Not His Mate, But A Queen

Aria POV:

My father's words echoed in my memory, spoken to a young Kaelen years ago. "A true Alpha kneels for only two: his Luna, and the Moon Goddess herself." I had been watching from the balcony, my teenage heart fluttering at the implication. I saw the blush on my own cheeks in my mind's eye, but now, I also remembered the flicker of resistance, of deep-seated defiance, in Kaelen's eyes. He hadn't wanted that rule to apply to him. Not for me.

Yet here he was, kneeling in the dirt for Lyra, not by command, but by choice. The pain was a physical thing, a hollow ache that seemed to radiate from my very soul.

I ripped my gaze away from them, the sight too much to bear. Blinking back the hot tears that threatened to fall, I stalked over to the stables. I needed a distraction, something to channel the storm of rage and hurt brewing inside me. I saddled Midnight, the most spirited warhorse in our stables, and rode him onto the obstacle course.

The wind whipped at my face as I pushed him faster, urging him toward a series of high jumps. Air, speed, danger—that’s what I needed.

I lined Midnight up for the final jump, a formidable wall of timber that tested even our best warriors. We galloped towards it, a perfect union of rider and beast. He launched into the air, muscles coiling powerfully beneath me.

And then, a sharp snap.

The saddle's girth strap gave way. The world tilted violently. For a heart-stopping second, I was suspended in mid-air, a helpless spectator to my own disaster. Then gravity took hold, and I crashed to the earth with bone-jarring force.

A blinding pain shot up my leg. Midnight, panicked and untethered, bolted, his powerful hooves churning the ground perilously close to where I lay. I was trapped, helpless.

And Kaelen? He hadn't even noticed. His entire universe was focused on Lyra and her perfectly fine ankle.

A guttural cry, more wolf than human, tore from my throat. It was a sound of pure agony and fury. That finally got his attention.

His head snapped up. His eyes widened in horror. He moved with the lightning speed I’d seen him use for Lyra, intercepting the frantic horse and wrestling it to a standstill. But it was too late. My leg was bent at an unnatural angle. The bone was clearly broken.

The next few days were a blur of pain and forced pleasantries in the pack's sterile healing center. Kaelen, to my surprise, insisted on taking care of me. He sat by my bed, changed my dressings, and brought me my meals. He was attentive, quiet, and efficient.

For a brief, foolish moment, I allowed myself to wonder if I had been wrong. Maybe this was his apology. Maybe he did care.

But I knew better. I could feel the difference. His concern for Lyra was a roaring fire, a living, breathing thing that came from his soul. His care for me felt like a task on a checklist, a duty performed with meticulous precision but utterly devoid of warmth. There was an unbridgeable distance in his touch, a polite coldness in his eyes.

A few nights later, the healers had worked their magic, and the bone in my leg had begun to mend. I was drifting in a light sleep when I heard voices in the hallway. I recognized them instantly. Gamma Silas and Kaelen.

"You went too far this time, Kaelen," Silas said, his voice a low hiss. "A broken leg? Alistair will have your hide if he finds out."

My blood ran cold. I held my breath, straining to hear.

Kaelen’s reply was chillingly calm. "I used a dagger tipped with a trace of silver to nick the strap. Just a little. It was meant to be a lesson, a warning to make her think twice before laying a hand on Lyra again."

Silver. The one substance that could cause grievous, slow-healing wounds to our kind. He had used it against me.

"I didn't expect the horse to bolt like that," Kaelen continued, his voice devoid of any real remorse. "I miscalculated. Taking care of her now is just damage control. I need her to recover quickly so Alpha Alistair doesn't suspect a thing."

The world seemed to tilt and fade. The careful, attentive man who had sat by my bedside was a lie. The accident wasn't an accident. It was a punishment.

He hadn't come to my aid because he cared. He had come to clean up his own mess.

The last fragile thread of hope I didn't even know I was clinging to, snapped. The pain in my mending leg was nothing compared to the feeling of a silver blade twisting in my heart.