C5 The Crown Prince's Choice

The western corridor was too quiet, and after weeks of drills that had taught my body to read danger before my mind caught up, silence like that meant something was already breaking.

Then I heard her voice, tight in a way I had never heard from her before.

Lyra said, her tone clipped and controlled, each word forced through gritted teeth, "Damien, let me go."

My stomach dropped straight through the floor. I moved before I decided to move, every ache in my ribs forgotten, my exhaustion burned away by something colder.

Damien said, his voice low and simmering, almost lazy in its cruelty, as though he already believed he had won something, "You have been avoiding me for weeks."

Lyra said, chin lifted, refusing to let her voice shake even as her eyes darted toward the empty hall, "I have been busy."

Damien said, stepping in closer, his mouth curling into something that was not quite a smile, "You have been avoiding me because of him."

I rounded the corner and my whole body went rigid. Damien had backed her against the stone balustrade near the private balcony, one hand locked around her wrist, his knuckles pale with the force of his grip, his shoulders angled to box her in. Her spine stayed straight, defiant, but I saw the small, betraying flick of her eyes searching for an exit that was not there. That look burned itself into me.

Damien said, leaning closer still, his voice dropping to something almost intimate, almost threatening, "Everything has to do with him."

Lyra said, twisting hard against his grip, her jaw tightening with fury rather than fear, "Kael has nothing to do with this."

My vision narrowed to his fingers pressed white against her skin. I did not remember deciding to speak.

I said, my voice coming out rougher than I intended, carrying every ounce of fury I had been holding in my chest, "Let her go."

Both of them turned. Damien's eyes narrowed, and something ugly and possessive settled over his face, the look of a man discovering an intrusion he refused to tolerate.

Damien said, straightening to his full height, his chin tilting down at me with contempt, "This is none of your business."

I said, holding his stare without blinking, my hands curling slowly into fists at my sides, "It became my business when she told you to let go."

Lyra pulled again, twisting her wrist inside his grip. Lyra said, sharper now, a warning edged into every syllable, "Damien, release me."

He let go at last, though his jaw ticked with the effort of it, and instead of stepping back, he crowded in closer, close enough that she pressed herself flat against the stone rail, her breath shaking though her expression refused to show it.

Damien said, watching her with something between hurt and accusation, "You keep defending him."

Lyra said, meeting his eyes without flinching, her voice quiet but unshakable, "Because he needs someone to."

My fists had already curled tight enough to ache. I closed the distance between us and set my shoulder just in front of her, a silent, deliberate wall.

Damien laughed, short and humorless, the sound scraping through the corridor like something breaking. Damien said, "I am your future Alpha."

Lyra said, lifting her chin further, her voice trembling only slightly, "And that does not give you the right to control me."

His jaw hardened. He reached for her again, faster this time, and I caught his wrist before his fingers could close around her arm, my grip locking down hard enough that I felt the tendons shift beneath his skin.

I said, low, final, every word deliberate, "I said let her go."

Gold flickered behind his eyes, and I felt my own wolf surge up in answer, some old, furious instinct that had nothing to do with rank and everything to do with the way Lyra's fingers had found my sleeve and gripped the fabric like she needed something solid to hold on to.

She stepped between us then, one palm pressed flat against each of our chests, her whole body trembling with the effort of holding two enraged wolves apart. Lyra said, her voice cracking down the middle, "Stop. Both of you."

Damien's eyes stayed locked on mine, murderous, unblinking. Damien said, his voice dropping into something venomous, "You think because she smiles at you, you can stand beside her?"

I said, holding his gaze without a trace of hesitation, "I think she has the right to choose who stands beside her."

She looked up at me in that instant, and whatever fear had tightened her face a moment before melted, just briefly, into something softer, something almost grateful. That single look cost me the last thread of my restraint.

Damien moved first. He grabbed the front of my shirt and slammed me into the wall hard enough that pain cracked up my spine and stole the breath from my lungs.

Damien said, his face inches from mine, teeth bared, "You have no idea what you are doing."

I shoved him off, ignoring the fire in my ribs. I said, breathing hard, refusing to look away, "I know exactly what I am doing."

Our eyes flashed gold together, and the corridor filled with the low, dangerous hum of two wolves rising too close to the surface.

I do not remember every blow. I remember the table shattering under my back, the taste of blood, the moment I dropped to one knee with my ribs screaming and Damien's claws stopped a breath from my skull only because Lyra threw herself between us, arms outstretched, her whole body shaking.

Lyra said, her voice tearing through the corridor with a force that silenced everything, "Enough!"

Damien's breath came ragged, his chest heaving, his eyes still lit gold with fury he had not yet mastered. Damien said, staring past her at me, "Move."

Lyra said, standing her ground, not an inch given, "No."

Damien said, quieter now, almost pleading beneath the anger, "Lyra."

Lyra said, her voice shaking but unbending, tears finally slipping free, "You will not hurt him."

Something broke across his face, some mixture of fury and grief he could not hide fast enough. Damien said, his voice hollowed out, "You really chose him."

Lyra said, quiet, final, meeting his eyes without apology, "I chose myself."

The council handed down my punishment before the bruises even finished forming. I stood in front of the throne with my ribs still screaming beneath my shirt, and I watched Damien stand a few paces away, uniform clean, not a single mark on him, as though the fight itself had happened to someone else.

The elder beside my father read the verdict without once looking up from the parchment. The elder said, his voice flat and final, “Prince Kael will remain confined for seven days.”

My father inclined his head, his expression carved from stone. My father said, “Appropriate.”

I felt the injustice of it settle over me like a physical weight, and before I could stop myself, the words were already out.

I said, my voice sharper than I intended, my eyes cutting toward Damien, “Does the Crown Prince receive no punishment?”

The room went utterly silent. My father’s gaze snapped to me, cold and warning. My father said, “You attacked him.”

I said, refusing to lower my eyes, my jaw tight, “I defended Lyra.”

My father said, each word clipped, “You engaged in a royal duel without authorization.”

I said, my hands curling at my sides, “He grabbed her.”

Damien finally spoke, his voice smooth, almost bored, as though the entire accusation amused him. Damien said, arms loose at his sides, chin lifted with practiced calm, “I did not harm her.”

Her words came back to me in that instant, steady and certain. I chose myself. I looked toward the council, my voice rising despite the warning glances from every guard along the wall.

I said, “She told him to stop.”

The elder’s frown deepened, his patience visibly thinning. The elder said, “Enough.”

I laughed, short and bitter, the sound scraping out of me before I could hold it back. I said, “Of course.”

My mother’s eyes found mine across the room, and the disappointment carved into her face hurt worse than any blow Damien had landed. My mother said, quiet, cutting, “You have embarrassed this family again.”

Something inside me went numb. I said, my voice flat, “Yes, Mother.”

I turned away before anyone could see what that numbness cost me.

Damien passed close behind me on his way out, and though his face remained composed for the guards watching, his voice dropped low enough that only I could hear it, laced with quiet venom.

Damien said, leaning just slightly toward my ear, “She will never be yours.”

I stopped walking and turned to face him, holding his stare without flinching. I said, steady, “Perhaps.”

He stopped as well, his expression darkening, some raw and wounded thing flickering beneath the composure. Damien said, “But she will never belong to you either.”

I said nothing more. I walked away before the fury still coiled in my chest could cost me another week locked behind my own door.

That night, someone knocked, soft and hesitant. I expected a servant with a tray I did not want to touch. Instead, Lyra slipped inside before I could tell her not to, easing the door shut behind her with a care that told me she had checked the corridor twice before risking it.

I stood too fast, my ribs protesting sharply. I said, my voice low with alarm, “You should not be here.”

Lyra said, standing just inside the doorway, her fingers still resting on the handle as though she might need to bolt, “I know.”

I said, glancing past her toward the hall, “If anyone sees you—”

Lyra said, cutting me off, her chin lifting with quiet defiance, “I do not care.”

She crossed the room toward me, and in the candlelight I saw her eyes were red-rimmed, the kind of red that came from crying alone rather than in front of anyone. Lyra said, stopping close enough that I could feel the warmth of her, her voice unsteady, “You were punished because of me.”

I said, “No.”

Lyra said, more firmly, “Yes.”

I said her name, low, meaning to argue further, but she was already reaching up, her fingers hovering just above the bruise darkening along my jaw before finally, gently touching it. I flinched at the contact, and her expression tightened instantly into something fierce and protective.

Lyra said, her voice trembling with barely restrained anger, “He hurt you.”

I said, “I am fine.”

Lyra said, her jaw setting, her eyes glassy, “Stop saying that. I hate hearing it.”

I looked down at her, at the way her hand had not left my face, her thumb resting lightly against my skin, and something in my chest turned over slowly, unfamiliar and warm.

I said, quieter now, admitting something I had not meant to admit, “I was afraid.”

Lyra said, searching my face, surprised, “You?”

I said, holding her gaze, “I was afraid I would lose control.”

She studied me a long moment, her hand still against my jaw, her expression softening by degrees. Lyra said, “You stopped.”

I said, “Because you stood between us.”

She stepped closer, close enough that I could count the faint gold still lingering at the edges of her eyes, close enough that neither of us was pretending anymore. Lyra said, her voice barely above a whisper, “Would you have stopped if I had not?”

I hesitated, because the truth frightened me more than Damien’s claws ever had. I said, low, honest, “I do not know.”

Her hand slid from my jaw down to find mine, our fingers lacing together slowly, deliberately, and the warmth of it settled something in my chest that no amount of training ever had.

Lyra said, her thumb brushing once over my knuckles, her voice steady despite the tremor beneath it, “I am not sorry for choosing you.”

My heart slammed hard against my ribs. I said, “You should be.”

Lyra said, stepping in until our foreheads touched, until there was no space left between us at all, “No. Not even a little.”

Then she pressed her lips gently to my forehead, and I stood frozen, certain that whatever punishment or rivalry waited beyond that locked door, I would face all of it, as long as she kept choosing to walk back through.