Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Lucian
The emeralds in the delicate silver necklace catch the afternoon light, sparkling like tiny fragments of captured forest. They’re the exact shade of Astra’s eyes—that deep, rich green—which sparkle when she laughs.
When she used to laugh.
“An excellent choice, sir,” the jeweler says, carefully lifting the necklace from its velvet display. “This is one of our finest pieces.”
He’s right. The stones are flawless, the silver work exquisite. I imagine how it will look against her throat, how the green will make her eyes shine the way they used to.
I watch Astra through the shop window as the man wraps the necklace.
She’s standing perfectly still beside her knapsack, Luna draped across her shoulders like a living scarf, her gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the bustling market square.
She looks like a statue—beautiful, untouchable, and completely lifeless.
My wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin. A week ago, Astra would have protested when I led her to this jewelry shop. Would have told me I was spending too much money, that she didn’t need anything, that I should save my coins for something practical.
Now, she just follows wherever I go, without a word.
Sleeping with her was impulsive. And then, something between us changed.
She was quiet after she showered that morning, contemplative.
And ever since, the chasm between us has begun to widen.
She still sleeps in my arms. She still responds to my touch.
In bed, she has become desperate to please me, and outside of it, eager to disappear into the background.
I can’t find her smiles or her laughter anywhere. I can’t find the girl who made me pick herbs with her and who danced on my feet. It’s like she has disappeared somewhere deep inside herself.
It has been one whole week, and I’m beginning to get frustrated.
“Here you are, sir.” The jeweler hands me the long, velvet box with a practiced smile. “I’m sure she’ll be delighted.”
If only he knew how wrong he is.
I step outside and cross the square to where Astra waits. She turns toward me immediately, those green eyes that once sparked with fire now dull and politely attentive.
“I got you something,” I say, holding out the box.
She takes it without hesitation, without even looking at what’s inside. “Thank you.”
The words are automatic, spoken with the same inflection she uses for everything now. Thank you for the room. Thank you for the food. Thank you for the warm cloak. That’s all she says—never anything real.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” The question comes out sharper than I intended.
She blinks, startled, then lifts the lid of the box with careful fingers.
Inside, the delicate silver chain shines in the afternoon sun, the emerald pendant gleaming like captured starlight.
I spent twenty minutes picking it out, imagining how it would look against her throat, how her face might light up when she saw it.
Her expression doesn’t change at all.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, closing the box with a soft click. “Thank you.”
She doesn’t put it on. Doesn’t even look at it again. Just tucks the box into her knapsack like it’s any other piece of luggage and waits for my next instruction.
Something snaps inside my head. “That’s it?” The words explode out of me, loud enough that several passersby turn to stare. “That’s all you have to say?”
Astra takes a small step back, her eyes going wide. Through our bond, I feel her fear spike—fear not of me, never of me, but of something I can’t understand.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I said thank you. What else—”
“I don’t want your fucking false gratitude.” The curse makes her flinch, and I force myself to lower my voice. “I want you to tell me what you think. Do you like it? Do you hate it? Do you want something else entirely?”
She stares at me like I’ve asked her to solve some impossible riddle. “I—It’s lovely. Really.”
“But do you like it?” I step closer, close enough to see the way her pulse flutters in her throat. “Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. Tell me what you actually think.”
Her lips part slightly, and for a moment, I hope she might give me something real. Instead, she forces a smile onto her face. “I like it. I like whatever you choose for me.”
The words hurt. Whatever I choose for her. Like she’s a doll to be dressed up, a pet to be accessorized—anything but a woman with her own thoughts and preferences.
I take a deep breath to calm down. “That’s not an answer.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Her voice is soft, but there’s something raw in it, something that makes my wolf whine with distress.
I stare at her for a long moment, taking in the way she holds herself—shoulders hunched, head down, every line of her body screaming that she wants to disappear.
This isn’t the woman who looked me in the eye and exchanged barbs with me.
This isn’t the woman who stood up to me despite knowing I could break her in half.
I’ve done this to her. I don’t know what “this” is, but it’s my fault. My heart sinks.
“Come on,” I say roughly, shouldering my bag. “We’re leaving.”
She falls into step beside me without question, Luna purring softly around her neck. We walk through the market in silence, past vendors hawking their wares and children chasing each other between the stalls. Normal life continues around us while my world crumbles with every step.
Three days ago, I bought her a book of poetry. She thanked me and hasn’t opened it.
Two days ago, I bought her a warm cloak lined with soft fur. She thanked me and only wears it when I tell her to.
Yesterday, I bought her honey cakes from a baker because I thought she might enjoy something sweet. She thanked me and ate them without a single change in expression.
And now this necklace, joining the growing collection of things she accepts without wanting, appreciates without feeling.
I’m losing her. Day by day, hour by hour, she’s slipping further away from me, into some place where nothing I do can reach her.
The bond between us grows stronger on my end; I can feel every nuance of her emotions, every flicker of trepidation or sadness that crosses her mind.
But from her end, there’s nothing. Just empty gratefulness and hollow compliance.
We reach a inn at the edge of town, and the woman behind the counter looks back and forth between the two of us. Astra is waiting by the door like a well-trained pet.
“One room or two?” the innkeeper asks.
I always say one, but tonight—tonight I say, “Two.”
I feel the way Astra stiffens behind me, and then there is a sharp wave of grief and resignation through the mate bond. I’m about to turn to her, needing to know what I’ve done now, but the woman is already handing me two room keys. “Upstairs, first and second doors on the right.”
I glance at Astra, and she is holding Luna in her arms now, looking down at her.
“Come on,” I say hoarsely.
As she follows me, I feel angry at myself.
I am the crown prince of this kingdom, yet I can’t even figure out how to placate my hurting mate.
I can’t get to the bottom of something as simple as a woman’s heart.
What is the point of all my education and experience when I can’t fix what’s wrong between us?
When we reach our rooms, I wonder if I made the wrong choice. I’d thought that maybe some privacy was what she needed. Maybe I’m hovering over her too much. Perhaps—
I open her door and make sure the place is empty before I let her enter. She walks into the middle of the room, then turns around and looks at me. For the first time in a week, I see a flicker of unease in her eyes, but she doesn’t speak.
I want to shake her, demand what’s wrong, beg her to tell me what I did and how I can fix it. But I feel myself pausing, on uneven footing for the first time ever.
I step back from the doorway, letting her have the space I thought she wanted. But as I close the door between us, a cold sensation settles in my chest.
My wolf whines miserably, already missing her scent, her warmth. The bond between us stretches taut, protesting the physical distance even though she’s only fifteen feet away.
I walk to my own door and fumble with the key, my hands unsteady. The lock clicks open, and I push inside to find an empty room that feels like a tomb. Nothing but a bed, a chair, and four walls that seem to press in on me with their silence.
Without Astra here, this place is nothing but emptiness.
I sit heavily on the edge of the bed and drop my head into my hands. What the hell is wrong with me? A week ago, I was perfectly fine sleeping alone. Preferred it, even. Now, the thought of spending one night without her curled against my side makes me feel as if I’m being pulled apart.
My wolf paces restlessly, clawing at the inside of my ribs. Where is she? Why isn’t she here? Go get her.
“She needs some space,” I tell the animal inside me, but the words feel like lies.
She needs us. We need her. This is wrong.
Everything about this feels wrong. The silence where her breathing should be. The cold where her warmth should press against my skin. The void where her scent should surround me like a second atmosphere.
I run my hands through my hair, trying to make sense of what has happened. When did everything change? It was after we slept together—that much is obvious. But what did I do wrong?
A horrifying thought strikes me like slap in the face.
Did she not want me?
My stomach clenches with sudden nausea. The memory of that morning plays back in brutal detail—the way I marked her skin with my mouth and hands, claimed every inch of her as if she belonged to me.
The desperate hunger that consumed us both, the way she responded to my touch like she was starving for it.
But what if she was just...complying? What if she thought she had to? What if I forced myself on her, and she was too afraid to say no?