Chapter 95 The Silver Heir
The word hung in the humid air of the grove like a physical weight.
Princess.
Elara blinked, her pulse thundering against her ribs. Lyra had gone deathly silent, her internal presence vibrating with a strange, magnetic pull toward the man standing before them. Elara found her voice, though it was thin and sharp. "Lost princess? What the hell are you talking about?"
The mab stood up with a slow, feline grace. He was entirely unashamed of his nakedness, his pale skin marked by faint, silver-white scars that seemed to catch the morning light. Before Elara could process the shock or the embarrassment of her own exposed state, a sudden, heavy warmth enveloped her.
The scent of sandalwood and scorched rain slammed into her senses. Ronan was there, his presence a dark, suffocating wall of protection. He draped a heavy black cloak over her shoulders, his fingers grazing her collarbone with a possessive grip that felt like iron.
He didn't look at her. His obsidian eyes were locked on the man who had his gaze elsewhere, his jaw set in a line so tight it looked ready to crack. "You’re lucky you looked elsewhere," Ronan rasped, his voice vibrating with the Shadow King’s lethal edge. "Else I would have gouged out your eyes for even daring to glance her way."
Elara’s heart skipped a beat. A part of her wanted to shove him away as the sting of Pandora’s words was still fresh, but she stayed close to his heat.
She didn't know these white wolves, and the rogue was still twitching on the moss nearby.
“Why are you alone with them?” Ronan’s voice slashed through their mindlink, raw and panicked.
“I chased a rogue,” Elara snapped back, her mental tone icy. “He was about to attack me. These people saved me. Where were your 'eyes' then?”
Ronan’s gaze flickered to the matted, red-haired wolf on the ground. "A rogue?" He looked back at the man, who was now watching Elara with an expression of quiet, almost religious awe.
Ronan stepped fully in front of her, shielding her from view. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this was? Why didn't you reach out to me?”
Elara didn't answer. She pulled the cloak tighter, the fabric smelling of him, and stepped out from behind his shadow.
She needed to look this stranger in the eye. "Who are you? And what are you doing on Lycan land?"
"Like I said, I am here to retrieve our Princess," Caspian said simply. He placed a hand over his heart and bowed deeply. "I go by the name Caspian. I am the Beta of the White Wolf Clan. I mean no harm to you or your mate, Shadow King."
Ronan froze at the name. The White Wolf Clan was a legend. An ancient, reserved, and whispered to be extinct since the Great War. Even Fenrir stirred in Ronan’s chest, his shock masked by a low, rumbling hum.
"If you mean no harm," Ronan said, "why were you stalking her? Stalking my mate is an act of war. I could have you executed for trespassing."
Caspian chuckled, a soft, musical sound. "I apologize. It was not intentional. But ever since our oracle whispered that the Princess was in the East, we have spared no effort. We followed the scent of the moon."
"How are you so sure it’s me?" Elara asked, her eyes narrowing.
Caspian smiled, gesturing to her hair. "Only the White Wolf Clan carries the moon’s frost. It is our mark. Our blood."
"I could be using magic," Elara countered.
"Magic can deceive the eyes, but not the instinct," Caspian replied. "And I suspect your wolf has already welcomed us as kin."
Ronan turned to Elara, searching her face for a denial. She didn't give him one. Her silence was a confirmation. His jaw tightened; he wasn't ready to share her, especially not with a ghost clan from the histories.
"The Beta will stay behind as my guest," Ronan commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "The others will return to your clan and bring your Alpha to my palace. We will settle this formally, or not at all."
The other white wolves snarled, their hackles rising, but Fenrir let out a dominant growl that forced them to cower.
Caspian laughed again, unbothered. "Good to see my sister’s mate is so protective."
The world seemed to stop. "Sister?" Elara and Ronan whispered at the same time.
Caspian merely motioned for his men to depart. As they vanished into the trees, he looked at the rogue. "We should settle the trash first."
Ronan raised a hand, and two female Lycans—guards Elara hadn't even realized were following her—dropped from the canopy to subdue the rogue.
"Let’s head back," Elara whispered, the adrenaline fading and leaving a hollow ache in its place. "I’m starving."
The walk back to the palace was long and suffocating. Court officials stopped in their tracks as they entered the foyer, their eyes darting between Elara and Caspian.
The similarity in their silver hair was unmistakable, creating a ripple of whispers that followed them like a shadow.
Matthew met them near the grand staircase, his eyes wide as he took in the stranger. What is this? he mindlinked Ronan.
A ghost from the Great War, Ronan replied shortly. "Prepare the guest quarters in the West Wing, Matthew. Ensure he is well taken care of. And keep a guard on him."
Matthew nodded, leading Caspian away.
Elara saw Liora and Faye waiting by the pillars, their faces etched with worry. She started toward them, but before she could take two steps, Ronan’s arms were around her, lifting her in a bridal carry.
"Ronan! Put me down!" she hissed, her face burning as the maids bowed and whispered.
"No," he said, his voice a low vibration against her chest. He didn't stop until they were inside his private chambers, the heavy doors thudding shut behind them.
He set her down gently but didn't move away.
"Now. Explain what you meant by 'first lover' through the link."
Elara’s heart hammered. The jealousy she had tried to run from came roaring back. She folded her arms, looking away. "I don't know. Maybe you should ask the woman who doesn't faint when you mark her."
Ronan’s brows shot up in genuine confusion. "What woman? Elara, what are you talking about?"
"Maybe there's a lot you don't remember," she snapped. "Go meet her. I’m sure she’s much 'stronger' than a fragile Tribrid like me."
Ronan growled, the sound vibrating through the room. "Tell me what you mean."
Elara didn't answer. She gathered a spark of violet energy and zapped his hand, the small shock catching him off guard. She bolted for the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it before he could react.
Inside the suite, the Shadow King’s voice laughed in Ronan's head. “She’s jealous, you idiot. And she’s probably refer to Pandora.”
Ronan ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "I haven't touched another woman since I met her. Not even before."
Well, someone told her a different story.
A knock at the door signaled Liora and Faye. Ronan let them in, his face dark. "What did Pandora say to her?"
Faye explained the taunts in the hallway—how Pandora claimed she was his first, and how she mocked Elara for passing out. Ronan’s eyes turned obsidian. "Pandora," he breathed, the furniture in the room trembling with his rising fury.
He signaled for the girls to assist Elara with her bath before storming out to find Matthew.
In the corridor, Matthew caught him. "The Elders are pushing, Ronan. They want the Luna ceremony tonight. They’ve accepted her."
"I don't care about the Elders," Ronan snapped. "Things are complicated. That guest? He’s the Beta of the White Wolf Clan. He says he’s Elara’s brother."
Matthew froze. "The White Wolves? They’re supposed to be extinct. If they find out you’ve hurt her or that she’s been taunted by your old flames they’ll take her."
"No one takes her," Fenrir snarled.
"Then fix it," Matthew warned. "The Royal Dinner is in a couple of hours. You better make sure your future Luna doesn't want to burn the palace down before then."
Ronan exhaled, the weight of the crown feeling heavier than the stone walls of his kingdom. "Right. The dinner."