The groom never shows up. Instead, his fiance receives a message at the altar. His first love needs him and he’s leaving to be with her. Princess Moira is abandoned in front of hundreds of witnesses and the peace treaty her marriage was meant to secure is about to collapse. Then someone stands up in the crowd.
The groom’s older brother. The Alpha King. The infamous playboy she’s spent years avoiding because the pull between them is dangerously irresistible. He walks toward her, looks her in the eyes and says five shocking words, “Marry me instead.” Chapter 1 The groom was late, almost half an hour late. Moira’s gown pulled behind her in a sweep of ivory silk as she kept her gaze fixed on the cathedral’s doors.
“He is simply delayed,” she kept telling herself. Jonan wouldn’t miss out on his own wedding. Not when the kingdom’s future and Moira’s father’s legacy and a political alliance was on the line. Her gaze moved across the cathedral again. It was not her fault that the sweep landed on Raylan. He sat in the front row to her right, precisely where an Alpha King was expected to sit, and he was already watching her.
She looked away immediately. He was the most powerful shifter ruler on the continent, brilliant and charming in equal measure, and her fiance’s brother. She had met him twice, but she had thought about him considerably more than twice. He was objectively unreasonably handsome. She had thought so four years ago and had spent considerable effort since then finding the thought inconvenient.
The scar through his left eyebrow, the jawline, the hazel eyes. He was a notorious playboy for a reason, and she was almost certain he was still watching her. The doors opened. She heard the footsteps before she let herself look. Too quick, not Jonan’s. A young messenger in royal livery hurried up the aisle.
“Your Highness,” he said. Moira felt her stomach drop. She knew before breaking the seal. She knew from the weight of the silence. “Lady Isolde has fallen gravely ill,” the letter announced. The priest read it for her out loud. “His Highness Prince Jonan has been summoned to her bedside and must attend to her immediately.” The cathedral ignited.
Moira felt heat climb the back of her neck. Isolde. Of course it was Isolde. Isolde, the first love. Isolde, who was dying. Isolde, who needed her fiance more than she did. Isolde, whose illnesses always arrived with impeccable timing. This was not the first time. Isolde had been gravely ill, or nearly gravely ill, no fewer than six times since the betrothal was announced.
“She is not well, Moira,” Jonan would say, eyes sad. “She needs me.” The priest turned to her. “Your Highness,” he said, “shall we postpone the ceremony?” Postpone? The word dropped into her like a stone into a wound. From somewhere behind her left shoulder came the voices of her father’s men, low and urgent.
“If the alliance collapses,” one of them said, “we lose the northern trade routes entirely.” She was about to tell the priest she required a moment when the energy in the cathedral changed before she understood why. Around her, the assembled crowd redirected their attention with the involuntary unanimity of a flock of birds catching a current.
Because the alpha king had risen from his seat, and somehow the entire cathedral was holding its breath. Wolf pack leaders dropped their gazes as he passed. Human envoys averted their eyes with instinctive deference. Rayland did not appear to notice any of this. He reached the altar steps and looked up at her. “Well,” he said, “this is It’s interesting ceremony so far.
” Moira stared at him. You are supposed to be seated, she pointed out. I was, Rayland replied. And then I thought someone ought to do something about this. He took a brief glance across the assembled crowd. Everyone seemed to be waiting, he added with a shrug. So, here I am. Your majesty, she said.
This is not the moment for Moira, he interrupted. Marry me instead. People gasped. You cannot be serious, Moira said. I am always serious, the corner of his mouth curved. I am simply serious in an entertaining way. Someone in the pews made a sound that was definitely almost a laugh. Your majesty, Moira said sternly. You are not known for your commitment to anything longer than approximately one season.
Something frustrated crossed his expression. Ah. Rayland pressed a hand to his chest with the gravity of a man receiving a minor wound. You have been paying attention. One does not need to pay attention to know, Moira shrugged. Your reputation precedes you considerably, your majesty. Most of my best qualities do.
He took one step up, closing the remaining distance between them, and lowered his voice so the words were only for her. I have a plan. She held his gaze. You do, she challenged. Of course, he smirked. His eyes were very direct when he chose to be, the hazel warm and steady. You, she said finally, cannot possibly want to marry someone you have spoken to twice.
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Three times, Rayland said. You forgot the dance. She had not forgotten the dance. I have not, she snapped, still reeling. You told me, with extraordinary audacity, that you believed I was your fated mate as a pickup line while you were drunk. Her brow arched. So, you will forgive me if I am not rushing to the altar.
He had the absolute nerve to look amused. You are already at the altar, he reminded her. The silence stretched between them, thin and charged. “You swear,” she said, and her voice came out stead.i.er than she felt it had any right to, “that this maintains the alliance between our kingdoms.” “On my crown,” Rayland said.
She held his gaze for one long moment and ran the rapid calculation of a woman who had spent her entire life balancing kingdoms on the point of a decision. Then she admitted to herself she had no other choice and turned to the priest. “Proceed,” she said. Rayland’s exhale was very quiet. She almost did not catch it.
Chapter 2 Moira had not planned for this. She had spent two years planning to be a princess consort. Now she was queen. She thought about Jonan. Or more precisely, how this was all Jonan’s fault. She’d trusted him. Been properly blindsided by his earnest eyes and how he spoke of duty and honor while apparently reserving the right to abandon her at the altar for his dying first love. She wanted him to suffer.
Wanted Jonan to look at her and realize what he’d lost. Across the ballroom, Rayland laughed at something Lord Varen said and her gaze caught on him without permission for the seventh time in 10 minutes. And then his eyes flicked up and found hers across the ballroom. Moira stood. The movement drew attention, but she ignored it and began the long walk across the ballroom toward her husband.
“Your majesty,” she greeted. “Your majesty,” Rayland returned and somehow made it sound like an entirely different thing. His eyes were warm, amused. “You look like you have something on your mind.” “Several things,” Moira said, “which we should discuss. Now.” “Now?” He tilted his head. “We’re at a party.” She was about to reply when he extended his hand. Dance with me first.
His fingers closed around hers, warm, certain. And she felt the contact travel up her arm. The musicians shifted smoothly into a waltz. His hand settled at her waist. What did you want to discuss? Not here, Moira said. Why not? He guided her through a turn. We’re alone in a room full of people. It’s very romantic. His scent reached her properly for the first time since the cathedral.
The full force of it up close. And her wolf went still. Reverent. She had never felt anything like it. Moira. Raylan’s voice, low and close. She realized she had stopped moving. Are you all right? Fine, she managed. I think we should discuss the parameters of our arrangement. Something flickered through his expression. You want to negotiate our wedding contract at our wedding? Well, ideally we would have discussed it before, Your Majesty.
Moira, he said. You’re my wife. I think we can dispense with the formality. Wife. The word landed on her like a weight. Fine, she said. Raylan, we He dipped her. Slow, controlled, deliberate. The room tilted. His face above hers, close enough that she could see the scar through his eyebrow. Then, before she could speak, he turned to the hall.
Thank you, Raylan said, his voice carrying effortlessly. For celebrating with us tonight. The crowd quieted immediately. It’s been a lovely evening. But I think it’s time my wife and I retired to bed for the night. The pause was deliberate. She felt it like a held breath. Don’t wait up, he added. The ballroom erupted.
Heat climbed her neck. She didn’t say anything about it. But on her way to his chambers, her mind kept replaying it. My wife and I are going to bed. She was intensely aware that everyone would assume they were going to consummate the marriage. But was this what Raylan assumed? She pictured his mouth, the weight of him above her, what he would look like with that careful control stripped away.
Heat flooded through her. “Here,” Raylan said. They had stopped in front of a heavy oak door, his chambers. He opened it, gestured her through with an easy courtesy that should have been normal and felt like an invitation to something else entirely. “So,” he said. Raylan leaned against the door, arms crossed loosely.
Her heart kicked. Was this it? Was he about to take her to bed and “You wanted to discuss the plan?” Raylan asked. His tone was carefully neutral in a way that made her suspect he was working very hard not to laugh. Oh. He wasn’t about to remove her dress. Relief and something that was absolutely not disappointment flooded through her.
“Yes,” Moira said. “I would like to understand the terms of our arrangement before things progress any further.” “Things?” Raylan repeated, pushing off the door with lazy grace. “What things?” “Our marriage.” “Mhm.” He poured two glasses of wine. “And what would you like to know?” She took the glass. “Why you did it.
” He tilted his head. “Did what?” “Married me,” Moira said. “When you could have offered any number of alternative solutions that didn’t involve binding yourself to a stranger.” Raylan took a sip of wine. “You needed a move,” he said finally. “I gave you one.” “That’s” She stopped. “That’s not an answer.” “It’s part of one.” Raylan smiled.
“And the other part?” His mouth curved. “I had a use for a wife, and you conveniently needed a husband. The timing worked. She frowned. You’re going to need to be more specific than that. He turned, leaning back against the window frame. What do you want out of this marriage? He asked.
The question caught her off guard. The alliance, political stability. Sure. Raylan waved his hand as though this was inconsequential. But what about Jonin? Her jaw tightened. What are you asking, your majesty? I’m asking, he said, meeting her gaze, if you’d like my brother back. She froze. She hadn’t considered that of all the reasons he would marry her, his own brother would come into play.
She kept her expression smooth and lied. No. Raylan’s eyes narrowed slightly. Try again. I don’t want him back, Moira said, but he did leave me at the altar in front of everyone who matters. She said nothing more. You want revenge, Raylan guessed. You want him to see what he lost. She lifted her chin.
And if I do? Raylan smiled. Then our interests align. She blinked. They do? He took a slow sip of wine. There’s someone at court, someone I want. A woman? Moira asked. You married me because you want another woman? Precisely. She decided I wasn’t capable of being serious about anything, he added, his tone light at odds with the tension in his shoulders.
She won’t be with me. I’d like her to reconsider. So you married me to make her jealous, Moira said. I married you, he corrected, to make both our exes extremely jealous while maintaining the political alliance your father needs. She stared at him. That’s brilliant, he supplied. Insane, Moira finished. The dimple appeared.
That too. Despite herself, despite everything, she felt her mouth want to curve. And if it works, if they come back? He shrugged, the movement easy. If Jonan wants you back, I’ll arrange a quiet annulment. You can marry him properly. Alliance holds either way. I’ll make sure of it. And if your lady wants you back? Then you stay queen, Raylan said simply.
I’ll be discreet. You won’t be bothered by it. Moira processed that. You’d take her as your mistress? I cannot marry her, Raylan said. She is not of sufficient standing. It should have made sense. Royal marriages had functioned on less honest terms for centuries. Something in her chest tightened anyway. Who is she? She asked.
Raylan looked at her for a long moment. Lady Jessa. Moira knew the name. Beautiful, sophisticated, had left court six months ago, reportedly to travel. You were involved with her, she said. Yes. And she left because she thought you weren’t serious? Moira pressed. She fled from you? While you sincerely love her? Raylan turned back to the window.
Do you know what it’s like, he said quietly, to be defined entirely by a mask you built to survive? Everyone decides what you are before you open your mouth. It doesn’t matter what you actually do or say or want. The mask is all they’re interested in. His hand tightened on his wine glass. And then someone comes along who you think might see past it.
And they decide His voice roughened. They decide the mask is all there is. That you’re not capable of anything real. Moira’s chest ached. So yes, Raylan said. I want her to understand she was wrong about me. That I am capable of commitment and devotion and all the things she decided I wasn’t. I wanted it to matter. The silence stretched between them.
“Fine,” Moira said. “I have conditions.” Rayland snorted. “Of course you do.” “The performance is for the public,” Moira said. “What we do behind closed doors is entirely separate. No consummation.” The sound Rayland made was half laugh, half snort, and entirely genuine. Her spine went rigid.
“Something funny?” “No,” he said quickly. “Then why did you laugh?” “I didn’t laugh. I made a noise,” Rayland said, clearly working very hard not to make another one. Heat climbed her neck. “I’m establishing boundaries.” “You’re establishing very clear boundaries,” he agreed. “Very firm ones about the thing we are absolutely, definitely not doing.
” “We’re not,” she confirmed firmly. “Understood.” He took a step closer. “No consummation. No mutual pleasure. No touching.” “Separate bedrooms, even.” He stopped directly in front of her. “Unless,” he said softly, and his eyes found hers, “you change your mind.” Her breath caught. Chapter 3 The problem with being queen, Moira discovered approximately 48 hours into the position, was that everyone was always looking.
Several hundred pairs of eyes following her like she was the most fascinating thing they had ever witnessed, and also possibly about to do something scandalous. Which, to be fair, she had two days ago, at an altar, in front of everyone who mattered. The reception was already in motion, music from the string quartet, candlelight catching on silk and silver.
She kept her expression serene and tried not to think about the fact that she’d been queen for two days and already felt like she was drowning. Rayland’s hand settled at her lower back. It felt like lightning. She kept her breathing even, making their exes jealous while maintaining the political alliance and salvaging her dignity.
That was the plan. His thumb brushed once against the base of her spine through the silk of her gown, and she shivered. “You look stunning,” Raylan murmured. His hand slid lower, still acceptable, but closer to improper. “I should be commended for my restraint.” “Your restraint,” Moira said, “is the least commendable thing about you.
” He laughed, quiet, genuine, vibrating through her in a way that was deeply inconvenient. Then he straightened, his hand leaving her back, and she felt the loss with an intensity that was entirely irrational. It didn’t mean anything. Raylan moved to work the room, and she watched him do it with the skill of someone born to it.
But sometimes, when he looked back at her, the practiced smile softened into something that looked almost genuine. She hated that she noticed the difference. Hated more that it mattered. “Your Majesty.” She turned. Jonan stood 3 ft away, hands clasped behind his back in the formal posture he defaulted to when uncomfortable.
The hot, complicated thing in her chest twisted immediately. There was hurt, raw and humiliating, the wound of someone who had promised partnership and abandoned her at the moment it mattered most. And now he was looking at her with that wounded expression, like she had done something wrong, while Isolda was on his arm.
Moira’s jaw tightened. She looked radiant. Not recovered from a deadly illness radiant, just radiant in the way beautiful women looked when they had gotten exactly what they wanted. “Sick and dying,” Moira thought. “I don’t think so.” “Lady Isolda,” Moira said, “I’m pleased your recovery was so swift.
” Isolda’s tightened at the edges. Your majesty is too kind. The healers worked miracles. Clearly, Moira said. Warmth pressed against her back, and she knew without looking that Raylan had returned. Brother, he said. Too pleasant. Lady Isolda. How delightful to see you both looking so well. Jonan’s jaw flexed. Brother, Jonan said stiffly.
I merely wish to speak with Moira about That’s her royal majesty to you, Raylan corrected softly. The silence that followed was exquisite. Jonan went pale. Something moved through his expression. Hurt, anger, humiliation. Quickly smoothed into careful blankness. Her royal majesty, Jonan repeated. The words sounded like they cost him something.
If you’ll excuse us, Raylan said, already turning, guiding Moira away. She let herself lean into him slightly. Just enough. Just for show. His hand tightened on her waist. I need air, she murmured sometime later. Raylan looked at her, sharp, assessing. You’re hoping my brother will follow you, he said. She stiffened, heat flooding her cheeks.
She didn’t like how guilty the observation made her feel. That was rather the point, wasn’t it? Jess is over there, she snapped, walking away. The night air was cool against her skin. She pressed her palms to the stone railing and tried to remember how to breathe normally. Behind her, the balcony door opened.
She didn’t turn, didn’t need to. She knew the cadence of those footsteps. My brother. Jonan’s voice was tight with disbelief. Really, Moira? You don’t even know him. She turned slowly. I know that he was there, Moira said. At the altar, on my wedding day. Which is more than I can say for you. Jonan clenched his jaw.
“There we go again,” he said in a tone that was attempting patience. “You refuse to consider what Isolda was going through.” “Isolda?” Moira interrupted, gesturing through the glass doors where the lady was spinning in the arms of some minor noble. “Seems to be having quite a lot of fun for someone who was at d.e.a.t.h ‘s door 2 days ago.
” “The illness has receded for now,” Jonan said. “That doesn’t mean it won’t return.” “The moment you start paying attention to another woman,” Moira finished. “Yes, I’m sure.” His eyes flashed. “I never knew you to be so heartless.” “Can’t you try to understand?” “If I’m heartless,” she said, moving toward the door, “then I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t get married, isn’t it?” His hand closed around her arm.
“Moira,” he pleaded. “I know for a fact you haven’t consummated your marriage with my brother.” She went very still. “You don’t smell like him,” Jonan continued. “Not the way you would if you had. There’s still time. We can fix this.” “Fix this?” she repeated. “An annulment,” he said quickly. “Before it’s too late.
You don’t know Raylan, not really. He’s volatile, fickle. You think he’ll love you, but he’ll grow bored.” “I’m perfectly aware,” Moira said carefully, “that he doesn’t love me.” Jonan blinked. “Then perhaps you think you’ll be immune to his charms. That he won’t hurt you.” His hand tightened on her arm. “But he will, Moira. Don’t let him use you like he’s used everyone else.
Not because of me.” Something in her chest went tight. Not because the words hurt, though they did, but because they rang true. “Right,” she said quietly. “Because he couldn’t possibly consider me a good queen in my own right.” Jonan’s expression shifted. “Moira, that’s not what I” He attempted. You’re right, she said, pulling free.
I don’t know him. But I know you, Jonan. And I know that you left me at an altar in front of everyone who mattered. And now you’re standing here acting like I’m the one who betrayed you. She turned and made it three steps into the ballroom before Warmth pressed against her back. Was he sufficiently miffed, my love? She went still.
She couldn’t see Raylan, could only feel his hands, his body close, his breath warm. That, she managed, remains to be seen. Something in his hold changed. Well, his voice came out too flat. Don’t divorce me too soon. I still need to show Jessa I can be serious. She turned to face him. He was holding a glass of amber liquor, his cheeks flushed, eyes bright, but slightly unfocused.
Try harder, she snapped. He stared at her, ran a hand through his hair. All right, he said. I’ll be very serious. He held out his hand. Dance with me. He drew her onto the floor with easy confidence. Won’t even think of joking, he said, mouth curved. You have my word. She rolled her eyes. I’d love to see it. The music shifted, something slow, and he pulled her closer.
You know, she said finally, needing to break the silence before it broke her, if Lady Jessa doesn’t like you the way you are, perhaps she isn’t the right lady for you. His expression shifted. She is right, he said, and the weight in his voice was enormous, certainty and longing and something that sounded like grief.
There could be no one else. There is only her. His tone made her breath catch. This wasn’t performance, she could tell. He loved Jessa, completely. I just need her to see me, Raylan murmured. Moira’s chest ached. She glanced toward Jessa, who was watching them with that knowing smile, amused. Annoyance flared.
Who did she think she was, dismissing the Alpha King like he was nothing? “We’ll make her see you,” Moira said, squeezing his hand. “I promise.” His scent changed, became quietly pleased, touched. “Thank you,” Raylan said softly. They stood there for one breath, two, his hand still at her waist, hers still in his, neither of them moving.
This was a performance, she reminded herself firmly. The music ended. Chapter 4 The first week of her marriage to Raylan was nothing like the two years of courtship with Jonan. Jonan had been proper, respectful, called her princess in that careful, dutiful tone. Raylan treated her like she was something he wanted to devour, and it was all performance.
She repeated this to herself approximately 40 times a day. “You’re overdoing it,” she protested during a dance when his hand had slipped lower. “No, I’m not.” His voice had gone husky. “They need to believe it.” “Believe what?” He pulled her closer. “That every touch,” Raylan said, his mouth very close to her ear, “every whisper, every moment in your presence is breathtaking.
” Her breath actually stopped. There was also the fact that Lady Jessa was always there. That was what made it worse. She attended every function looking elegant and amused and completely unbothered by the devoted husband act. She watched them with knowing eyes that made Moira deeply uncomfortable. “This is the plan,” Moira reminded herself.
He’s doing this for her. But when Raylan stepped away during the ball to speak with Jessa in private, something hot and irrational coiled in her stomach. “Your Majesty,” Jessa said to her pleasantly when they were eventually introduced. “I wanted to congratulate you on your marriage. Rayland’s smile was polite, practiced.
Moira watched for the dimple. Hated that she was looking for it. It didn’t appear. That night she dreamed of Rayland, his hands, his voice, his scent, the heat of his body against hers. She woke flushed and furious with herself. It’s just stress, the alpha effect, my wolf responding to a dominant male. That’s all.
Her wolf curled quiet in her chest. Late one night, 3 weeks into the marriage, Moira crossed paths with Rayland outside his study. She hadn’t expected to find him awake. Are you lurking in the dark, husband? I’m merely existing in the same realm as you, wife. Directly in my path? In your palace. She lifted her chin. It’s your palace.
And you’re my queen. His voice dropped slightly. That makes it ours. Her pulse kicked hard. You’re enjoying this. What if I am? She should leave. She stepped closer instead. You’re very good at it, she said. The devoted husband act. The court is certainly convinced, Rayland said. They think I’m besotted with you.
Rayland pushed off the door frame and suddenly the distance between them was much smaller. His hand slid to her neck, thumb resting against her pulse point. Tell me something, Moira. When I touch you like this, do you think about the performance? She couldn’t breathe. Don’t do that, she whispered. Do what? Rayland asked.
Look at me like that. He stepped even closer. Like what, Moira? Hearing her name said like that, rough, possessive, unsettled her more than any touch. She retreated. Good night, your majesty. Rayland didn’t move. His voice followed her, low and possessive. Good night, my queen. She walked back to her chambers quickly.
The next day, Moira woke with nausea. She sat up too quickly, pressing a hand to her mouth, forcing herself to breathe through the rising sickness. “Fetch the healer.” She gasped. The palace healer arrived within the hour. “Any dizziness? Sensitivity to scent?” The healer asked. Her stomach turned at the question.
The mention of scent making her suddenly aware of how everything smelled too strong lately. “Perhaps.” She admitted. The healer’s expression shifted in a way Moira immediately disliked. Understanding. Knowing. “Your cycle.” The healer said carefully. “When was it last regular?” Moira’s spine straightened.
“That is not your concern.” “It is if I’m to treat you, your majesty.” Her mind raced through the calendar. Working backward through state functions and wedding preparations. “Six weeks.” She whispered. The healer’s voice was gentle, but final. “Your majesty.” “You are with child.” “No.” Moira said. Yes, your majesty. The room tilted.
Six weeks pregnant. And this could only mean one thing. For her entire life, she had only been with one man. This was Ronan’s child. Chapter five. Moira had been sitting in her chambers for three hours. She was pregnant. Six weeks. Which meant in another few weeks, shifters would scent it. The hormonal changes. The new life.
She pressed her hands flat against her thighs and forced herself to keep thinking. She should have told Raylan. When they negotiated the contract, she had known there was a possibility. One drunken night at the engagement party didn’t guarantee pregnancy, but it didn’t rule it out either. And she had said nothing.
Stupid. So thoroughly, inexcusably stupid. He had been kind. Unexpectedly, consistently kind. He had married her when she had no other move, and she had been hiding this indiscretion the entire time. He would end the contract. He would be angry. He would be right to be angry. She found him in his study.
Maps spread across his desk, the unglamorous business of running a kingdom that he apparently conducted between bouts of being devastatingly charming. Moira. He was standing before she registered the movement. What’s wrong? She shook her head. Talk to me. He was in front of her, hands hovering. Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it.
She closed her eyes. Her vision was getting blurry. I’m pregnant, she said. Silence. His hand settled on her shoulder, tightened once. It’s Jonan’s, she explained, the words tumbling out. From before the wedding. The engagement party. We had wine. It was one time. Her voice cracked. I should have told you. I understand if you want to Moira.
She looked up. The child is royal, Rayland said. Warm, matter-of-fact. You’re my wife. I’ll claim it as mine. She stared. You don’t have to I know I don’t have to, Rayland said, no hesitation. I want to. But She paused, confused. How does this serve the plan? What does this do for Jessa? His mouth curved.
Not the practiced smile, something more genuine. If I’m claiming my wife’s child as my own, he said, Jessa’s going to have a hard time arguing I’m not serious about anything. Isn’t she? The relief was enormous. The terror she had carried for 3 hours suddenly lifted, leaving her shaking. “Come here.” Raylan said quietly. She collapsed against his chest.
His arms came around her, solid, warm, completely steady. He didn’t speak, just held her. The next morning, her things had been moved. Her clothes, her books, everything relocated to chambers adjoining Raylan’s, connected by an interior door currently standing open. She found him in the shared sitting area, reading correspondence.
“You moved my things.” Moira said. “Your rooms were too far.” Raylan replied. “Too far from what?” “From me.” He said with a patient look. Food started appearing, not generic meals. The particular bread that settled her stomach. Ginger tea at exactly the moment the nausea hit. After 3 days, she cornered him. “Have you been giving the kitchens instructions about what I eat?” He looked at her like she had asked why the sun rose.
“You’re pregnant. You need to eat specific things or you’ll be ill.” He replied. “I can manage my own.” Moira said. “You were managing it by not eating.” Matter-of-fact. “Now you’re eating actual food. Problem solved.” A week in, she figured out the scent marking. He touched her more than the performance required in private as well as public.
His hand at her back, her shoulder, her hair. Casual. Constant. He was hiding the pregnancy for her. And she hadn’t even needed to ask. He seemed to know before she said anything. When the nausea was bad, when she was tired, when court was too much, ginger tea appeared. Her schedule was quietly cleared. He sat with her in the evenings when she was too exhausted to perform and simply let her be tired.
He was kind, she realized, much more so than he let on. because he was taking care of a woman whose child wasn’t his. That afternoon, she made a decision. She needed to tell Jonan. He was the biological father. He had a right to know. And if he wanted her back, if he wanted to claim the child, Raylan would be free.
Could pursue Jessup properly. It was only fair. He was helping her. She would help him. She would find another solution but tell his brother about the child today. You’re tense. She looked up. Raylan was watching her from the doorway. “I’m fine,” she said. “You’re not.” He settled onto the sofa. “Come here.” “I don’t need,” she attempted.
His hands settled on her shoulders. Warm, certain, immediately finding the knots of tension. “You’re holding all your stress here,” he said quietly. His thumbs pressed into the base of her neck. Slow, deliberate, devastatingly effective. She melted, completely. “I should tell Jonan,” she thought. “Today. I have good reasons.
” His thumbs found the knot at the base of her skull, and her thoughts scattered like leaves. She’d tell Jonan tomorrow. That night, she couldn’t sleep. She lay in bed and listened through the walls. Silence. Complete silence. He wasn’t there. “He’s with her,” she thought. “He’s with Jessup.” She was out of bed before she made the conscious decision, crossing the sitting area, standing in front of his door, hand raised to knock.
It opened. Raylan stood there, slightly disheveled, shirt unlaced, looking confused and amused. “Moira?” Relief flooded through her so intensely it made her knees weak. “Moira?” he insisted. “What’s wrong?” His scent hit her properly. She realized she had grown addicted to this, to his scent, his touch, his presence.
“Hormones,” she told herself desperately. “Moira,” he said. “Talk to me.” She kissed him. Not a decision. Just movement. Her hands in his hair, her mouth on his, her body pressed against him with a desperation she couldn’t name. He made a sound. Surprise? Want? And then his hands were on her waist, pulling her closer, kissing her back with an intensity that made her forget why this was a bad idea.
His fingers tangled in her hair. She couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t breathe. “Moira.” Rough, strained. “Are you sure?” “Don’t talk,” she said. He kissed her again, and talking became impossible. He took her to his bed and worshipped her. There was no other word for it. His hands mapped every inch of her skin with reverent attention.
His mouth followed, slow, deliberate, like he had been waiting for this and refused to rush. “Beautiful,” he murmured against her collarbone. “So.” His hand slid down her side, and she arched into the touch with a sound she didn’t recognize as her own. When he finally moved over her, she felt something in her chest crack open.
The first slow slide of him inside her was perfect, devastating, like coming home and falling apart at the same time. He moved carefully, watching her face. One hand cradled her jaw while the other gripped her hip with possessive certainty. “Moira,” he breathed. Rough, reverent, weighted with things she couldn’t identify.
She wrapped her legs around him, and his control fractured. The careful worship became something desperate. His mouth on her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point, the rhythm that made her forget herself entirely. She came apart in his arms and he followed moments later burying his face in her neck. “Perfect.
” Rayland murmured pressing a kiss to her hair. “You’re perfect.” She wasn’t. She was a mess. She had just complicated everything impossibly. But his warmth surrounded her. His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear. She closed her eyes and let herself believe this was fine. Just for tonight. Chapter 6 Moira woke to warmth. For one perfect moment she didn’t think.
Just felt Rayland’s body behind her, his arm heavy and possessive around her waist, his breath stirring her hair. Safe. Held. Content in a way that went bone deep. Then her mind caught up. She was in his bed. They had slept together. She was pregnant with Jonan’s child, married to Rayland under a fake arrangement.
And she had just complicated everything impossibly. The walls slammed back into place with devastating efficiency. She sat up too quickly pulling the sheet to her chest as if fabric could rebuild the armor she had let him strip away. Behind her Rayland stirred. “It’s way too early to be getting up.” He murmured his hand finding her hip.
Warm, amused, rough with sleep. “Usually women leave after the breakfast. The breakfast is excellent.” Usually women. Because of course there had been others, many others. She was just another in a long line of conquests. “Well.” She said her voice dry and controlled. “That was “That was?” She could hear the smile in his voice.
She touched her temples. The strategic tick. “It was a mistake.” Moira said. The warmth behind her went very still. She pushed off the bed, retrieving her nightgown with shaking hands. “Pregnancy hormones,” she continued, sharp, disconcerted. “They’re intense.” She moved toward the door, not looking at him. “It doesn’t mean anything,” Moira said flatly.
She said it before he could. Because of course it wasn’t special to him. She was just another distraction in his campaign to win back Jessamine. “If you say so,” Raylan said finally. Flat. Neutral. She left before he could see how much that hurt. In the days that followed, Raylan remained polite, attentive, controlled.
But the warmth was muted. He no longer appeared each morning with ginger tea. Didn’t sit with her entire evenings. The distance was careful, deliberate, like he was giving her exactly what she had asked for. She told herself she should be relieved. It felt like losing something precious she hadn’t known she was allowed to want.
She decided he must regret what happened. Or worse, now that he’d slept with her, the challenge was gone. After all, there was only one woman he actually loved. She tested it one evening. “You haven’t spoken to Jessamine lately?” Moira said. “I suppose not,” Raylan said, flat, unreadable. “Shouldn’t you be working on showing her you’re serious?” No reaction, just silence.
She was falling in love with him. The realization had been growing since that night. Undeniable. Terrifying. Falling in love with a man who loved someone else. Who had been kind out of duty and pragmatism. Who had asked for nothing except the performance. And she had ruined it by wanting more. That night she wrote the letter to Jonan.
“I am with child. Two months. The timing will tell you what you need to know.” She told herself he had right to know, but she felt guilty, like she was betraying Raylen. She sealed it with shaking fingers. The royal hunt was supposed to be a spectacle. Pack leaders, nobles, a display of strength for the assembled court.
Moira rode with controlled posture, playing alpha queen. Raylen stayed close enough to protect her, but not close enough to touch without reason. She felt every inch of the absence. Jonan found his moment when she stepped away from the main group. Moira, urgent. I must speak with you. She followed him into the trees.
I received your letter, Jonan said without preamble. I regret sending it. Why? His eyes were intense. The child is mine, isn’t it? And yet I’m married to another man. You don’t have to be. He stepped closer. I still love you, Moira. The words should have stirred something. They didn’t. Then you should have shown up at the altar.
You’re right. Quiet, ashamed. You’re absolutely right. She stared. He never admitted mistakes. I thought Isolda was dying, Jonan continued. She begged me to come say goodbye. I didn’t know how to refuse her. He paused. But I’m not blind. I’ve seen how quickly she recovered. I know she still hopes for a future between us, even though I’ve made it plenty clear that I’m That you’re what? That I’m in love with you.
He took her hand. She let him, too surprised to pull away. It was always you, he said. I made a mistake, but I love you. And you’re pregnant with our child. We can fix this. We can be a family. I’ve slept with Raylen. Jonan went still. Oh. A pause, then he shook his head, physically dislodging the information.
It doesn’t matter, Jonan said. Of course you did. He’s irresistible, or so I hear.” Moira grimaced. “I forgive you, Moira,” he continued, “for leaving, for betraying me with him. I forgive you. None of that matters. We can be together. We can be a family.” “I forgive you,” as if she were the one who had done something wrong.
A part of her thought this would be safer. Jonan was offering legitimacy for the child, a clean resolution, an escape from the impossible situation with Raylan. Another part was furious that he felt like he was the one forgiving her. “I need time to think.” “How much time?” “Two days.” She forced herself to meet his eyes.
“Give me until your birthday ball. I’ll have an answer then.” He squeezed her hand and left. Moira stood alone in the trees, feeling nothing. No attraction, no longing, no pull toward the man who wanted to build a life with her. Empty. At the pavilion, Raylan was mingling, charming nobles. Jessa stood nearby with that knowing smile.
His hand shot out, catching her wrist. He pulled her to him, the devoted husband for watching eyes. “Where were you, wife?” Tension in his voice, something sharp in his eyes. “Taking a walk.” “With my brother?” There were things left unsaid, as you can imagine. He searched her face. “Do you still love him?” he asked quietly.
“Even now?” The question caught her off guard. He looked tense, almost hurt, but that didn’t make sense. Unless he was hoping she would go back to Jonan, hoping to be set free to pursue Jessa without a wife and child complicating things. Something in her wanted to touch him, to tell him she didn’t love Jonan, that she loved him. But he didn’t love her.
And if she could give him his freedom, wasn’t that the right thing? “I think there could be a future between us,” Moira said carefully. “Jonan and me. He wants to fix things.” Rayland’s face went completely neutral. “I see,” he said. He released her wrist, didn’t return to the nobles, just grabbed a drink and walked into the trees, alone.
Moira stood there confused. Two days until Jonan’s birthday ball. Two days to make the decision that would set Rayland free and break her own heart. It was the right thing to do. She just wished it didn’t feel so much like dying. Chapter 7 Jonan’s birthday celebration had flooded the palace with noise and warmth and undercurrents.
There were always undercurrents. Tonight, she couldn’t concentrate on a single one. Her attention kept sliding sideways. This constant gravitational pull toward the man two feet to her left, this awareness that never switched off. She could tell Rayland’s mood without looking at him, and she was increasingly, miserably aware that she had hurt him.
And then, there was Jonan, who had asked her for an answer. She still didn’t have one. “Moira.” She turned. Jonan stood at her elbow, earnest and determined. “Later, Jonan,” she said pleasantly. “You said we would speak tonight.” “This is your ball,” she said. “Enjoy it.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“I want us to be a family, Moira. You, me, and our child. I want you by my side. That’s what’s right. For the baby, for the kingdoms, for all of” Her pulse spiked. Not from his words, but from the crawling awareness of eyes nearby. She looked left. Jessa stood four feet away, half turned as though watching the dancers, gaze sharp.
She heard that. “Excuse me,” Moira said and moved before Jonan could respond. Jessa was already drifting toward the corridor. Moira followed and caught her in the adjoining hallway. “You’re fast,” Jessa observed. “You overheard us,” Moira said, not a question. “Well, you weren’t exactly being quiet.” Moira kept her voice level.
“I need your word that you won’t repeat what you heard.” Jessa stud.i.ed her for a moment, not with malice but with a complicated expression. Then she nodded. “I won’t.” The relief lasted 2 seconds before Jessa’s tone shifted. “That being said,” her voice was careful, not cruel but with an edge. “If you’re planning to leave His Majesty, you should at least respect him enough to tell him yourself.
” Moira’s jaw tightened. “That is none of your concern.” “It becomes my concern,” Jessa said, “when you’re about to hurt him.” The words landed harder than they should have. Moira noticed for the first time that Jessa was not looking at her like a rival. She was looking at her like someone with a personal stake in an outcome Moira didn’t fully understand.
“Is that what you want?” Jessa asked, “To leave him?” Moira’s throat tightened. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” she said. “I will always do what is best for my kingdom.” “Does he know?” Jessa asked, “About the baby?” “He does.” Moira kept her voice level. “And he’ll stay for the same reason I will, for the good of the kingdom.
” Jessa’s expression shifted, disbelief edging into exasperation. “Is that genuinely what you think?” “That everything he’s done has been for the good of the kingdom?” Moira’s irritation flared. “What else would it be?” The edge in her own voice surprised her. “He loves you, Jessa, not me.” “I am a political asset, a convenient wife.
I was never anything more than a solution to a problem, and I have never been under any illusion otherwise. Jessa stared at her, genuinely, completely taken aback, as though Moira had said something so far from accurate she didn’t know where to begin. “You’re his past,” Moira continued, and the fury in her own voice was telling her things she wasn’t ready to hear.
His obsession. The woman the entire arrangement was built around. I have always known that, and I would appreciate it if you did not look at me as though I have said something extraordinary.” “Your Majesty.” Jessa’s voice had dropped, quiet and deliberate. “You are wrong about him. You are very significantly wrong, and I think if you go and speak to him tonight The sensation hit her mid-sentence.
Not an emotion. Physical. Abrupt and cold. Landing in her gut like a stone dropped through still water. Wrong. The word arrived before she had framed a thought, screaming and wordless, with the quality of an alarm she understood immediately. It didn’t feel like hers. It landed as though transmitted rather than generated. Not her panic.
His. “Your Majesty?” Jessa’s voice came from somewhere slightly outside her focus. “I have to find Raylan,” Moira said. “Your Majesty, I wasn’t finished,” Jessa called after her. She was already moving, back into the hall, cutting through the crowd at a pace that drew glances she didn’t acknowledge. She was listening to the pull, the wrongness growing sharper, guiding her like a current toward the side corridor.
She felt the precise moment he went from controlled to diminished, like a flame going from steady to barely held. Her feet moved faster. She found him in the alcove at the end of the corridor. With Isolda. Isolda’s hands rested on Rayland’s arms. His face was tilted toward her neck, not kissing, his nose against her skin, and Isolda’s body was angled toward him with the satisfaction of a woman who had arranged things exactly as she intended.
The jealousy was immediate and total. She was already turning away. She stopped. Three paces down the corridor. She made herself think. Rayland did not like Isolda. That was not an impression. It was something she had observed consistently across months. He had never sought her out. And he had claimed her child and moved her chambers and sat with her through evenings when she was too tired to be anything but tired, and she knew him, and this did not fit. She turned back.
This time she looked at him. His eyes were wrong. Glassy and unfocused. He who was never less than fully, precisely present. His movements were slow, effortful. His weight rested against the wall with a dependence that had everything to do with his legs not being reliable. The jealousy turned to ice. The ice shattered into fury so clean it felt like clarity.
She crossed the distance in a few strides. Step away from my husband. Isolda startled, dropping her hands. Her eyes went wide, her chin dipping in the manner of a woman who had spent years perfecting the art of looking wronged. Your Majesty, I was only trying to help. I found him like this and I was worried. Step away from him, Moira said.
She was already reaching for Rayland, and she felt his weight shift toward her immediately. Unguarded, instinctive, the trust of someone who didn’t have the resources left to perform. His skin was too warm. What did you give him? He can barely stand. She turned to him, forcing her voice steady and quiet.
Her hand went to his face. Raylan, listen to me. Stay awake. He blinked. Slow. His eyes found her face with visible effort, and in the unfocused hazel, still, underneath the fog, unmistakably, relief. Moira, he said, slurred, soft. Her throat closed. She held him and turned back to Isolda. “You did this,” she said. Isolda’s wide eyes filled, her lower lip pressing forward.
“I would never,” she said, hand to her chest. “I would never harm the king. I found him like this, and I was frightened. I didn’t know what to do.” “Guards!” Moira raised her voice, sharp and carrying. “Jonan!” The crowd parted. Jonan arrived in seconds, irritation collapsing into alarm as he took in Raylan swaying against Moira’s grip.
“What happened?” he demanded. “Ask her,” Moira said. Isolda turned to Jonan immediately, eyes shimmering. “Jonan, I swear, she has been manipulating you for months,” Moira interrupted. “And now she has drugged the king.” Jonan’s face hardened. He looked at Isolda. “Why? Why would you do this?” “I didn’t do it,” Isolda said, wounded.
“Why would you believe her? You know she hates me. You know she has always hated me. She would say anything.” “If you weren’t the one who did this,” Moira said, her fury gone very cold. “You would have called for help. It is obvious he is unwell. You kept him here and said nothing, when he could be dying, for all you know.
” Isolda’s eyes flickered. “He is not dying,” she said, with a certainty that arrived too fast and too specific to be anything but a mistake. Moira looked at her. “He is not dying,” she repeated. “You said that with a great deal of confidence for a woman who claims not know what’s wrong with him. Isolde heard the trap closing.
Her expression shifted, but the words were already out. “Either you took a chance on the king’s life because you thought you could profit from his state,” Moira said, “or you know for a fact he isn’t dying because you know exactly what is wrong with him because you are the one who caused it.” Jonan looked at Isolde.
“She’s right,” he said quietly. “I know you and she’s right.” The composure cracked. The careful wounded softness gave way, and what came through was raw and more honest. “What was I supposed to do?” Isolde said. “Ever since she married your brother, you have completely forgotten I exist. You are so obsessed with Raylan.
You would do anything to not let him win. I only wanted you to see that by “By being with Raylan yourself,” Moira said. Moira looked at her husband fighting to keep his eyes open, and the fury that moved through her was feral. “You drugged him,” she said. “You drugged the king to manipulate Jonan into coming back to you.
” Isolde turned to Jonan. The tears returned, immediate. “Jonan,” she said, her voice fracturing on his name. “Jonan, please!” “How dare you!” Jonan interrupted. “How dare you harm my brother!” Isolde’s hand stilled. “Guards,” Jonan said, “arrest her.” The guards moved in. The tears evaporated as completely as if they had never existed.
“You can’t, Jonan. You cannot do this to me after everything.” He did not flinch. He said nothing, and the guards took her from the hall still shouting his name. The silence lasted half a second. Raylan swayed, worse this time, and Moira’s grip tightened with pure reflex, her other arm going around him, but his full weight came into her chest before she could brace.
“Get a healer,” Jonan barked at the nearest guard. Now. Her arms wrapped around him. Raylan, you have to stay awake. Please. The truth arrived with the quietness of something that had always been true. She loved him. Jonan barked orders. Guards moved. The ball dissolved into chaos. She stood in the center of it with her arms around her husband and did not let go.
Chapter 8 The healers had told her three times that he was fine. Moira sat beside Raylan’s bed anyway. He looked younger in sleep. The performance dropped completely when there was no one left to perform for. She had been watching him breathe for 2 hours. The candles had burned low. The room was warm and dim and smelled of him.
She stood. She made it four steps before the discomfort started. Not pain. A wrongness that built under her skin. A pull in her chest that grew with each step from the bed. Her wolf whined, low and insistent. She walked back and sat down. She was still sitting like that when the door opened. Jonan entered quietly, his expression somber.
He crossed to the bed, looked at his brother’s face for a long moment, and then looked at Moira. How is he? The same, she said. Asleep. Isolda gave him a heavy dose. Jonan pulled a chair from the corner. I’m sorry, he said. It isn’t me you should be apologizing to. Jonan’s eyes stayed on his brother’s face. Growing up, he always seemed so untouchable to me.
Like nothing affected him. You were jealous of him? Moira asked. Not exactly. Not at first. I think it’s more that we’re so different. He was always too much somehow. And I was just boring, I guess. Perhaps you’re not as different as you think, Moira observed. Jonan was quiet. He never made it easy to get close to him.
“Neither did you,” Moira said. “You never once defended me against Isolda.” He stiffened. “She never drugged you.” “No,” Moira said. “But she stole you from me on our wedding day, and you let her.” He didn’t deflect, just sat with it, jaw working once. Then he nodded. “I shouldn’t have. I made a mistake.” “Yes,” Moira said.
The hope she saw in his face was genuine and a little helpless and too late. “I want to fix it,” he said. “I want to be there for you, for the child.” “No,” she said. “I will not abandon my vows with Rayland for you.” “Moira, listen to me.” She kept her voice even. “You don’t love me, and I won’t disregard the vows I made to Rayland to settle your guilt for you.
” He flinched. “That’s not “You want to do the right thing,” she said. “That’s honorable, but it isn’t love. It’s duty.” His knuckles whitened between his knees. “The child is mine. It is my duty to look after him.” “Yes,” she said. “But we don’t need to be together for you to be part of his life.” “I want to be together.
” He met her eyes. “I mean it, Moira. That day I was manipulated.” “But if you truly loved me,” she said gently, “you would not have left me at the altar.” He looked away. “She told you she was dying,” Moira continued, “and you ran to her without question.” His gaze came back to her. The shame in it was quiet and undefended.
“You deserve to find someone you genuinely love,” she said. “Someone you choose for no other reason than that you want to.” She paused. “And I deserve more than being someone’s duty.” Then Jonan exhaled, slowly, with the quality of something heavy being set down. “I’m sorry, Moira, for all of it.” “I know,” she said.
He looked at his brother, at Rayland’s still face, the slow breathing. “He’s lucky,” Jonan said quietly. “My brother.” Moira went still. She did not contradict it. Chapter 9 Rayland woke slowly. Moira watched it happen from her chair beside his bed, the way consciousness returned in stages. First, the slight furrow between his brows deepening, his eyes blinking awake, unfocused against the morning light.
“What happened?” Rayland asked, disoriented. “Are you all right?” He looked soft with sleep, beautiful. She was suddenly, devastatingly aware that she would like to wake next to him every morning. The thought hurt. “I’m fine,” Moira said. “You were drugged.” Rayland blinked. “Drugged?” He tried to sit up.
“By who?” She was moving before she could think about it, her hands on his shoulders guiding him back against the pillow. “Isolda,” Moira said. “I found you together. She was trying to make it look as though something was happening between you.” Rayland’s expression went from confused to comprehending in stages. “To make Jonan jealous?” he asked.
Moira nodded. The parallel hit her immediately, sharp and uncomfortable. In a way, she had been doing the same thing, using Rayland to make Jonan jealous, but she couldn’t do it anymore. “Thank you,” Rayland said quietly. The words made her look up. He was watching her with an expression that was genuine, warm. “For what?” she managed.
“For saving me,” he said simply, “and for staying.” Rayland paused. Something flickered across his face, subtle, controlled, but she read him now without meaning to. “Did Jonan come by?” he asked carefully. The way he asked it, controlled, trying not to show that the answer mattered, hit her in the chest. Because she understood what he was hoping for.
He was hoping this was resolved, that she was about to announce she was finally going back to Jonan, and he could be free to pursue the woman he loved. “He did.” Moira said. “He came to check on you. He was worried.” Rayland’s mouth twisted slightly. “To check on me?” he snorted. “And what else?” She looked at him, at this man who had claimed her child without hesitation.
She decided that now was the time, that she owed him this. Jessa clearly cared for him. The woman had shown it last night, the protectiveness, the concern. She was just unaware that he loved her back. But if Rayland was released, he could be with her finally. “It’s sorted.” Moira said. “I’m so thankful for your help, for everything you’ve done, but the contract can end now.
” Rayland froze. “Over?” he repeated. His voice was flat, controlled. “Yes.” she said. “Jonan and I, we talked. We’ve worked things out. He wants to be part of the child’s life.” The silence that followed was enormous. His jaw tightened. When he spoke again, his voice was clipped. “So this is it then?” he said. “The contract is unnecessary now.
I’m no longer of use to you.” “What? No.” Moira said quickly, shocked by his anger. “It isn’t like that.” “Then what is it like?” His voice went harder. “You’re going back to him, aren’t you?” Her chin lifted, pride flaring because pain was intolerable and pride was faster. “No, I turned Jonan down.” His anger deflated.
“Why?” His voice had gone quiet again, confused. Why would you turn down the father of your child? She needed to move, needed the armor of distance. “I’m releasing you from the contract,” Moira said. “You’ve been more than kind, and I will not be the reason you cannot follow your heart.” She walked toward the door.
“I won’t trap you the way Isolda tried to trap Jonan,” Moira said. Her hand touched the doorframe. “Stop.” Rayland’s voice cut through the room, rarer than she had ever heard it. “Stop,” he said again. She paused, didn’t turn. Her hand was still on the doorframe. She heard him move, the rustle of covers, his feet hitting the floor.
His hand closed around her wrist. “Don’t walk away from me,” Rayland said quietly. She turned slowly. His face was stripped, just him and the hazel eyes that she had been learning to read for months. “I love you,” Rayland said. She froze. “You what?” “Choose me,” he continued. His voice was urgent now, raw. “Stay, be with me.
” She tried for composure and failed completely. “But what about Jessa?” “Jessa and I have never been together,” Rayland said. “There was never a plan to get her back.” “We’re friends, that’s all.” “I made up the entire story to give you a reason to stay married to me that didn’t involve telling you the truth.
” She froze, confused. “What truth?” He looked at her for a long moment, then he spoke. “I felt the mate bond the moment we met,” he said quietly. “Four years ago, at that diplomatic function where we first met.” Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. “You never said anything,” she managed.
“You ran,” Rayland said. His voice was rough now. “You avoided me, and then accepted Jonan’s betrothal. What was I supposed to do? His hand tightened on her wrist. It shattered me, he said. The words came out quiet. Devastated watching you plan a wedding to him. So, when Jonan didn’t show up at the altar, Raylan continued, I saw my chance.
I gave you a reason to marry me that had nothing to do with the bond, made up the Jessa story so you would so you’d spend time with me. Give me a chance. His eyes found hers. I love you, he said again. I have loved you for 4 years, and that child his free hand moved to her stomach. That child is mine because you’re mine.
Her chest felt too tight. Say something, Raylan said quietly. Please. Say anything. Her composure broke. Not dramatically, just her breath shaking once, then again. I felt it, too, she said. Her voice was unsteady. That pull, the wrongness when you weren’t near. I thought it was your charisma. I thought everyone felt it.
He let out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh. I turned down your brother because I love you, Moira said. Her voice turned fierce. Not because of a bond I didn’t know existed, because of who you are. She pressed her hand to his chest, over his heart. Say it again, Raylan said quietly. His voice was rough with emotion.
She lifted her chin, tears threatening. I love you, Raylan. He pulled her in. His eyes were bright, too bright. Good, Raylan said. His voice was thick. Because I’m never letting you go. He kissed her. Epilogue One year later, morning in the palace gardens felt different from court nights, quiet, honest, unperformed.
Moira sat on the stone bench beneath the old oak tree, watching her son grip her finger with determined seriousness. He was 8 months old now, all chubby cheeks and fierce concentration. “He’s got a good grip.” Raylan said, crouching beside them. “Future warrior, this one.” The baby squealed and Moira’s chest tightened with a warm kind of happy ache.
She had never imagined this, this ease, this contentment. “Moira.” She looked up. Jonan stood at the garden path, no longer carrying the wounded pride he had worn for months after she turned him down. Just present. Part of their lives in a way that was careful, but genuine. “Jonan.” She said. Her voice was kind.
He approached and knelt to the child’s level with easy grace. “Hello, nephew.” The word was clean, uncomplicated. Jonan accepting his place in the boy’s life, not as father, but as uncle, and being grateful just to be part of it. The baby reached for him immediately, and Jonan caught the small hand with surprising gentleness.
“He’s getting big.” Jonan said. “He’s eating constantly.” Moira said. “Takes after his father in that regard.” Raylan snorted. “Our son has excellent taste.” Jonan looked up at his brother. Something passed between them. Acknowledgement, respect, the particular understanding of men who had fought over the same woman and come out the other side as family.
“Your majesty.” Jonan said. “Brother.” Raylan returned. The tension that once defined them was gone, replaced by something cautious, but workable. Not friendship, exactly, but getting there. Later, Raylan moved behind Moira with that prowling grace she had learned to love. His hands settled at her waist with familiar gentleness.
“You’re quiet today.” He murmured. She placed her hand over his. I’m tired. His grip tightened immediately. Do I need to call the healer? You’ve been more tired lately, he continued. Raylen, she laughed. I’m not sick. He searched her face. But I am pregnant, she said softly. Again? For a moment, Raylen looked stunned.
Then his expression broke into pure, unguarded joy. Moira, he breathed, pulling her close. Their son squealed between them, apparently objecting to being squished. Raylen pulled back with a laugh and lifted the baby into his arms. You’re going to be a big brother. The baby grabbed his father’s nose and shrieked.
Moira watched them, her family, and felt the quiet triumph of a life she never thought she’d be allowed to have. This wasn’t duty or arranged for politics. This was choice. And most importantly, love. Hi everyone. I hope you enjoyed this story. I still can’t quite believe it, but we reached 100,000 subscribers last week. Thank you so, so much for being here.
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