[redith]
Draven’s hand slid into mine again, firm and certain. The weight of his touch alone steadied .
The courtyard behind us was still echoing with the sounds of dispersing soldiers, but here—at the steps of the Oatrun estate—everything seed to fall into silence.
The simple gesture shouldn’t have ant so much, but it did.
In front of the Council, before his father, before all those who still saw as the wolfless Luna who should never have stood beside him, Draven chose to take my hand.
A quiet warmth unfurled in my chest.
I had seen the glance his father gave earlier—cold, indifferent, the sort of look reserved for soone tolerated but never welcod.
That look wasn’t new. I had grown used to stares like that long before Draven married . But standing here, in front of the man who raised the Alpha I now loved... the weight of it pressed differently.
Just as the sting began to creep into my thoughts, I heard Draven’s voice in my mind—steady, calm, unmistakably his.
"Don’t pay attention to anyone’s stares or opinion of you.Their stares hold no power over you as long as you have ."
I blinked, startled by the unexpected link, and turned my gaze toward him. He didn’t look at directly. His eyes were fixed ahead, but the faintest hint of reassurance brushed through our bond.
A smile almost broke free before I caught myself and swallowed it back. Here was the right place to show such emotion.
We walked deeper into the house, the marble floors reflecting the faint morning light. Every step seed to echo mories.
It felt strange being here again. The first ti I strolled these halls, I was still an outsider—barely tolerated, too aware of every whisper that followed .
I rembered Draven’s indifference, the cold stares of servants, the asured silence that hung in every corridor, and how I had felt small despite trying to stand tall.
This ti was different. The walls hadn’t changed, but I had.
My steps felt steadier now, my spine straight even under the weight of the council’s gazes.
I had fought, bled, and led people through fire beside Draven. These people didn’t know it yet, but I did.
Just as that thought settled, Randall Oatrun stopped walking. His long coat shifted faintly as he turned to face us.
"Draven," he said, voice even, though the authority in it filled the corridor. "I have arranged a small banquet for the evening—to mark your return. A few of the Alphas, the Elders and their families will be in attendance. Until then, take your ti to rest. Freshen up. Have breakfast."
Draven inclined his head, expression unreadable. "Thank you, Father."
Randall gave a brief nod, his gaze flicking past only once before he turned and strode down another hall, the Elders following in silence.
When they were gone, Draven turned to again. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
"Let’s go," he said softly.
The hall stretched long and bright ahead of us, the marble floors gleaming beneath the morning light.
We passed a few servants on the way—most of them faces I half rembered. They froze the mont they saw us.
"Alpha," they greeted first, bowing deeply. "Luna."
The second word ca a heartbeat later, softer but still respectful. Their eyes flicked briefly to our joined hands before dropping again.
I caught the faint tremor in one of the maids’ voices. The surprise in the other’s silence. They didn’t expect to see this—Draven walking through the halls, holding my hand.
When we moved past them, I could still hear the whispers.
"...Did you see how the Alpha held her hand?"
"He never did that before."
"Maybe things have changed. Maybe—"
Their voices trailed off as I reached out lightly, almost absently, and brushed against the edge of their thoughts. The murmur of their minds flooded in—a mix of curiosity, caution, and doubt.
They weren’t cruel. Not anymore. But neither were they convinced.
"Let’s see how long this lasts," one thought drifted faintly.
"If the Alpha truly accepts her this ti, then maybe she is more than we thought."
I let their thoughts go as quickly as they ca. Once, words like those would have cut deep. Now, they barely stirred .
I wasn’t the sa woman who once trembled at every ugly whisper.
Draven’s thumb brushed over the back of my hand, pulling back to the present.
I glanced up and found him watching from the corner of his eye. He didn’t say anything, but I knew he had noticed the change in my expression.
Without a word, he guided into a quieter corridor, one that ended before a wide, silver-panelled elevator—polished, seamless, a contrast to the estate’s old stonework.
When the doors slid open, he motioned for to step in first. The space inside was silent except for the faint hum of magic woven into its chanisms.
A few seconds later, the elevator chid softly before the doors opened again.
I stepped out—and stopped.
This floor was unlike the others. The air felt warr, scented faintly with cedar and steel.
The hallway stretched in quiet luxury, lined with tall glass windows that spilt golden light across the polished floor.
"You live here?" I asked, surprise slipping through my voice before I could mask it.
Draven chuckled under his breath, the sound low and rich. "Your face is funny."
I shot him a glare, though it only made his smile deepen.
"Well," I said, crossing my arms, "it’s not my fault you made live in the guest wing the first ti you dragged here. Rember?"
He stopped walking. The sudden halt made my breath catch.
Then he leaned in just slightly—his shadow falling over as his eyes narrowed in mock accusation.
"Who was it," he asked, voice dropping to that quiet tone that always seed to undo , "that told back then she didn’t want to share my bed?"
The words hit like a spark. My cheeks flad before I could stop them.
"That was different," I managed, though my voice betrayed with its softness.
He tilted his head, studying , clearly amused. "Different how?"
"Because..." I faltered, looking anywhere but at him. "Because we were enemies."
A silence stretched between us—warm, charged. Then his hand rose, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from my cheek.
"I see," he murmured. "And now?"
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