The Anchor

The Anchor
POV: Garrett

As we stood in the reception room just outside Lucien’s office, the silence felt heavier than the ornate stone walls surrounding us. The air was still, save for the faint ticking of a nearby clock and the whisper of parchment as Malinus organized his ledgers. But my attention was fixed entirely on Alexandra.

I could see it—the flicker of conflict across her face, subtle but unmistakable. Her expression shifted like a dancer caught between steps, torn between past and present, loyalty and longing. And though I tried to mask my own turmoil, the truth was no less tangled in my chest.

The moment Riley had uttered Rayla’s name, I’d felt it—the sharp twist low in my gut, the unspoken tension that settled over both of us like a fine mist. It wasn’t just Alexandra who struggled with ghosts. I did too. Rayla had been my first love, the first woman to ever look at me like I was more than the son of a Duke. That kind of bond doesn’t just fade because it’s inconvenient. Not for a lycan. Our instincts ran deeper than human logic—stronger, more primal.

And now she was with Lucien.

I didn’t let myself dwell on it often, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me. I’d wondered, more than once, if she had used her infamous charm to slide into Lucien’s heart the same way she’d once slipped into mine. The thought was maddening, like an itch beneath the skin I couldn’t quite reach.

I glanced at Alexandra again. She stood tall, composed on the outside, but I could feel her inner storm like it was my own. Maybe because it was. We were both caught in the same twisted web—bound by past loves while trying to build something real together. Were Lucien and Rayla going through the same thing right now? Did they speak about us the way we thought about them?

The bitterness of it all threatened to rise, but I pushed it down with a deep breath. I had made my choice. I loved Alexandra. Fiercely. Deeply. Enough to face the shadows of our pasts without running from them.

I cleared my throat, snapping myself back to the present before the silence could grow too strained.

“Please give His Majesty our kindest regards,” I said, my voice steady, though every syllable felt like a stone on my tongue.

Then, gently, I slipped my arm around Alexandra’s waist, needing to ground us both—to tether her to the present, to remind her that no matter what storm brewed between the past and future, we were still here. Together.

I wanted her to feel it—that anchor, that promise. Our love might’ve started from necessity, but to me, it was becoming something far more real. Something fierce and steady, if she’d only let it in. I knew she didn’t love me the way I loved her—not yet—but lately, I’d seen a shift. A softening in her gaze when she looked at me. The way her shoulders relaxed when I was near. The small, instinctive ways she leaned into me, as if her soul was learning to recognize mine.

Was she beginning to feel what I had long felt? Was this turning into more than just alliance and duty—was this becoming a future built on something deeper?

She looked up at me then, her eyes warm with gratitude, and a faint smile curved her lips. “Well, we must be going,” she said lightly, brushing her fingers against mine. “I, apparently, have a kingdom to run now.”

A quiet throat-clearing broke the moment. I turned, and there stood Teddy—Theodore Befent—hovering just inside the doorway, hope lighting his features as he looked at Alexandra like a man desperate to make a difference.

“Xan… I was wondering if you might need a capable scribe to assist you with the administrative things,” he began, his voice careful but eager. He shot a quick glance at Malinus, who raised an intrigued brow.

“Oh, not that I don’t enjoy working for His Majesty,” Teddy added hastily, “but I feel like I want to branch out—to take on a larger role in the realm. And I think… working with you could be immensely fulfilling. I may not be lycan, but neither are you, so…”

His voice trailed off, the unspoken words hanging in the air like fragile glass—half plea, half confession.

Jack stepped forward, his tone firm but thoughtful. “Regent, I do believe you’ll need a skilled scribe. And I’ll be serving as your advisor full-time, so I won’t be able to handle those tasks. Theodore Befent is a smart and capable young man. I believe he would serve you well in the areas you might not be able to oversee personally.”

Alexandra studied Teddy, then turned to Jack. After a brief moment, she nodded. “Alright, Teddy. I’ll bring it up with Lucien tomorrow when we meet. I won’t take a capable scribe from him unless he agrees.”

Teddy bowed with surprising formality, as though she were the Queen of Vellum herself. His reverence wasn’t lost on me—and it landed in my chest like a blow I didn’t expect. Instinctually, I pressed my hand to my chest as if this act would stop the subtle ache.

Because the truth was, if Alexandra hadn’t been sabotaged—if fate hadn’t meddled—she likely would’ve been Lucien’s fiancée right now. Not Rayla.

And I… I wouldn’t have known what it meant to fall in love with her. I wouldn’t have needed to move on. To tell myself that it was okay to love someone else. To build happiness in another direction. A direction that led me to Alexandra and her lovely presence.

Would I have fallen for her then?

Probably not. Because I never would’ve had the chance. Things likely would have been easier then. Simpler. Cleaner. But would it have been better?

That, I couldn’t say—not with any certainty. The past was a land of illusions, and the game of what ifs was a seductive lie I couldn’t afford to entertain. It did nothing but churn regret into longing, and longing into grief.

I closed my eyes, drawing in a slow breath to steady the storm inside my chest. Then I laced my fingers through hers—tightly, deliberately—and turned toward the door.

“I fear I must get my wife to Chalshin Manor,” I said aloud, my voice calm and sure, “so we can meet with her council now.”

She blinked up at me, startled. I could feel her confusion in the quick hitch of her breath, the tiny furrow in her brow. But after a second, realization dawned in her eyes. She saw the lie for what it was—a lifeline.

“Right,” she said quickly, her voice catching just slightly. “We need to go.”

Without another word, she followed me. We walked briskly down the corridor, the silence between us now something different—shared, unified, almost sacred. I held her hand tightly in mine, not just for her sake, but for mine. Because if I didn’t, I might look back… and I couldn’t afford to look back.

But fate, in its usual cruel design, wasn’t finished with us.

The sight that greeted us outside the castle doors made me stop short, a quiet curse slipping from between my teeth.

The royal carriage of the King of Vellum had just crested the main road, its crest gleaming in the golden light like some mocking omen. The horses were sleek and regal, the guards crisp and watchful—every inch of it unmistakable.

Lucien had returned.

Beside me, Alexandra tensed, her grip tightening as if she could will herself to vanish into the stones beneath our feet. Her next breath trembled, the sound barely audible.

“Do you think it’s possible to slip away unseen?” she whispered, her voice fragile with dread.

I didn’t answer immediately. I looked at her—the woman who had fought through betrayal, who had been denied her rightful place and who now stood with a kingdom at her feet that she had to help rebuild practically from scratch. Her beauty, her strength, her pain… no, there was no slipping away. Not for her. Not now. Not ever.

I shook my head slowly, my voice low and edged with reluctant honesty. “You are impossible not to notice, my love... especially to a man who loves you.”

The words stung as they left my lips. I hated saying them. Hated how true they were.

Because I wasn’t just talking about Lucien. I was talking about myself. About the part of me that ached every time Alexandra was near—the part that wanted nothing more than to reach out, pull her into my arms, and press my lips to hers until the world disappeared. That quiet craving never went away. It lived beneath my skin, curled tight around my ribs.

And I knew Lucien would feel it again too. That invisible thread. That pull.

Even though he shouldn’t. Even though he couldn’t.

Because she was mine now.

And I would fight like hell to keep her.

Then the sound shattered the stillness—laughter. Warm, flirtatious laughter. A man and a woman, caught in a moment they didn’t know would cost them.

We both froze.

The door of the royal carriage swung open with elegant force, and Lucien stepped out, his face turned over his shoulder as he looked back into the carriage, grinning.

“Who knew you were so funny, Lucien?” came the voice, honeyed and bright. “I enjoy spending time with you.”

Rayla.

Alexandra’s breath hitched, sharp and unguarded, the sound of it cutting through me like a blade. I turned toward her, torn from Rayla’s glowing presence just in time to catch the crack forming in my wife’s carefully constructed mask.

She looked stricken.

Lucien helped Rayla down, his hand lingering at her waist in a way that made my jaw tighten. His smile, so effortlessly bright, faltered the second he saw Alexandra. That moment—barely a blink—spoke volumes. His whole posture shifted. I knew the look in his eyes too well.

Because I had worn it.

Dread.

The kind of dread that comes when the very air shifts around you. When the one person who knows your soul walks back into the light, and you realize they’ve seen everything—the good, the foolish, the parts you wanted to hide.

I could see in his face at that moment that he thought he was going to lose Alexandra. His face went pale at the thought. Behind him, the ashy blonde woman stepped out of his shadow to look at what caused him to stop his laughter and stop in his tracks. 

My attention flicked to Rayla, whose expression hadn’t faltered. No—she was beaming. Her crystalline eyes locked on me with unmistakable delight. She was looking at me as if I hadn’t told her to move on and as if I wasn’t a married man.

“Garrett, my love!” she sang out like a woman reclaiming territory.

Before I could react, she rushed forward, her arms flung around me with practiced ease. The contact was warm, familiar—and completely unwanted. I didn’t move to return the embrace, but it was too late. Her voice rang through the courtyard like a chime, victorious and dangerous all at once.

Out of the corner of my eye, Alexandra flinched. Subtle. Controlled. But I saw it. Felt it. That tiny, involuntary recoil as if Rayla’s touch had scorched her, as if every second it lingered was a declaration of war.

I met Alexandra’s gaze—and in it, I saw the storm. The battle she fought not to rip Rayla off of me and unleash every sharp word she’d buried for too long.

And I realized then that whatever she felt for me, it wasn’t apathy.

It was fire, the passion that burns whenever someone touches something that belongs to you. I know that feeling all too well since I felt that way whenever Alexandra was around Lucien. Her jaw clenched and her fists curled up. 

It was a bright hot fire and it burned for me.