Chapter 129 Health wing

Chapter 129 Return
ZEPHYRA’S POV
"The weather is too cold for you and the babies, Zephyra," my brother repeats for the fourth time, his voice a low rumble of protective anxiety.
"Their father is out there fighting for his life in that cold, Ronah," I retort, my voice steady despite the tremor in my soul. I give him the same reply I’ve given him three times already.
I am waiting in the grand courtyard of the palace, the stone beneath my feet biting through the soles of my shoes. My hands are clasped tightly over my stomach, an instinctive shield for the two tiny lives shifting within me.
Ten guards are stationed at each side of me, their armor rattling in the biting morning wind, their eyes scanning the horizon for the first sign of movement.
"He'll be fine, daughter-in-law," my father-in-law says, standing nearby with his arms crossed. The words are meant to be a balm, but they pass by me like smoke.

Cat returned over twenty minutes ago. She dissolved into blue mist, her form fading into the ether, but the psychic echo of her triumph remains. She told me he was fine. The Wolf Goddess, whose presence still hums in the static of the air, echoed the sentiment. But if he is fine... why is the courtyard still empty? Why is my husband not back?
The bond flickers—a steady, golden thread connecting our hearts—so I know he is alive. But I am haunted by the fragility of that thread. What if he can’t walk again? What if he’s blinded? What if he’s been maimed?

"No. Evander is fine," I murmur to myself, a desperate mantra.
"So we have been telling you," my father-in-law adds, a small, tired smile on his face.
He means it as a joke, a way to lighten the suffocating tension, but I cannot find humor in anything. Not while the world feels like it’s balanced on the edge of a blade.
Then, the silence is broken.
A loud, guttural roar of an engine echoes from within the gates, followed by the grinding moan of heavy iron. The palace gates groan open at the first gray light of dawn. I don’t care about the cameras, the rows of guards, or the stifling, rigid dignity expected of a Queen.
The transport truck pulls in, mud-splattered, bullet-riddled, and battered beyond recognition.
I don’t wait for them to finish parking. I sprint toward it. My feet are heavy, my breath coming in jagged, painful gasps as the weight of my belly protests the exertion.
"Your Majesty!"
"Zephyra, the babies!"
"Do not injure yourself!"
The guards, my father-in-law, and Ronah all cry out, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of alarm, but I don’t listen. I am a force of nature, driven by a love that defies logic. I’m not halfway to the vehicle when the door flies open.
Evander steps out.
I don’t see the pack, or the guards, or the rescued children behind him. I see only him.
His tactical shirt is shredded, hanging in ribbons around his waist, and his olive skin is a canvas of bruises and crusted blood. He looks at me, his golden eyes widening in disbelieving shock, as if he expected to find me anywhere but charging toward him.
I don’t speak. I simply throw myself at him, crashing into his chest with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs.
"Little wolf," he gasps, his arms instinctively folding around me. He holds me close to his chest with one hand, the other tangling into my hair.
I bury my face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of him—smoke, blood, and the unmistakable, intoxicating musk of his wolf. I begin to sob. It isn’t a cry of pain; it is the terrifying, visceral realization of how close I came to losing my entire world.

"I'm fine, little wolf," he rasps, his hand fisting in the fabric of my robe as he squeezes me.
He freezes for a second, then his massive, blood-stained arms wrap around me, pulling me so tight I can barely draw a full breath.
He buries his face in my hair, his body trembling, not from weakness, but from the raw, overwhelming intensity of being alive.
"You came," he whispers, his voice a broken, jagged thing.
"Cat came to save us," I sob.
"I told you," I whisper, clutching his jacket like it’s the only anchor in a storm.
"I will never let you go. Not while I still breathe."
He cups my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spill over my lashes. I look at his blood-stained forehead, the jagged mark across his brow, and the tears begin again.
He doesn't wait for a formal setting; he leans down and kisses me. It is a desperate, messy, life-affirming kiss that tastes of victory and survival.
It is a promise written in the center of the courtyard, in front of his father, my brother, and the weary, broken soldiers.
"I’m home," he murmurs, his forehead resting against mine.
"I’m finally home."
I look back at the truck. Naville is there, leaning heavily against the frame, with Ronah right by her side. I look at her, then my brother, then back to the scene of our reunion.
"Glad to know you finally see us," Naville makes a dry jest, though her eyes are soft.
I smile, a teary, fractured thing. "I... sorry. How do you feel?"
Evander pulls me tighter to his side, his large hand resting firmly on the side of my heavy stomach, as if he needs to feel the life within me to believe it exists.
"I feel like death," Naville admits, her voice raspy.
"Sorry," I whisper.
"Why are you making my wife apologize!" Evander snaps, a flicker of his Alpha possessiveness returning.
Naville looks between the both of us and rolls her eyes. "I'm not interested in this." She turns and walks away toward the barracks, Ronah right behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

I look around, my heart sinking at the sight of the men. Some of the soldiers are limping; others are being carried.
"Kade!" I call out, detaching myself from Evander. I move toward him. He is drenched in blood, his movements stiff and agonizing.
"Her Majesty," Kade murmurs, trying to bow, but he stumbles.
"Oh, Goddess. You all are badly hurt," I say, my voice trembling. I walk toward them, touching the bandages on their wounds. They are deep-jagged tears that look like they were carved by monsters.

"We're fine, Your Majesty," one of the younger wolves says. His hair is matted with grime, catching the rising sun, revealing a horrific, gaping wound on his scalp.
"You're not fine," I say, my voice hardening with regal authority.
"You look like you’ve been through hell."
"We'll survive, Your Highness," another soldier wheezes.
"Guard!" I echo, and over ten palace guards move toward me instantly.
"Help them to the health wing. Get the doctors to treat them. Every doctor, including the Royal physicians. I want them all there."
"Yes, Your Highness!"
"Thank you, Your Highness," they chorus, their voices ragged.
"Get them and yourself treated, Kade. Your sister will panic if she sees you this way," I say, and Kade offers a strained, grateful smile before he nods and lets the guards lead him away.
I scan the yard and my gaze lands on a stoic, bleeding figure.
"Is that Alpha Fineasta?"
"Yes, I am, Your Majesty," he says, stepping forward.
I walk toward him, my posture regal despite my exhaustion. "
Alpha."
"Your Majesty."
"I wasn't expecting to see you here."
"He came. He fought with us," Evander clarifies beside me, his voice rough.
My eyes widen. He fought? I look back at him, noting the severity of the injuries he sustained.
"Thank you, Alpha."
"It's my duty to ensure the welfare of the people and the Palace," he says, his head bowed. I nod, choosing to believe him. His sense of duty toward the crown is, for once, something I can respect.
I look toward the remains of the vehicles far ahead, scorched and twisted. The war is far from over—I can feel it in the shifting, cold winds that blow off the northern mountains. But for this one, singular, golden moment, we are okay.
"Let's get you to the health wing, Alpha," I whisper to Evander. "Let’s get you home."