Mateo's POV
The Royal Wolf Palace was never merely a royal residence.
It was a declaration.
It did not only proclaim who ruled here—but also who did not.
The palace did not invite. It judged. Anyone who crossed its threshold had to understand that in this space, every step mattered, every breath left a trace. The walls remembered—not only glory, but betrayal, blood, and promises silenced too early.
This was the place where the crown was not a gift, but a burden.
Built into the mountain ridge, the palace's white stone walls blazed under the sun by day, while at night golden runes pulsed along the surface, as if the mountain itself were breathing. Ancient—older than any living wolf—yet perfectly attuned to the present. Glass, steel, and marble stood shoulder to shoulder with laws older than memory.
This was where I would soon become king.
And that thought never left me.
It didn't shout. It didn't demand.
It simply existed—constant, like a shadow that follows even when you don't look back. I knew the throne never asked whether you were ready. It simply took. Time. Freedom. Choice. And perhaps… myself.
The red Maserati glided silently along the mountain road. The engine's low purr wasn't ostentatious—just like the one driving it. One hand rested loosely on the wheel, my eyes fixed on the winding path ahead.
"You're too tense," Damon said inside my head.
His voice was calm, timeless. Not judgmental—just observant.
"It's not tension," I replied. "More like… anticipation."
"The throne doesn't anticipate," the wolf answered. "People do."
A faint smile touched my lips.
"That's exactly the problem."
The mountains' silence wrapped around the car, as if the world were holding its breath for a moment. I loved this road. Here, I wasn't a king yet—just a man who knew where he was going… though not entirely sure he wanted to arrive.
The Royal Wolf court was crowded with people—wolves, advisors, diplomats. They all wanted something from me. Decisions. Favor. Promises. And, of course… marriage.
The list was long. Too long. Daughters of noble families, impeccably raised, flawless bloodlines. Each prepared to become queen.
Their smiles were practiced. Calculation lingered in their eyes, grace learned and perfected in every movement. I'd seen them at balls, receptions, after council sessions—and none of them looked at me as if they saw a man.
Only the crown.
"None of them are who you're looking for," Damon noted.
"Because I'm not looking for a title," I replied quietly. "I'm looking for someone beside whom… I don't have to rule."
Damon didn't answer immediately. He was an ancient soul—had watched kings rise and fall.
"That kind of bond is rare," he finally said. "And it often isn't born where you expect."
The Maserati slowed, then stopped at the gates of the Summer Palace. This place was different from the Northern Palace. Lighter. Brighter. My mother lived here—the queen who had surrendered power, but never influence.
I entered through the garden. Sunlight shimmered on marble benches, fountain droplets danced in the air. Scents of flowers, sea breeze, freshly cut grass blended together, and I felt the calm that existed only here, near my mother. I didn't come often—time always pulled me away—but when I did, I treasured every moment.
She sat on the terrace in a light blue dress, her hair loose over her shoulders. When she saw me, she rose and hurried forward with a wide smile.
"Mateo! I'm so glad you're finally here!" she exclaimed warmly. "I was beginning to think I'd only see the palace glow in fairy tales."
"Mother… I'm glad to see you too. I know I don't come often. Summer belongs to you. Everything else to me."
She waved it away. "I know your duties. But for a moment, you can just be here. In the garden. With me."
I sat beside her, watching sunlight dance across the water. For a heartbeat, obligation, politics, borders—all faded.
"And tell me, Mateo," she began softly, as if afraid to disturb the peace, "how are things in the city? The guards? And Damon… always with you?"
I smiled at the name. "Yes. Always. And the city is stable. But we'll talk politics later. Right now… it's just you and me."
She touched my arm gently. "You know you'll always find refuge here. Not everything must belong to the throne. I'll always wait for you—no matter how long the road."
I nodded, then leaned on the terrace railing, gazing toward the mountains and the distant city.
"I came here to remind myself," I said quietly, "that there's a world not built on commands and duty."
"And perhaps," she added, lightly tapping my shoulder, "one day you'll have time to love life—not just the throne."
I smiled, warmth and faint unease stirring together. I knew fate wouldn't let me stay long—but I was grateful to pause.
"For a moment," I said. "I'll stay. Enjoy the sunlight, the scent of the wind… and your company."
She laughed, and together we watched the sun paint gold across the garden, as if the world itself were smiling at us.
We walked the paths slowly, aimlessly. White flowers lined the way, their scent gentle, never demanding. I plucked a petal, rolling it between my fingers.
"You know," my mother said, glancing sideways, "the ladies of the court are already betting on when they'll finally see you holding someone's hand."
I laughed—genuinely, without royal restraint.
"I hope not for large sums. I'd hate to bankrupt the palace."
"Oh, quite the opposite," she smiled. "They're convinced you'll walk in one day and say, 'Mother, I've found her.'"
"And do you think that's how it will happen?" I asked.
She shrugged. "I don't know. But certainly not at balls, lists, or diplomatic dinners."
"Sometimes I envy Damon's simplicity," I said. "He doesn't weigh or bargain. If he feels something, he knows."
"You're not as complicated as you think," she replied, playfully nudging me. "You just take the world too seriously."
"Someone has to," I smiled.
A bird burst from the bushes, and my gaze followed instinctively.
"If you weren't a prince," she asked softly, "what would you do?"
I hesitated.
"I'd travel," I said at last. "See the world beyond borders. Places where no one knows who I am."
"Then perhaps you would've already found what you're searching for."
To me, travel didn't mean adventure—it meant disappearance. A world without rank, without measured steps, where a scent or glance carried no political consequence. Just… truth.
I wanted to reply, but the communicator on my wrist vibrated softly. My smile vanished.
My mother noticed immediately.
"Go," she said gently. "The world never waits."
"I'll return," I promised. "As soon as I can."
"You always say that," she laughed. "And I always believe you."
I headed back to the car. The garden held the echo of our laughter for a long time, as if summer itself were trying to keep me.
But fate was already calling.
Niccolò's call—I answered immediately.
"Speak."
His voice was tense but disciplined. Typical beta. No panic. No drama.
"Your Highness. Reporting from the Northern Palace. An unauthorized border crossing occurred in the western sector."
My gaze darkened.
"Who?"
"A woman," Niccolò replied. "With a wolf. The guard apprehended her. The incident… is unusual."
"How so?" I asked sharply.
A brief pause.
"Her tracks don't indicate where she came from. It's as if they were intentionally misleading. Her wolf is highly disciplined—not feral, not stray. Exceptionally strong and fast. The guard believed they were chasing a male until capture."
Damon stiffened.
"That's interesting," he murmured.
"Where are you now?" I asked.
"The subject is held in the lower wing of the main palace. Unconscious. I'm remaining at the Northern Palace as requested, monitoring the council's reaction."
"Good. Keep everything contained. No one knows more than necessary."
"Understood, Your Highness."
The line went dead.
I accelerated. The red Maserati surged forward, as if it sensed the urgency.
"Damon…" I began.
"I feel it," the wolf replied. "This soul… is not ordinary."
The main palace gates opened automatically. Guards saluted. The system recognized the car—and its owner.
I didn't wait for anyone to meet me. I headed straight for the lower wing.
With every step, the sensation intensified.
A scent. Faint, yet deep. Pain, strength, and something impossibly pure intertwined.
"Mateo," Damon said—uncertain for the first time. "This meeting… isn't coincidence."
I stopped before the door.
Inside lay someone who had crossed the Royal Wolf border.
And perhaps… the boundary of my life as well.
My heart beat slow and heavy—not from fear, but from the instinctive knowledge that some doors, once opened, cannot be closed by the same person who stood before them.
My hand closed around the handle.
And I opened the door.