Chapter 55 Mira
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Mira
The training room was empty except for Wyatt and me.
Every exchange I kept my core tight and my angles deliberate, positioning my body so his strikes never had a clear line to my center. The kind of adjustment you make when you’re protecting more than yourself and can’t let anyone see it.
“Better,” he said. “You’re not dropping your guard on the left anymore.”
“I had a good teacher.”
“A stubborn student who finally listened.” He held the pad higher. “Again. Harder.”
I drove my elbow into the pad with enough force to push him back a full step. His eyebrows rose. The sickly version of me that had stumbled into training weeks ago couldn’t have managed that. The bond being restored had changed more than my mood.
The pregnancy fed off it, and the babies fed off the pregnancy, and whatever lycan blood ran through those three tiny bodies had decided to share the wealth. I was stronger. Faster. More grounded.
My strikes landed with an authority I hadn’t possessed before, and every session the improvement accelerated.
Actually, at this rate, these kids were going to come out punching at birth.
“You’re in your best state,” Wyatt said. An observation. “Whatever you’re doing outside these sessions, keep doing it.”
If he only knew.
“Let’s just say I’ve been getting a... different kind of workout.” I adjusted my stance. “Very cardio intensive.”
Wyatt blinked. “Cardio?”
“Mm. Multiple rounds. Very demanding partners.”
“Partners? You joined a class or...”
“Something. Sure. Let’s go with that.”
He looked confused. I bit my lower lip to keep the grin from surfacing because if I laughed I’d have to explain, and there was no version of that explanation ending well for anyone.
I faked a jab at his left and swept his lead leg. Wyatt hit the mat with a thud that echoed off the concrete walls and the shock on his face was worth every bruise I’d earned getting to this point.
“Did you just...” He stared up at me from the floor.
“Topple the instructor?” I offered him my hand. “Looks that way.”
He took it and pulled himself up, shaking his head with a half-laugh that carried respect. “You’ve been holding back on me.”
“Maybe I was waiting for the right moment.”
We reset for another round.
I watched him from across the mat and let the thought I’d been sitting on for days rise to the surface. Wyatt had tolerated my questions. My rebellion. He never reported it. Just watched with that quiet intensity that told me his loyalty to the Order had fractures he wasn’t ready to name.
It was a gamble. I could be wrong about it or it could get us both killed.
But the Purifier data was burning through my brain and the pipeline Percy had uncovered meant that every day I waited was another day the Order could manufacture another rogue, create another orphan, recruit another Wyatt.
“Wyatt.”
He paused mid-stance.
“If you ever have doubts about this Order you’ve been serving, come to my door. I can show you the truth.” I held his gaze. “The actual truth. About everything.”
The training room went quiet. Just our breathing and the hum of the ventilation system overhead.
Wyatt didn’t speak or nod. He just looked at me. Held my gaze for a long, measured beat, and in his eyes I saw the war between the man who’d built his identity on avenging his parents and the man who’d started to wonder if the foundation was rotten.
Then he picked up the training pad.
“Again,” he said.
I struck. He caught it. We kept training.
The gamble was placed. Whether it paid off or destroyed everything was out of my hands now.
I left the training room with the Purifier data burning a hole in my brain and the knowledge that I’d just planted a seed that could either save Wyatt or get my cover blown.
The drainage tunnels were becoming routine.
I emerged on the eastern side and followed the familiar route. The babies synced with the bond’s pull, guiding me back to camp the way a compass finds north.
I reached the clearing as the sun dropped behind the canopy.
Percy spotted me first. He was on his feet before I’d fully emerged from the tree line, crossing the distance with that restless energy that had been absent for days and was now back at full capacity.
He pulled me into a hug that lifted my feet off the ground, his face buried in my hair, and the locket pressed between us.
“Miss me, love?”
“It’s been two days.”
“An eternity.” He set me down but kept his hands on my waist. “You look tired.”
“Pregnancy and espionage. Not a restful combination.”
Solomon appeared beside us. The man moved in a silence that shouldn’t have been possible for someone his size, and even after months of knowing him, it still made me jump.
“Report,” he said.
“Nice to see you too, Solomon. I’m fine, thanks for asking.”
“Your pulse is elevated and your color is slightly off from when you left. You’re not at your best.” A beat. “Report.”
“My pulse is elevated because I just crawled through a drainage tunnel while pregnant with triplets, Solomon. And my color is fine. You just think anything less than glowing is a medical emergency.”
“You do look a bit tired,” Percy offered helpfully from behind me.
“I look way better than the first week when I just found out about my pregnancy. It’s an upgrade. I need you to come down, we expected a bit of effect when I am away.”
Solomon’s jaw tightened. The muscle tic that meant he was cataloging my argument, finding it partially valid, and choosing to ignore it anyway.
“Report,” he said again.
I rolled my eyes and just gave him the operational details. Solomon memorized it with his usual efficiency while Percy kept his hand on the small of my back, the warmth of his palm grounding me in a way I’d stopped trying to analyze.
Lucian was by the fire. The gray pallor was gone and the king’s composure was back in full, though his eyes tracked me so intensely that made my stomach flip.
“Wyatt?” he asked.
“Thinking about it. I gave him the opening. He’ll come when he’s ready.”
Lucian’s eyes squinted. “Well, don’t think about him much.”
I frowned at him and wanted to hit him along with Percival and Solomon who nodded in agreement.
They’re being very bold lately. Maybe I should whack them sometime soon to remind them we weren’t fully back together.
I was settling onto a log, accepting the dried fruit Farmon pressed into my hands, when a rustling came from the eastern path.
Suddenly, everyone went still.
A woman emerged from the eastern path. Tall, dark-haired, with the kind of bone structure that belonged on the cover of a magazine and the posture of someone who had never once in her life questioned whether she deserved to be in a room.
She wore clothes that had no business being in a forest: a tailored coat, expensive leather boots and an expression that surveyed the camp condescendingly.
Behind her, two large packs sat at the tree line. Luggage.
It was Lucian who slowly stood up in recognition first.
“Annora,” His voice had the particular flatness it adopted when someone’s presence was both expected and unwanted.
“Your Majesty.” She dipped her head in a greeting. Her gaze swept the clearing. The fire, the maps, the makeshift camp. “I see the rumors of your operational decline were understated.”
“You received my response.”
“I received a crumpled piece of paper thrown at my courier.” The faintest smile, patronizing and precise. “I took it as an invitation.”
Her eyes found me.
I’d love to say I didn’t care but there was a quality to the way Annora assessed me that bypassed every defense I’d built. Her gaze reduced me to an inconvenience, a stain on an expensive dress she was already calculating whether to bother removing.
“And you must be the human.”
“Mira. Humans have names.”
“Of course.” She said it sweet on the surface, razor underneath. She turned to Lucian and spoke in a language I didn’t understand. Lycan, probably. Designed to exclude me from the conversation.
Lucian responded in English. “Speak a language everyone in this clearing can understand, Annora. Or don’t speak at all.”
“I was simply offering my formal assessment of the council’s position.”
“There’s a word for that where I come from.” I stood up from the log. “We just call it rude.”
Percy snorted. Annora’s smile tightened by a fraction.
“The council’s position is clear,” Annora continued, shifting back to English. “They don’t want a queen with hunter’s blood. The kingdom depends on stability. And stability does not come from...” She gestured at me, head to toe. “This.”
“This.” The word came out flat. “Could you be more specific? My hair? My shoes? My humanity in general?”
“Your hunter blood. It’s disgusting. A bond is biology,” Annora pressed. “Ruling is skill. And this woman has demonstrated neither the training nor the temperament to lead a kingdom.”
“Careful.” Solomon’s voice cut across the clearing. “You’re speaking about the woman who has single-handedly built our intelligence network inside an enemy compound.”
Annora barely glanced at him. “Solomon. Ever the loyal soldier.”
“Loyal to facts. You arrived ten minutes ago. She’s been in the field for weeks.”
“And funny you mention biology,” I said, stepping forward. The anger was cold now, focused, past the point of shaking. “Since I’m carrying heirs along with the king’s. Three of them. Growing inside this disgusting human.”
The clearing went silent.
Annora’s composure cracked. Her gaze dropped to my stomach and the calculation behind her eyes recalibrated everything she’d walked into this camp believing.
“That’s...” Her voice trailed off.
“Not what you’re expecting. You’ll adjust.”
Lucian moved to stand beside me. “Annora. You’ve now been informed.
My mate is carrying my heirs. She is operating inside the Order’s compound at personal risk that you, from your comfortable council chambers, cannot begin to comprehend.
” His voice was quiet. Worse than loud. “Choose your next words with extreme care.”
“I’m speaking truth, Your Majesty.” Her composure sealed back into place. She’d been doing this for decades. “Heirs or not, she is still a hunter. Carrying children does not make a queen. Any woman can bear children.”
“Any woman didn’t.” Percy’s voice was flat. He’d positioned himself to my left, and his usual warmth was gone. “She did. And she’s doing it while you’re standing here with your luggage.”
Annora looked at him. “Percival. So eager to defend. It’s endearing.”
“It’s a warning.”
“How refreshing. The rogue has opinions now.”
“Well, rogues can get rid of anyone since we aren’t anchored to any pack. Don’t you think so?”
Giselle stepped into the clearing from the perimeter. She’d been listening. I could tell by the way her gaze moved between Annora and me.
“She’s not wrong,” Giselle said. Directed at the group but aimed at me. “The council’s concerns are legitimate. A human hunter as a queen creates a precedent that could destabilize Veyndral.”
I stared at her. Two days ago this woman told me I hadn’t earned what my mates were giving me. Now she was backing up Annora as if she’d finally found an ally.
Solomon’s gaze shifted to her. “Giselle. You have got to stop crossing the lines.”
Giselle’s jaw tightened. A change in her expression, the sting of being corrected by the one person whose opinion she couldn’t dismiss.
Percy turned to her next. No tact, just pure Percy. “Are you serious right now? You’re siding with her? You used to hate Annora. She was a spoiled snob. Those were your exact words. And now you’re standing next to her nodding along?”
“People change, Percival,” Annora said. “Perhaps Giselle simply recognizes what you’re too biased to see.”
“What I see,” Percy said, his voice losing the last trace of warmth, “is two women who’ve decided that the mother of our children isn’t worth the space she’s standing on.”
Lucian stepped forward, and the authority that radiated from him wasn’t performed. It was the natural byproduct of two centuries of rule compressed into a single look.
“Annora. You are a guest in this camp by the thinnest margin of tolerance. If you wish to remain, you will treat Mira with the respect due to the future queen of Veyndral. If you cannot manage that, the tree line is right there.”
“And Giselle.” His gaze shifted. “The next time you align yourself against my mate, consider that the woman you’re undermining is the reason we have any intelligence on the Order at all. What exactly have you contributed on your own that entitles you to question her place?”
The fire crackled. An owl called from somewhere in the canopy.
I should have felt vindicated. Three men defending me. The king of Veyndral shutting down two women who’d challenged my worth. It was the fantasy, right? The mates rising up, the critics silenced, the girl validated by the people who loved her.
But I was tired.
Not grateful-tired or relieved-tired. Bone-tired of being defended. Of being assessed and evaluated and found lacking by people who didn’t know me, and then rescued by men who did. Tired of being the variable that everyone else got to solve.
All of this has to do with the Order. My bloodline and my legacy.
This wasn’t just Lucian’s war. It wasn’t Solomon’s strategy or Percy’s fight or Annora’s political chess match.
This was mine.
“Enough.”
My voice cut through the clearing. Everyone turned.
“I appreciate the defense,” I said and looked at Annora. “You want to know if I deserve the crown? Watch me.”
I turned to the group. To all of them.
“The Order of the Silver Dawn is my legacy. I am going to dismantle it. Brick by brick from the inside. Not because I’m their mate or Veyndral’s queen or anyone’s novelty. Because it’s my blood. My name. My war.”
The words echoed over the clearing.
“So you can argue about whether I deserve to stand here. Or you can get out of my way and let me prove it.”
Nobody spoke.
“When this ends, it won’t be Veyndral that destroys the Order. Not even the alphas here.”
I let the vow echo at this moment.
“It will be me.”