Aveloria didn't reach the kingdom's outer walls until dawn the next day. The journey back had been long and silent, the calm wind cutting against her cheeks like a reminder that reality waited at the end of every dream.
Lucien's warning replayed in her head: "The Wanderers are coming for you, Heiress." But not his words haunted her. It was his eyes, the heat in them when their lips met. Her heart had betrayed her, recognizing another bond where only one should have been.
Now four threads pulled at her, each one a pulse beneath her skin, each demanding space in her soul. It felt unnatural. Wrong. She had read the legends of those favored by the Moon Goddess, but none spoke of a heart divided like hers.
Four mates. It sounded like a blessing whispered through clenched teeth.
The castle loomed ahead, its towers shadowed in the dim light. The guards nodded as she passed, and she offered a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes. Her horse, damp with sweat and dirt, shifted beneath her. She could feel Galen's presence before she even reached her chambers.
He was waiting.
The faint glow of a lantern lit the corridor, painting the stone walls in gold. Galen stood beside her door, tall and composed, the faint scent of cedar and iron filling the space around him. His white shirt was half-unbuttoned, and his expression unreadable.
"Aveloria," he said softly, voice calm but edged with tension.
She froze. "You're awake."
"I never sleep when you disappear with a palace horse." His eyes flicked to the dirt on her riding clothes, the tired lines under her eyes. "Where were you?"
Aveloria looked away. "I just needed air."
"Air doesn't take you beyond the borders."
Her breath caught. "You tracked me?"
"I had to," he said. "When I realized which horse was missing, I knew you weren't just out for a ride."
There was no anger in his tone, but there was something heavier—concern, and underneath it, something she didn't dare name.
"I told you I can handle myself," she murmured.
"I know you can," Galen replied. "That's not what worries me."
He stepped closer, his gaze softening as he studied her face. "What happened out there?"
She wanted to lie, to bury it all and pretend she hadn't felt what she felt. But the lump rising in her throat betrayed her. The exhaustion, the guilt, the impossible weight of four bonds clawing inside her chest, it was too much.
"I can't," she whispered.
Galen's voice dropped. "Can't what?"
"I can't keep doing this." Her voice broke as she said it. "Every day, I wonder if the Goddess blessed or cursed me. Galen, more than one mate." Her eyes glistened, and she blinked quickly, but the tears still fell.
For a moment, the soldier in him vanished, replaced by something quieter, gentler. Without a word, Galen reached out, took her hand, and said, "Come with me."
He led her down the corridor, away from her chamber doors, past the rows of several guards on patrol. Down two flights of stairs and into a narrow passage hidden behind the old library's shelves. Aveloria followed in silence, with a clenched fist.
They emerged into a small, candlelit room carved into the stone. It was his private escape. Not his quarters, but something secret. The air reeked of smoke and old incense. Books lined the walls, and a single wooden table stood at the center, scattered with maps, blades, and a few wilted flowers pressed between pages.
She looked around, eyes widening slightly. "This place…"
"No one knows about it," he said. "Not even the council."
"Why show me?"
He met her gaze, voice low. "Because you look like you're about to fall apart."
That was all it took. The restraint she'd held onto since she left the mountain cracked open.
Aveloria sank into the nearest chair, her breath trembling. "I found another one," she whispered.
Galen's jaw tightened. "Another what?"
"Mate," she said, the word tasting like guilt. "A rogue. His name is Lucien."
For a moment, silence filled the room. Galen's eyes darkened, but his expression didn't shift. He strolled toward her, each step deliberate. "So another mate to three," he said finally. "The Moon's marked you four times."
She nodded weakly, tears welling again. "I don't understand why. What kind of goddess would do this?"
"The kind that knows strength needs breaking before it shines," he said quietly.
Aveloria shook her head. "It doesn't feel like strength. It feels like punishment. I don't even know who I am anymore."
Her voice cracked. "Every bond feels different, Marek's feels like command, Theron's like fire, Lucien's like chaos…and you—"
She stopped, unable to finish.
Galen crouched in front of her, his eyes steady on hers. "And me?"
"You're the calm after the storm," she whispered. "The one who doesn't demand anything from me."
He smiled, though sadness lingered in it. "Maybe that's because I learned long ago that love isn't something you take. It's something you guard."
Her breath hitched. "Maybe."
Galen hesitated, then said, "I've always been drawn to you, Aveloria. Even before I knew what you were. Even before the council whispered your name in fear."
Her eyes lifted to his. "Why?"
He tilted his head slightly. "Because you don't see power the way others do. You carry it like it's a burden. You try to save people who've already decided they're beyond saving."
She let out a trembling laugh. "That's not strength, Galen. That's foolishness."
"Maybe," he said. "But it's the kind of foolishness I'd follow into battle."
Her tears fell freely now. "You shouldn't say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because they make me want to believe you."
The air between them thickened not with lust, but with something more profound. Pain and comfort tangled, pulling them closer. Galen's eyes softened, his hand brushing a tear from her cheek with the back of his finger.
"I don't care about the Goddess's markings," he said softly. "If I could choose, I'd stand beside you not because of duty, but because of you."
Aveloria's breath trembled. "You shouldn't."
"I know," he said. "But I do."
Her eyes fell to the scar on his hand, which he'd earned protecting her at the border last winter. The memory hit her, sharp and sudden: his body shielding hers, his blood staining the snow.
"Why do you keep risking yourself for me?" she asked, voice breaking.
"Because loyalty isn't just duty," he said quietly. "It's love without asking for anything in return."
Something inside her cracked open, the fragile, human part she'd held together since rebirth. The tears came harder, shaking through her shoulders.
Galen didn't speak. He sat next to her and gathered her into his arms. The movement was gentle, almost hesitant, but once she leaned into him, he held her like he'd been waiting years for permission.
Her sobs were quiet, but they came in waves, all the fear, confusion, exhaustion spilling out into the hollow of his chest.
"It's too much," she whispered. "The whispers of impossible bonds, the expectations of being an heiress, the bonds…I can't breathe."
"I know," he murmured, his chin resting lightly atop her head. "You don't have to be strong right now. Not with me."
The words sank deep, quieting something restless in her. After a while, she pulled back, wiping her face with the back of her hand. His fingers brushed hers, steadying her.
"Galen…"
"Yes?"
"What if the Goddess made a mistake?"
He met her eyes, steady and sure. "Then we'll make it right, in our own way."
A silence settled again, but it wasn't hollow. It was intimate, full of shared breath and unsaid words—the kind of silence that only exists between two people who have seen each other at their most raw.
She could feel the pull again, faint but growing. Their bond awakened like a heartbeat she'd ignored for too long. It wasn't as fierce as Lucien's, nor as consuming as Marek's. It was steady. Real.
He must have felt it too, because his breath hitched slightly. "Aveloria…"
Aveloria looked at him, and for the first time, she saw not the soldier, not the Beta-to-be, not the protector, but the man—the one who had stood quietly in the shadows, watching her break yet never turning away.
"Galen, kiss me."
When his hand lifted to her face again, he hesitated. "Are you sure about this?" he asked softly.
Her lips trembled. "I don't know what's right anymore. But I know this feels real."
That was enough.
Galen leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, but she didn't. When their lips finally met, it wasn't desperate. It was gentle, like an unspoken promise. His kiss carried warmth, steadiness, and a wordless vow that whatever storms awaited, she wouldn't face them alone.
The longer the kiss, the more the world seemed to dissolve around them. His hands hovered near her waist, trembling with restraint. She moved swiftly, settling into his lap. Her hands slid up, tracing the tense lines of his shoulders, feeling the shiver that ran through him. When she reached the edge of his collar, her fingers hesitated only a second before ripping off the fabric. A touch on his bare skin spread warmth over his bare chest. He drew a sharp breath, half resistance, half surrender.
"No, we shouldn't." He murmured, though his voice sounded nothing like a command.
"Kiss me, Galen." She whispered back.
He did. This time, he deepened the kiss, and she melted into him, every inch of her drawn to the warmth he offered so freely.
Her lips found the sensitive spot in his neck, tasting the rush of his pulse. His jaw clenched as she pressed closer, slowly grinding her hips against him. Every breath he took trembled with the effort of control.
"Please, Galen." She was almost reaching for his belt when his hands caught her wrists, holding them still.
"Not like this, Lori." He whispered.
Her eyes met his, still dark with need. He was trembling, not from restraints but from wanting her too much. And somehow that restraint burned deeper than anything else.
"You don't want me?" She asked, tears clouded her vision.
"I do. But not this way." Then he kissed her again, pouring everything he refused to say into the kiss.
When they parted, she rested her forehead against his, breathing unsteadily.
"I shouldn't have done that," she whispered, sniffling.
"Maybe not," he said, brushing his thumb against her jaw. "But maybe it's what you needed."
Her eyes glistened. "And what about you?"
He smiled weakly, almost sadly. "I'll take whatever part of you I'm allowed to have. Even if it's just this moment."
The words sank into her chest like a quiet truth.
Aveloria slipped off his lap slowly, wiping her face. "Thank you," she said softly.
"For what?"
"For seeing me."
Galen's eyes lingered on her, heavy with something unspoken. "Always."
As she left the chamber and climbed the narrow passage back toward her room, her chest ached not from confusion but something more profound.
Four bonds. Four men. Four paths tangled by fate.
And somewhere deep inside, the whisper of her last dream still lingered, soft and merciless.
"Every choice will cost you something, my child." The voice whispered.
Aveloria pressed a trembling hand against her heart. She was beginning to believe it.