When dawn finally breaks, the noise from Elira's room begins to fade.
The growls fall silent.
The scraping of claws disappears.
And for the first time in hours—there's quiet.
Kael waits.
He stands outside her room in the dim light of early dawn, ears straining.
Only when he's certain no sound remains—no growl, no breathless gasp, no choked sob—does he move.
He opens the door with exquisite care, as though the slightest creak might shatter something delicate and irreparable.
And there she is.
Curled on the floor, fast asleep.
Her body slack with exhaustion, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The tension carved into her frame the night before has vanished—leaving only peace in its wake.
Kael crosses the room, his steps quiet.
He doesn't hesitate.
Gently, he lifts her in his arms, holding her like something precious and fragile. She doesn't stir.
He lays her down on the soft mattress and brushes the hair from her face, revealing features softened in sleep. She looks untouched by the torment of the night, as though none of it ever happened.
He covers her with the blanket, then lingers.
Watching.
"You really are strong, aren't you?" he murmurs.
And then he leaves—quietly, the door clicking shut behind him.
In his own chamber, Kael drops onto his bed.
One arm drapes across his forehead as he stares at the ceiling above.
But his mind is far away.
Haunted by memories.
As Elira slept, Kael touched the scar on his palm—a wolf's bite from the borderlands. The day he'd chosen her over duty...
FLASHBACK
It had been two years ago.
Kael stood before the king, the ink on a royal decree still drying in his hand. A summons to the borderlands—enemy movements reported. Rumors of werewolves.
It came three days before his engagement ceremony.
"It seems your engagement must be delayed," the king had said kindly, trying to offer sympathy to his most trusted commander.
But Kael had only shaken his head.
"No, Your Majesty. I will proceed with the ceremony as planned."
A pause. "Forgive me for the request, but... please inform Duke Malven in my stead."
The king had studied him carefully—reading the weight behind those words—before nodding his consent.
At the border, Kael encountered something worse than enemy blades.
The enemy had allied with a pack of intelligent, vicious werewolves—creatures that could mimic human behavior, suppress their scent, and slip past any detection. They sowed chaos in silence, their influence subtle but devastating.
A week passed after the engagement.
Kael finally found a spare moment to write.
He penned a formal letter—apologizing for his absence, providing updates, keeping everything... restrained. It lacked warmth, not because he didn't care, but because he didn't know how to express what he felt.
And still—he waited.
For days.
Weeks.
Months.
But Elira never replied.
He told himself she might be busy. Or that she felt awkward, writing to a man she'd never truly met. He tried to understand.
Still, once in a while, he would write again. Quiet letters filled with the thoughts he couldn't say aloud. But after that first silence, he never sent them. He feared overwhelming her. He feared... pushing her further away.
Then, nearly a year later, a letter came.
Not a royal decree.
A message.
"It's from Lady Elira Malven," his aide had said.
His heart had leapt—wild and unsteady.
He opened the envelope, pulse racing. His hands shook—not from battle-fever, but hope. How foolish. How human.
Two parchments.
The first: a contract.
The terms were clear—Elira offered her family's estate and assistance in elevating Kael's status to dukehood. In exchange: a two-year marriage contract.
Then freedom.
His hands trembled as he read it. 
And then came the second letter.
Dear Lord Kael Rennar,
I understand that, like me, you were forced into this engagement. I know you didn't ask for this marriage any more than I did. That's why I'm offering you this contract.
We can pretend. Fulfill what's expected of us. And then, in two years, we part ways.
In return, I offer you what's detailed in the contract—in exchange for my freedom.
I hope you will agree. Your happiness is not with me, and mine is not with you.
Sincerely,
Elira Malven
The parchment fluttered like a dying bird. Your happiness is not with me. The words were knives—each one honed by her hand.
Something inside his chest cracked.
He had waited for her.
Waited to come home and take her hand—waited to call her his.
But she... she didn't want any of it.
She didn't want him.
Worse—she wanted to be free before she even belonged to him.
What kind of life had she lived that made her long for escape so desperately?
Still, Kael signed the contract—with hands that trembled.
Because maybe... maybe that contract was the only thing tethering him to her at all.
The contract was signed with her precise signature, while Kael's bore a tremble in the line—a sign of the control he'd failed to maintain.
He glanced toward the wooden box tucked into the corner of his room.
Inside, letters.
All the ones he had written.
All the ones he never sent.
And after the wedding...
He learned the truth.
The reason she'd needed her freedom so badly.
She loved someone else.
Worse than love—she was mated to someone else.
A werewolf.
A bond deeper than affection. Deeper than devotion.
A bond written into blood and fate.
And Kael?
He could never compete with that.
Because fate never chose him.
The truth was colder than silver: she would never want him. Not when fate had carved Thane's name into her bones.