Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Astra
The darkness lifts slowly, like fog dissipating at dawn. I surface from sleep with the strange, disorienting sensation of being somewhere between dreaming and waking—caught in that liminal space where reality feels fragile and breakable.
My body feels foreign. Heavy. Like I’ve been sleeping for days, or maybe weeks. The bed beneath me is soft, real, nothing like the cold marble of that throne room where—
The memories crash over me all at once.
The whip. The pain tearing across my back. Lady Zari’s cold smile as she watched me bleed. The King’s voice echoing through that vast chamber, calling Lucian “son.”
My eyes snap open.
I’m staring at an ornate ceiling painted with golden stars against midnight blue. Silk curtains hang around the bed, and everything smells like sandalwood and something distinctly masculine. This isn’t the inn. This isn’t anywhere I recognize.
I turn my head, and there he is.
Lucian.
He’s lying beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. In sleep, he looks different—younger somehow, those sharp edges of control softened. His dark hair falls across his forehead, and his breathing is deep and even.
The mercenary who hunted for me. Who protected me. Who kissed me like I was the only thing keeping him anchored to reality.
The prince who lied to me for weeks.
I stare at him, and it’s like looking at a stranger wearing a familiar face. Every conversation we’ve had, every moment of tenderness, every kiss—all of it was built on lies. He’s not some rogue mercenary living on the fringes of society. He’s the crown prince. The future king.
And I’m nobody. Less than nobody. A pack reject who can’t even shift.
The betrayal sits in my chest like a lead weight, pressing down until I can hardly breathe. All this time, he knew exactly who he was. He knew what it would mean if anyone discovered us together. He knew, and he let me fall for the fantasy anyway.
I want to be angry. I should be furious. I should wake him up and scream at him, demand answers, make him explain why he thought it was acceptable to lie to me about something so fundamental.
But underneath the betrayal, underneath the hurt and confusion, there’s something else. Something that makes my chest tight for a different reason.
He came for me.
When I was bleeding on the throne room floor, when that woman was spinning her lies about dark magic and seduction, when the King himself was ready to let me die, Lucian burst through those doors like an avenging angel.
The look on his face when he saw me hurt—I’ve never seen anything like it.
Pure, devastating fury. Like someone had torn out his heart and set it on fire.
“I will burn this entire kingdom to ash before I let anyone harm her again.”
That’s what he said. Not to me, but about me. To his own father. The King!
My hand curls into a fist, and before I can stop myself, before rational thought can intervene, I draw back and punch Lucian hard in the face.
He wakes instantly, his body coiling like a spring. One second, he’s peaceful and sleeping, the next, he’s moving with lethal grace, rolling over me and pinning my hands above my head before I can blink.
I’m trapped beneath him, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his face inches from mine. For a heartbeat, his eyes are wild—the eyes of a beast ready to kill whatever threat dared to wake him.
Then, awareness flickers in those blue depths. His grip on my wrists loosens slightly, and relief floods his features so completely, it’s almost painful to watch.
“Astra.” My name comes out rough and grateful. “You’re awake.” His gaze roams over my face like he’s cataloging every detail, making sure I’m real. Then, “Why did you hit me?”
“I’m going to do it again.”
The threat probably doesn’t carry much weight, considering I’m pinned beneath him and completely at his mercy. But something in my voice must convince him I mean it, because instead of looking concerned, he laughs.
It’s a rich, warm sound that does terrible things to my resolve. “Go ahead,” he says, his mouth curving into that infuriating smirk I know so well. “Hit me as many times as you want. I deserve it.”
Before I can respond, his head dips down, and he captures my lips in a kiss that steals the breath from my lungs.
It’s desperate and demanding and full of everything he can’t say.
I can taste relief in it, gratitude, possession—like he’s trying to pour his entire soul into me through this connection.
When he pulls back, we’re both breathing heavily.
“I’m never letting you go,” he says against my lips, his voice rough with promise. “Never again. I don’t care who tries to take you from me.”
The words should terrify me. The possessiveness in his tone, the way his eyes burn when he looks at me—it’s intense beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. But instead of fear, I feel something hot and raw unfurling inside me.
I push against his chest, and he goes obediently, releasing my wrists. Before I can sit up, though, his hands are on my waist, and suddenly I’m being pulled up and over until I’m straddling his hips.
The position sends heat rushing through me like wildfire. I can feel every hard plane of his body beneath me, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. His hands rest on my thighs, not confining me but claiming me nonetheless.
“Much better,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction.
I try to glare at him, but it’s difficult when he’s looking at me like I’m everything he has ever wanted. “You lied to me.”
“I didn’t.”
“You said you were a mercenary.”
“You assumed I was a mercenary. I just never corrected you.”
“That’s lying.”
“That’s omission.”
“Same thing.”
A look of guilt crosses his face. “Maybe it is.”
“I was barely a match for the mercenary,” I say quietly. “I’m definitely not a match for the crown prince.”
His hands tighten on my thighs, his eyes flashing fiercely. “You’re everything.”
The simple statement takes me aback. There’s no hesitation in his voice, no doubt. He says it like it’s the most fundamental truth in the universe.
“Lucian—”
“You’re my fated mate.” His hands slide up to frame my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. “You were created for me, and I was created for you. You’re everything to me, crown prince or not. You’re the other half of my soul.”
“I can’t even shift.” The words come out broken, all my insecurities laid bare.
“I don’t care.” He pulls me down until our foreheads are touching. “I would choose you over anyone, over everyone. Prince or pauper, it doesn’t matter.”
“Your father—”
“Can go to hell if he thinks he can take you from me.”
The vehemence in his voice makes my breath catch. This isn’t some careful, controlled prince sitting on a throne. This is my Lucian: fierce and protective and utterly ruthless when it comes to things he considers his.
“You should have told me.” The accusation lacks the forcefulness I intended. It’s hard to maintain righteous anger when he’s looking at me like I hung the moon.
“You’re right.” His thumb traces my lower lip now, making my pulse stutter. “I should have. But I liked who I was with you. You would have looked at me differently.”
“Differently how?” I ask, although part of me already knows.
“You’d see the title instead of me.” He is quiet, vulnerable. “Crown Prince Lucian instead of just Lucian.”
I finally understand. In the forest, by the fire, during our travels—I treated him like Lucian. Not a prince, not royalty. Just the man who hunted for me and protected me and held me like I was worth it all.
“I was selfish,” he continues, his voice turning rough. “I wanted you to choose me. Not my crown, not my power. Just me.”
The raw honesty in his confession undoes something inside me. This powerful, dangerous man who can command armies and reshape kingdoms—he was afraid I would want him for the wrong reasons if I knew the truth.
“You idiot,” I whisper, and his eyes widen in surprise. “Do you really think I care about crowns and titles?”
Hope flickers across his features. “Don’t you?”
Instead of answering, I tilt my head and kiss him. Hard. Urgently. Pouring all my confusion and anger and hurt into it, but also something else—forgiveness, maybe. Or acceptance. I don’t know what to call it, but I know it’s bigger than both of us.
He responds immediately, his arms coming around me to pull me closer. The kiss turns hungry, demanding, and full of relief.
When we break apart, my heart is racing, and he is smiling at me.
“I’m still angry,” I tell him, even though the words lack conviction.
“I know.” His hands tangle in my hair. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
“The rest of your life?” I raise an eyebrow. “That’s a long time.”
His expression turns weighty and serious. “Not nearly long enough.”
The intensity in his voice sends shivers down my spine. This isn’t merely desire or possession talking; this is something deeper. Something that feels like forever.
“Lucian—”
“Stay with me.” The words come out raw, pleading. “I know I don’t deserve it. I know I lied to you, manipulated you—”
“You saved me,” I interrupt him. “You came for me when no one else would.”
“I’ll always come for you.” His grip tightens, like he’s afraid I might disappear. “No matter where you are, no matter who tries to separate us. I’ll tear apart kingdoms to get to you.”
The promise should sound ridiculous. Melodramatic. But when he says it, I believe him completely.
“What happens now?” I ask quietly.
“Now?” His mouth arcs into a grin that’s equal parts tender and voracious. “Now I make sure you never doubt how much you mean to me. Now I prove that, prince or mercenary, I’m still the same man who would burn the world down for you.”
Heat pools low in my belly at the promise in his voice. “And if I want to hit you again?”
“Then you hit me.” He catches my hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. “I can take it.”