But now… all of it felt unnecessary.
She quietly passed the tonics and fishing rod to the nearby housekeeper, swallowing down the sting in her throat.
She still remembered the night after her mating ceremony, Ivora had clasped her hands tightly. “If Riven ever strays, come to me. I’ll tear his ears off myself.”
Jareth had vowed solemnly, “No matter what, you’ll always be the next Luna I acknowledge.”
Yet today, Freya heard them calling another woman “next Luna”… with genuine affection.
Riven was their blood. She, at best, was a wolf adopted into the family— a Luna with no blood ties.
Forever an outsider.
Freya stumbled back to her chamber, dazed.
Only when night cloaked the manor and wolves slept did her muffled sobs echo from her closet, where she curled tightly into herself.
This time, Riven wasn’t there to pull her into his arms, whispering that she still had him.
She didn’t even remember when she fell asleep.
When she woke, she found herself back on the soft bed and Riven, whom she hadn’t seen in days, sitting beside her.
He held her crystal comms, his eyes calm yet unreadable.