Ethan's POV
The mockery pressed in from every side. My cousin's lazy sneer, my brothers' cruel laughter, the Luna's words—it was all too familiar. I had heard it my whole life. Endured it. Survived it.
But this time, they weren't mocking just me.
Every word they threw cut toward Soraya, carving at her presence at this table as if she were some fragile mistake. And though she sat stiff beside me, I felt her hand still curled into mine beneath the table.
That alone unsettled me more than their words.
Because by now, surely she sensed it—the unnatural cadence in their voices, the sharp weight of my father's dominance, the way the laughter scraped against something primal. She wasn't sitting among humans. She had to feel it.
And yet… she didn't pull away.
Her fingers stayed firm around mine, warm, steady, as though she thought—believed—she was safer like this. With me.
She didn't know the truth. That I was the very danger she should have feared most.
Then came another round of laughter, sharper, crueler. My immediate younger brother, Ares, leaned forward, smirking, his voice cutting like broken glass.
"Why is our guest not speaking, Ethan. Or is your mortal too scared to use her tongue? Tell us, human girl, do you even know where you are? Do you even know who sits beside you?"
My cousin, Leonidas, snorted, eyes glinting. "If she can't keep up, then she's already out of place."
Ella, my youngest brother Zephyr's Luna, laughed, and her laughter dripped over it like honey gone sour. "Hush. Don't frighten her. The poor thing is already shaking. Look at her—like a lamb brought to the slaughter."
The word—slaughter—hit too close to truth.
I clenched my left fist under the table, nails digging into my palm until I smelled blood. My vision burned red at the edges.
And then I heard it again.
Her laugh.
My brother's sneer.
The cousin's jeering.
My hand tightened around hers. I felt the urge crawl up my throat, hot and uncontrollable. I had kept silent for too long.
"Enough."
The word tore free, raw and loud, echoing off the walls like a blow. The hall shuddered into silence. Even the chandeliers above seemed to sway in the echo.
Every head turned toward me.
Soraya's wide eyes. My brothers' mocking grins, frozen mid-laugh. My cousin's narrowed gaze. The Luna's arched brow. And my father—always my father—still, watchful, waiting.
I shoved my chair back and rose. My hand pulled Soraya's with me, firmer now, more command than request. "Stand," I told her. "We're leaving."
Her chair scraped against the stone as she obeyed, silent but trusting, eyes locked on me like I was the only anchor she had.
I turned for the doors, dragging her with me.
"Ethan."
My father's voice stopped me cold. It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. His words carried more weight than a blade to the throat.
"If you walk out of this hall, you forfeit the throne. You are no son of mine. And you will never return."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Every eye in the room burned into my back. Soraya's pulse thrummed quick beneath my grip.
For a moment, I imagined it.
I imagined turning my head and saying, Keep your throne.
I imagined shoving the doors open, the night swallowing us as I dragged her away from this cursed place.
I imagined choosing her—not the kingdom, not the bloodline. Not Lila. Just her.
For a heartbeat, it felt real.
Her hand in mine. My father's voice fading behind us. Freedom.
Then the vision snapped apart like glass under a hammer.
I was still seated at the table.
Her hand still wrapped around mine.
My father had not spoken.
The mocking laughter of my brothers and cousin still rang in my ears.
I hadn't stood. I hadn't shouted. I hadn't defied him.
It was all in my head. A dream of rebellion I didn't have the power to make real.
I sat in silence again.
And the weight of the truth settled heavier than ever.
The throne, their mockery, my father's power—I could bear it all. I had borne it for years.
But Soraya?
The task?
The thought of raising my hand against her, of spilling her blood in three days' time—that was the one weight I couldn't carry.
Not because I had known her long.
Not because love had already bloomed.
But because she was light. And I had lived too long in darkness to snuff that out.
And because she trusted me. Even here. Even now. Even as she must have realized none of us were human.
And she still hadn't let go.
Maybe she thought I was her safety.
Maybe she thought I was her shield.
But she didn't know I was the blade meant to cut her down.
I never wanted to be her blade.
Not when her hand fit so naturally into mine. Not when she looked at me like I was the one steady thing in a room full of wolves.
But I really love Lila.
I'd always loved Lila. She was the mate fate had given me, the perfect Luna for the heir of Silverfang. Everything about her had been carved into my destiny—strength, beauty, the kind of grace that silenced a room. She was everything my father wanted in a queen, everything the pack expected of me.
But the curse stole her from me.
No bond. No fire. Only silence where fate should've tied us together. She was mine, yet not mine at all.
And then there was Soraya.
At first, I thought she was fate's mercy. Fragile, human, but placed in my path like a door cracked open when another slammed shut. If not Lila, then maybe her. If not bond, then chance.
But here, with her hand warming mine, I understand.
She is not the door.
She is the cost.
Not an option. Not a blessing. A sacrifice.
She was the blood fate wanted spilled so that maybe—just maybe—I could claw my way back to Lila.
And that was the cruelest part.
Because I could almost accept losing the throne. I could endure my father's wrath, even betray my pack's legacy. But the thought of never breaking the curse, of never feeling that bond with Lila, of watching her slip away while Soraya's trust chained me here… that was what tore me apart.
Soraya was never supposed to matter.
But she did.
And for the first time in my life, I didn't know whether fate was offering me a path—or laughing as it led me to ruin.