Chapter 39 CHAPTER 40
Elowen had always trusted the bond.
Not blindly—she was not naïve—but deeply. It had been her anchor from the moment it snapped into place, raw and undeniable. Even when fear lingered, even when the weight of becoming Luna pressed down on her ribs, the bond had been steady. A quiet promise.
You are not alone.
Lately, it had changed.
Not weakened—not yet—but muted, like a voice speaking through layers of cloth. Present, but careful. Measured.
As if listening more than answering.
She sat at her desk long after the moon had climbed, staring at reports she’d already memorized. The candles burned low. Darius had not come to bed yet.
Again.
She told herself it was nothing. Leadership demanded nights like these. She had known that when she accepted him. When she accepted the pack. When she accepted the bond.
But knowing did not stop the ache.
Earlier that day, she had stood beside him in the hall as he spoke with Seraphine.
Not intruding. Not interrupting.
Just… observing.
Seraphine listened with an ease Elowen had not seen in anyone else. She didn’t lean in. Didn’t touch. Didn’t seek reassurance. She simply understood. Anticipated pauses. Offered insight without instruction.
Darius had laughed—softly, surprised.
Elowen couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard that sound.
It wasn’t jealousy that bloomed in her chest.
It was something worse.
Comparison.
“You’ve been quiet,” Mira said later, walking with her through the outer gardens.
“I’m fine,” Elowen replied automatically.
Mira stopped. “You’re never ‘fine’ without meaning something else.”
Elowen smiled faintly. “I’m just… adjusting.”
“To what?”
Elowen hesitated. “To not being needed in the same way.”
Mira frowned. “That doesn’t sound like adjustment. That sounds like grief.”
Elowen said nothing.
Because grief implied loss.
And she wasn’t ready to name it that.
That evening, Darius finally returned to their chambers, exhaustion etched into his face.
“Elowen,” he said softly. “You’re still awake.”
“I was waiting,” she replied.
Guilt flickered across his expression. “I’m sorry. Seraphine brought something to my attention regarding the border—”
She nodded immediately. “I know.”
He blinked. “You do?”
“She mentioned it at supper.”
A pause.
“I meant to tell you myself,” he said again.
“I know,” she repeated. And she did.
That was the problem.
They lay together, the space between them filled with silence that wasn’t empty—but strained. Darius reached for her hand after a while. She let him take it.
The bond stirred.
But it did not surge.
“Elowen,” he murmured. “Have I been failing you?”
The question was earnest. Vulnerable.
Her first instinct was to say yes.
Her second was to protect him.
Her third—quiet, newly learned—was to question herself.
“I don’t know,” she said instead.
He turned toward her. “I want to do better.”
“I know,” she said softly.
“But?”
She hesitated. “But I’m starting to wonder if I’m asking for something you can’t give.”
His brow furrowed. “Why would you think that?”
She thought of Seraphine—calm, capable, undemanding.
“I think,” Elowen said slowly, “that you carry so much already. And maybe… needing emotional presence on top of that is unfair.”
The words tasted wrong as she spoke them.
But Darius exhaled, relief loosening his shoulders.
“I worry about that too,” he admitted. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
Her heart twisted.
I am already disappointed, she thought.
But she smiled. “Then maybe we both need to adjust our expectations.”
The bond shivered.
Seraphine heard about the conversation the next morning.
Not directly.
She noticed the shift instead.
Elowen no longer sought Darius out during the day. She no longer waited for him in doorways. She fulfilled her duties efficiently, independently, quietly.
She stopped asking.
And Darius—unaware—began to feel less pressure. Less guilt.
Which frightened him.
But fear without a name rarely inspires action.
Seraphine found Elowen again two days later.
This time, she brought tea.
“I hope this isn’t inappropriate,” she said gently. “But you looked tired.”
Elowen accepted the cup. “Thank you.”
They sat together, silence stretching.
“I admire you,” Seraphine said suddenly.
Elowen looked up, startled.
“You carry the pack with grace,” Seraphine continued. “And you love Darius deeply. That much is obvious.”
Elowen swallowed. “I try.”
“That’s just it,” Seraphine said softly. “You try so hard.”
Elowen stiffened. “Is that a flaw?”
“No,” Seraphine said quickly. “It’s a strength. But it can also be exhausting.”
She hesitated, then added, “Especially when the one you love doesn’t realize how much effort it takes.”
Elowen stared into her tea.
“I don’t blame him,” Elowen said quietly. “He’s doing his best.”
“I know,” Seraphine replied. “But sometimes, doing your best still isn’t enough to meet someone halfway.”
She let the words linger.
Not he isn’t enough.
Just… the effort isn’t equal.
That night, Elowen stood alone on the balcony, the wind threading through her hair.
The bond pulsed faintly.
She reached for it—and stopped.
For the first time, she wondered what would happen if she didn’t.
Darius noticed the difference three days later.
Not because Elowen was cold.
Because she was… serene.
She smiled when he entered rooms. Kissed his cheek. Spoke kindly.
But she no longer leaned into him unconsciously.
She no longer reached across the bond when he was distant.
She was meeting him where he was.
And the bond—sensitive, responsive—began to mirror that distance.
He woke one morning with a sharp ache in his chest, breath catching.
“Elowen?” he whispered.
She stirred. “Yes?”
The bond answered—but weakly.
Fear surged.
Seraphine watched it all unfold with meticulous calm.
She did not celebrate.
She did not rush.
She knew better.
Because the most devastating wedge was not conflict.
It was the moment both sides believed they were the problem.
And that moment had already arrived.