Lucivar flicked a playful wink at the secretary. "Leave us, darling," he said with lazy charm.
The secretary flushed slightly and gathered up the reports without comnt. On her way out, she bowed slightly in Damien’s direction. The poor prince looked like he was two seconds from combusting into ash.
"Now," Lucivar said, leaning back with exaggerated patience, "use your inside voice, son. You sound like a howling werewolf."
Damien’s eyes practically bulged. "You got her a house!" he barked, pointing a shaky hand as if the word house had committed a personal offense.
"Yes," Lucivar replied coolly, crossing his legs. "She requested her personal space. I gave it to her."
Damien whirled around. "You gave it to her," he echoed, louder now, hands flailing. "He gave it to her! Unbelievable. That’s just... wow."
Lucivar watched the ltdown unfold. "Son," he said dryly, "if I hadn’t, she would have found a way. She is, in case you’ve forgotten, Luna Sinclair."
"She is my mate!" Damien roared, turning back with the fire of heartbreak in his eyes. "She’s my mate! And you’re just handing her space and nodding like it’s all fine—it’s not fine!"
Lucivar tilted his head. "You do realize yelling ’She is my mate!’ at full volu does not get her to be with you any quicker, right?"
Damien groaned and dragged a hand through his hair, pacing. "It’s not about possession. It’s about effort. I’ve tried everything. I’ve given her ti, patience, honesty."
Lucivar leaned forward then. "And maybe that’s exactly why she needed space. Because everything you’re doing—however noble—feels like pressure. You’ve loved her through every inch of her resistance, but have you ever let her love you freely, without the weight of obligation?"
"She didn’t ask for that house to spite you," Lucivar added. "She asked for it to find herself. You want a mate. She wants to be a person first."
"And nothing changes the fact that she is your mate! Give her ti," he snapped, jabbing a finger in the air. "The woman just got marked by you, Damien. She’s a banished princess. She lost her family, her goddamn people. She is a wolf without a pack."
He took a step closer, eyes narrowing. "When was the last ti you took her on a run, huh? Or have you even ever? Do you even rember she’s a wolf, not just a woman you fell in love with under a blood moon? Not everything is about you."
Damien had co in full of anger, but his father’s words cut deeper than he’d anticipated. "I would think," Lucivar continued, "that if she asked you for the world, you would hand it to her on a silver platter—hell, you’d forge the platter yourself and sprinkle it with rose petals!"
Damien turned away, pacing again, running a hand through his dark hair with enough force to nearly rip it out. "This is an excuse to get away from , don’t you get it?" he said, nearly a whisper at first, then louder, until it ca out in a cry of desperation. "She’s finding every reason to stay away."
"You just said she is your mate," Lucivar said with a shrug, though his gaze was dead serious. "That’s not a temporary arrangent, Damien. It’s not a title or a contract. It’s forever. So if you truly believe that, then give her the ti she needs to find herself—because when she does, she will be with you for the rest of her life."
Damien’s hands dropped to his sides. He looked exhausted. Emotionally gutted. He blinked as if trying to keep tears at bay, but one slipped through anyway. "I cannot," he said hoarsely. "I can’t, Father."
Lucivar stared at him, nostrils flaring.
"Why the hell not!!!"
The sound shook the windows.
"You went to all this trouble," Lucivar shouted, "and now that she’s starting to accept her place in it, now that she’s not running, you’re trying to rush her?!"
"Because I don’t have the ti!" Damien scread. The veins in his neck bulged. His eyes were wild and glistening, untethered by the weight of truth too long buried.
Lucivar hadn’t expected that.
The throne room went deathly silent.
"What does that an?"
Damien took a step back. "Forget it," he muttered.
Lucivar’s eyes narrowed. "Prince Damien," he said. "You will not step out of this throne room until you explain exactly what you an."
There was no room for debate. No wiggle room for evasion. Just the unwavering stare of a father who had survived wars—but would not survive losing his son.
Damien’s shoulders slumped in defeat. "I have less than a year. Give or take, left to live."
Ti fractured.
Lucivar didn’t move. Couldn’t move. He just stood there.
He dropped back onto the sofa behind him.
He knew.
Oh gods, he knew.
He had sensed it in the edges of conversation, in the way Damien had stopped looking at the future and started treating it like a countdown. Magnus had looked at Lucivar with eyes that mourned before the grave had even been dug.
"What?" Lucivar whispered.
"I’m sorry, Father...She was my poison."
Lucivar closed his eyes, and for a mont, he looked like a man on the edge of madness. He didn’t want to picture it, the cruel joke of fate that would take his son first.
"The mark..." Lucivar echoed, choking on the word. "I can’t... I can’t outlive you, Damien. You’re not supposed to go before . That’s not how this ends."
Damien took a step forward, but there was no comfort he could offer that wouldn’t hurt. "Morvakar wanted to teach you a lesson," he said, bitterly. "Wanted you to know that we would choose love every ti. So, he made her. Created her for . Bonded her to so I would know the risks of being with her—and still take them."
Lucivar stared at him, completely undone.
"That was his plan all along?...To avenge his son..."
"I chose her even when I knew it would kill ," he said. "So, no... I do not have the ti for her to ’find herself.’ I have left my kingdom without an heir, without a future king. She is supposed to be closer to , not farther away from ."
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