After My Mate Rejected Me, the Lycan Prince Claimed Me

Sydney arrived at Silvercrest's border three days after I did.

I was in the healer's quarters when Elias told me. He was preparing the first round of moonstone infusions, measuring compounds with the kind of precision that made me think of Sydney. His hands were steady. His voice was calm.

"There's someone here to see you," he said. "A healer from Ironvale. She says she has specialized knowledge relevant to your case."

I looked up from the chair I'd been sitting in. My back was still screaming from the examination he'd done that morning.

"Sydney," I said.

He nodded.

I stood up slowly. "Where is she?"

"Waiting outside."

I walked to the door. My hands were steady. My spine was straight. But something inside me was shaking.

Sydney was standing in the corridor with her healer's kit at her feet. She looked tired. Older than I remembered. There were lines around her eyes that hadn't been there three years ago.

When she saw me, she went very still.

"Aspen," she said quietly.

I nodded once. I did not move closer.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then Sydney said, "I'm sorry. Three years of silence was three years too long."

I looked at her. At the woman who had treated my wounds in the middle of the night. Who had kept my secret because I asked her to. Who had watched Jaxon's regard for me erode and said nothing.

"There's nothing to forgive," I said.

Her mouth tightened. "Yes, there is."

I shook my head. "You kept the secret I asked you to keep. That's all."

"I should have told him," she said. Her voice cracked. "I should have made you tell him. Every time I treated those scars, every time I watched him look at you like you were broken—"

"Stop," I said.

She stopped.

I stepped closer. "You did what I asked. That's enough."

Sydney looked at me for a long time. Then she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. The edges were worn. The creases were deep.

"This is the original medical report," she said. "From the night of the ambush. I've carried it for three years."

She held it out.

I took it. I did not open it.

"Elias needs to see this," Sydney said. "The wolfsbane concentration. The claw patterns. Everything I documented that night. It will help him calibrate the treatment."

I nodded slowly.

Sydney picked up her kit. "I'm here to help. If you'll let me."

I looked at her. At the exhaustion in her face. The guilt.

"You left Ironvale," I said.

She nodded. "I couldn't stay. Not after what they did to you."

"Jaxon will call it desertion."

"Let him," she said quietly. "I don't serve that pack anymore."

I stepped aside and gestured to the door behind me. "Elias is inside."

Sydney walked past me. She smelled like antiseptic and something else. Something familiar.

I followed her in.

---

The first treatment session happened that night.

Elias and Sydney worked together with the kind of efficiency that came from years of practice. They did not need to speak much. Sydney prepared the poultices while Elias measured the moonstone compounds. The room smelled sharp. Medicinal.

I sat on the examination table with my shirt off and my back exposed.

"This is going to hurt," Elias said. His voice was kind. Professional. "The wolfsbane in the wounds will resist displacement. It's been there for three years. It's part of the scar tissue now."

I nodded.

Sydney stepped closer. She looked at my back. I saw her jaw tighten.

"Ready?" Elias asked.

"Yes," I said.

The first poultice touched the top scar on my left shoulder.

The burn was immediate. Visceral. It was not like ordinary pain. It was deeper. Sharper. Like something living inside the wound had woken up and started fighting.

I pressed my hands flat on the table.

Elias worked methodically. One scar. Then the next. Then the next. Sydney handed him fresh poultices and wiped away the blood that seeped from the reopened tissue.

I did not make a sound.

By the time they reached the thirtieth scar, my hands were shaking. My vision was blurring at the edges.

"Done," Elias said quietly.

Sydney wrapped clean bandages around my torso. Her hands were gentle. Precise.

"You can put your shirt back on," she said.

I did. Slowly.

Elias was washing his hands at the sink. "The treatment will take weeks. We'll do sessions every three days. The pain will get worse before it gets better."

I nodded.

"You should rest," Sydney said.

I stood up. My legs were steady. My back was screaming.

"Thank you," I said.

Elias looked at me. "You didn't make a sound."

I met his eyes. "I've had practice."

---

I went back to my quarters alone.

The sitting room was dark. I did not turn on the lights. I sat on the edge of the bed and pressed two fingers to the base of my neck.

The skin there was still smooth. Still empty.

But something else was different.

Deep inside me, in the hollow of my chest where my wolf used to be, I felt something stir. Not a shift. Not a transformation. Just a presence. Faint. Distant. Like a voice calling from underwater.

I held very still.

The presence flickered. Then settled.

I pressed my hand flat against my chest and counted my heartbeats. One. Two. Three.

The presence stayed.

I did not tell anyone.

I lay down on my side with one arm extended and stared at the wall until the pain in my back dulled enough to let me sleep.

---

The next morning, I heard the whispers in the corridor again.

"...Luna Coronation..."

"...full moon..."

"...Ironvale's sending invitations..."

I opened the door.

Two she-wolves were standing near the stairs. They went quiet when they saw me.

I walked past them without a word.

In the war room, Callum was reading a formal letter. His expression was unreadable.

When I walked in, he looked up.

"Ironvale's hosting a Luna Coronation," he said. "For Giana Sanders. They've invited every major pack in the region."

He slid the invitation across the table.

I looked at it. Formal script. Gold trim. Jaxon's name at the bottom.

"They invited Silvercrest," I said.

Callum nodded. "They want the Lycan Prince's favor."

I set the invitation down. My hands were steady.

"Will he go?" I asked.

Callum looked at me for a long moment.

"That depends," he said quietly, "on whether you want him to."

I pressed two fingers to the base of my neck.

The skin there was smooth.

But the presence in my chest stirred again. Warm. Waiting.

"Yes," I said. "I want him to go."

Callum's mouth curved. Just barely.

"Good," he said.