed to be there—nobles, warriors, members of the royal guard, counselors, and visitors from neighboring territories—all dressed in their finest, drinking, talking, and waiting for the king’s arrival.

Zaden came to fetch Brina himself. He appeared at her quarters at dusk, wearing formal attire for the first time in a long while: a black tunic with subtle silver embroidery, leather trousers, and tall boots. His hair was loose, falling over his shoulders, wild as ever, yet somehow perfectly suited to the formality of everything else.

He was devastatingly handsome. When Brina opened the door and saw him there, her heart raced. “I came to get you,” he said simply, extending his hand.

Brina looked back at her mother, who stood behind her with eyes shining with contained emotion. The woman nodded encouragingly. “You look beautiful, my dear,” her mother whispered.

Brina took a deep breath, smoothed the green dress they had managed to borrow, and placed her hand in Zaden’s. He gently guided her into the corridor, then stopped, looking at her as if seeing her for the first time. “You are beautiful,” he said, his voice rough.

Brina felt her cheeks warm. “Not as much as the others will be.”

“More,” Zaden corrected, lifting her face with one hand. “Infinitely more, because it’s you.”

He kissed her there in the corridor before they entered the hall—a kiss that calmed her nerves and intensified everything at the same time. When they pulled apart, Zaden offered his arm. “Ready?”

“No,” Brina admitted honestly. “But I’m going anyway.”

He smiled—a true, rare smile that transformed his entire face. “Then let’s go.”

They walked the corridors together, arm in arm. When they reached the double doors of the great hall, the guards opened them. The sound of conversation inside was loud, chaotic, full of life.

The moment the doors opened fully, the moment everyone saw who was entering, silence fell like a blade. The king, with Brina at his side, his arm linked with hers, presented as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Conversations died.

Heads turned. Hundreds of eyes settled on them at once. Brina felt the weight, felt the judgment, felt the shock ripple through the hall like a wave.

Zaden squeezed her arm lightly, a silent gesture of support, and she lifted her chin. They began descending the steps into the main hall, and the crowd parted automatically, creating a path. No one spoke; they only watched, processing, trying to understand what they were seeing.

The king had never brought anyone to the ball—never. In all the years since he had taken the throne, he had always arrived alone, always refused company, always kept his distance. Now he was there with Brina at his side, looking at her as if she were the only person in the kingdom.

Ila stood near one of the columns, her face pale, her eyes wide with shock and envy. The other ladies watched with expressions that ranged from surprise to resentment. Jesper stood on the opposite side of the hall, and for the first time that night, he looked genuinely unsettled.

Zaden ignored them all. He guided Brina to the center of the hall where the dance floor awaited, then turned to face her fully, releasing her arm only to take her hand between his. “Everyone is staring,” Brina whispered, feeling the burn of so many eyes.

“Let them stare,” Zaden replied softly, his gaze locked on hers. “Let them see. Let them know. You’re here with me because I chose you, and I would choose you a thousand times more.”

Then, before the silent, watching kingdom, he drew her into his arms and they began to dance. When the music ended, when silence began to settle over the hall, Zaden did something no one expected. He stopped at the center of the hall, Brina still in his arms, and turned to face the entire kingdom.

The silence deepened, absolute and heavy. Brina felt her stomach drop. What is he doing?

Zaden released her waist but kept her hand firmly in his. Then he raised his voice—clear, steady, carrying an authority that allowed no challenge. “Many of you are wondering why I brought Brina as my partner tonight,” he began. Brina felt her face burn; she hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected a public declaration. “Some of you are judging, questioning my choice.” He paused, his gaze sweeping the hall, meeting the eyes of all who had doubted. “Let me make something clear,” he continued, his voice lowering but losing none of its power. “Brina is the strongest woman I know. Not because she has fought battles, not because she has commanded armies, but because she survived. She survived loss, cruelty, rejection, and still remained kind, remained brave, remained true.”

Brina felt her eyes sting. She couldn’t believe he was saying this here in front of everyone. “And tonight…” Zaden turned to her, releasing her hand only to cradle her face between his palms. “Tonight, I want everyone to know that I choose her, that I claim her, if she will accept me.”

The entire hall held its breath. Brina looked at him, seeing the naked vulnerability in his eyes, the unspoken question: Do you want this? Do you accept me?

Tears finally slipped free, trailing silently down her cheeks. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling but firm. “I accept.”

The relief that crossed Zaden’s face was devastating. Then he leaned down and kissed her—there, in the center of the hall, in front of the entire kingdom, a kiss that left no doubt. A kiss that declared, She is mine, and I am hers, and anyone who has a problem with it can speak now.

No one did. When they parted, Zaden held her gaze for one more second. Then, with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with everything before, he tilted his head and whispered, “This will hurt, but only for a moment. Do you trust me?”

Brina nodded, her heart pounding so loudly it almost hurt. “I trust you.”

Zaden brushed her reddish hair aside, exposing the pale skin of her neck. He leaned in, his lips grazing lightly, and then he bit. The pain was sharp, immediate, like liquid fire racing through her veins.

Brina gasped, her hands clutching Zaden’s shoulders, her entire body tensing. Then something changed; something awakened. It was as if a door that had been locked her entire life finally burst open.

Power exploded through her—wild, uncontrollable, ancient. Brina felt her bones shift, her skin burn, the world tilt at impossible angles. No, what is happening to me?

There was no stopping it. The transformation seized her with brutal force. Brina collapsed to her knees, her dress tearing as her body changed, expanded, and restructured.

She heard screams around her, heard the hall erupt into chaos, but it all felt distant, hazy, irrelevant. The pain was everything; the change was everything. Just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.

Brina was on all fours on the floor, but she was no longer Brina. She was a wolf—large, larger than she should have been for a first transformation. Her fur was a reddish-brown like her hair, gleaming under the torchlight.

Her eyes were the same green, but now intense, wild, luminous, and power radiated from her. The entire hall recoiled. Even the most seasoned warriors, even visiting alphas, even Zaden himself took an instinctive step back, overwhelmed by the aura pulsing around her.

That was when a voice rose—ancient, rough, filled with wisdom. The elder of the kingdom, a man with white hair and eyes that had seen centuries, rose from his seat. He approached slowly, without fear, and stopped a few paces from the wolf Brina had become.

“The most skilled wolves awaken early,” he said, his voice echoing through the silent hall, “but the most powerful take longer. Because when they finally awaken, when they find purpose and connection, their presence is unmatched.” He looked at Zaden, then at the wolf, and smiled. “She was never weak,” he continued. “She was only waiting—waiting for the right moment to be seen.” The elder bowed. “Now she shows who she has always been.”

The wolf, Brina, turned her head, her green eyes meeting Zaden’s, and he saw her—saw her there behind the wild form, saw the recognition, the fear, the confusion. Zaden stepped forward slowly, ignoring the frightened protests around him, and knelt before her. “It’s all right,” he said softly, extending his hand. “It’s me. You’re safe.”

The wolf held his gaze for a long moment. Slowly, she lowered her head and pressed it to his chest. Zaden wrapped his arms around her, clutching the thick fur at her neck, whispering words meant only for her. “You’re incredible,” he murmured. “You always were, and now everyone can see it.”

The return transformation took longer. Zaden guided her out of the hall, away from prying eyes, into one of the private rooms. He covered her with his own cloak when she finally returned to human form—shaking, naked, exhausted.

Brina collapsed against him, tears finally coming, not from sadness, but from relief, exhaustion, from everything. “I… I didn’t know,” she managed between sobs. “I never knew I could.”

“I know.” Zaden held her firmly, warming her. “No one knew, but now they do. And they will never underestimate you again.”

Brina lifted her gaze to meet his. “You always knew that I could?”

“No,” Zaden admitted, brushing damp hair from her face. “But I always knew you were strong. I always saw it. Even when you didn’t, even when no one else did, I saw it.”

The words broke something inside her. Brina pulled him to her and kissed him—desperate, grateful, completely lost in him. Zaden kissed her back, holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

Because she was; she always had been. When they returned to the hall hours later, Brina wearing clean clothes someone had provided, the ball was still in progress, but everything had changed. People looked at her differently now—not with disdain, not with pity, but with respect, admiration, and reverent fear.

Ila stood in a corner, pale and defeated, finally understanding that she had lost in every possible way. Jesper was dancing with a blonde lady, apparently happy, apparently already moved on. Maybe he had.

Maybe it had never been real for him—just ego, vanity. And Zaden… Zaden stood beside Brina, his hand firm at her back, guiding her once more to the center of the hall.

“Ready for another dance?” he asked, a faint smile on his lips.

“Always,” Brina replied.

They danced as partners, as two wolves who had found each other in the midst of chaos and chosen to stay. The kingdom watched, judged, and accepted. Brina finally understood: she had never been weak; she had only been waiting to be seen.

And Zaden, who had spent his entire life trying to call it responsibility, finally admitted the truth. It was love. It had always been love.