Chapter 9 #2
And then I found out she has started taking later shifts at the infirmary.
When I asked one of the other healers about her schedule, thinking I could catch her during a quiet moment, I learned she’d requested the late-night shifts.
The ones that run until dawn. The ones that ensure she’ll never cross paths with me during normal, daylight hours.
The knowledge sits like acid in my gut. I know it’s deliberate.
Every avoided glance, every locked door, every schedule change—it’s all calculated to keep me at a distance.
It doesn’t feel good, this taste of my own medicine.
For months, I was the one avoiding her, crossing to the other side of rooms, making sure our paths never intersected.
Now, she’s doing the same to me, and the irony burns worse than any physical wound.
The only time I can be near her is when she has no choice—when she’s with Zane and I’m her hidden guard.
But knowing what she’s doing is fake doesn’t make it easier to see her with another man.
Doesn’t stop my wolf from pacing restlessly, whining for our mate.
Doesn’t ease the frustration building in my chest until I feel like I might explode.
I want her. Want to touch her, feel her body against mine, hear her voice—even if she’s yelling at me. Anything would be better than watching her from a distance, close enough to protect but too far to reach.
My soldiers have started giving me wide berth during training.
I’ve become a terror on the grounds, pushing them harder than ever, my temper fraying at the smallest mistakes.
Yesterday, I made an entire squadron run drills until they were practically crawling.
The day before, I shouted at a new recruit so harshly, he nearly cried.
I know I’m being unfair. My anger isn’t really about them. But I can’t seem to stop.
“Commander?” Theodore is back, and I realize I’ve been staring at the same page for the past ten minutes without reading a single word.
“What now?”
“Nothing, sir. I just—Are you alright?”
The concern in his voice makes me want to snap at him, but I force myself to take a breath. “I’m fine. Dismissed.”
I shove back from my desk and stand, my body too tense to sit still any longer.
I check the time—Selene’s meeting with Zane is in twenty minutes.
Today, it’s the gardens near the south wing.
Yesterday, it was the library terrace. The day before, the rose garden.
Zane keeps changing locations, probably thinking it makes him look romantic and spontaneous.
My feet carry me toward the south gardens before I consciously decide to go.
I find a suitable spot behind a marble column wrapped in climbing vines, positioned so I can see the bench where they’ll sit while remaining mostly hidden from view.
It has become routine, this torture I inflict on myself.
Watching Zane smile at her, watching her smile back, knowing it’s all an act but feeling the jealousy eat at me anyway.
Selene arrives first today, her auburn hair catching the afternoon sunlight. My breath hitches at the sight of her. She’s wearing a simple, blue dress that brings out her eyes, but even from here, I can see the tension in her shoulders.
Zane soon appears, his dark hair perfectly styled, his expensive clothes immaculate. He greets her with that easy warmth he’s so good at projecting, then gestures toward the bench.
They sit. He leans close, saying something that makes her laugh—that bright, genuine sound I haven’t heard directed at me in weeks. My lip pulls up in a snarl.
But then, I notice something I’ve been tracking for days now. When Zane reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, Selene shifts slightly, just enough that his fingers miss. When he gestures and his hand brushes her arm, she pulls away under the guise of adjusting her skirt.
She’s not letting him touch her.
My wolf settles slightly, pleased. But then, a darker thought creeps in. Is she only avoiding his touch because of my threat? Because I told her if she let him lay a finger on her, I’d spend the whole night reminding her that she’s mine?
The possibility twists in my gut. Maybe she’s not dodging Zane’s touch because she wants to stay faithful to our bond.
Maybe she just doesn’t want to sleep with me.
Maybe the idea of being in bed with me again is so repulsive that she’d rather deny herself any physical contact at all than risk triggering my promise.
The idea makes my chest tighten with despair.
I’m about to settle in for another hour of watching them when Zane produces a bouquet that was hidden behind the bench. Roses. A dozen of them, deep red and perfect.
Selene’s smile widens as she takes them, bringing them to her nose to inhale their scent. There’s something wistful in her expression, something soft and genuine that makes my heart clench.
She loves flowers.
The realization hits me like a lightning bolt. In all the months I’ve known her, I’ve never bothered to learn what she likes. Never asked about her interests, her preferences, the small things that make her happy. I was too busy pushing her away, too focused on my own prejudices and fears.
But Zane knows. Or he’s pretending to know, which is almost worse.
An idea takes shape in my mind, purpose straightening my spine for the first time in weeks.
What if I woo her? Court her properly, the way I should have from the beginning?
If I’d handled the fated mate bond correctly, that’s what I would have done.
Brought her gifts, learned what made her smile, shown her I cared.
Women have always gravitated toward me naturally. I’ve never had to work for their attention, never had to try. But for Selene? For my mate? I’ll learn.
The problem is, I don’t know where to start.
I don’t know what her favorite flower is, or even if she has one.
I don’t know if she prefers tea or coffee, what books she reads, what makes her laugh when she thinks no one is watching.
Beyond these meetings with Zane, I don’t know where she goes, what she does during the hours when she slips away and I can’t find her.
But I know someone who might.
I settle back against the column, watching as Zane continues his careful performance and Selene plays her part. Their date will last another hour, at least—plenty of time for me to form a plan.
Once this is over, once I’ve made sure she gets away safely, I need to find Daciana.
Daciana is in the guards’ dining hall, sitting alone at a corner table with a plate of roasted chicken and vegetables.
She’s still in uniform, clearly on a break between shifts.
Her dark hair is pulled back in a practical braid, and she’s eating with the efficient focus of a soldier who knows their meal time is limited.
I approach her table, and she looks up, her fork pausing halfway to her mouth. Surprise crosses her face, followed quickly by wariness.
“Daciana,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Do you have a minute?”
She sets down her fork carefully, assessing me with a soldier’s sharp attention. I’m a commanding officer—several ranks above her—and we both know I could simply order her to answer my questions. The fact that I’m asking permission is clearly throwing her off balance.
“Commander Rowan,” she says slowly. “What can I do for you?”
I pull out the chair across from her and sit, reaching into my pocket as I do so. Her wariness increases as I produce a small notepad and pen, setting them on the table in front of me.
“I need to ask you some questions.”
“About what?” Daciana stares at the notepad like it might bite her.
I flip it open to a blank page, my pen poised. “About Selene.”
Her posture straightens immediately to a defensive pose. “Why are you asking about Selene?”
“That’s none of your business.”
The words come out sharper than I mean them to, but Daciana doesn’t flinch. Instead, she leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. There’s something almost protective in the gesture, loyalty to Selene written clearly across her face.
“She’s my friend,” Daciana says, her voice taking on an edge of bravado despite the rank difference between us. “And unless I know what your intentions are, Commander, I’m not saying anything.”
I grit my teeth, irritation building in my chest. “I’m her mate,” I say finally. “And I’m trying to woo her.”
Daciana lets out a sharp laugh, the sound cutting and disbelieving. “Her mate? That’s a good one, Commander.” She picks up her fork again, turning her attention back to her food. “Selene’s being courted by Lord Zane Radrick. Everyone knows that.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Right.” She doesn’t even look up. “And I’m the queen of the Eastern Isles.”
Frustration boils over. Without thinking, I yank down the collar of my shirt, exposing my shoulder. The mating mark sits there, dark and unmistakable—the bite Selene’s wolf left on my skin.
Daciana’s fork clatters to her plate. Her eyes go wide, fixed on the mark.
“That’s—” She stops, swallows hard. “That’s a mating mark.”
“Yes.” I release my collar, straightening it back into place. “Check Selene’s neck if you don’t believe me. Or ask her yourself.”
Daciana stares at me, her whole body having gone still with shock. “But Zane…She’s been spending all her time with him. She said—” She stops herself, shaking her head. Suspicion replaces the shock, and her jaw tightens. “Wait. Selene doesn’t even like you, Commander.”
The words land like a slap in my face, but I keep my expression neutral.
“She’s made that pretty clear,” Daciana continues, her voice hardening. “It’s hard to see you two as mates when she doesn’t want anything to do with you.”
“Things are complicated,” I say tightly.
“Clearly.” Daciana’s gaze bores into mine. “If you’re really her mate, why is she spending all her time with Zane? Why would she choose to be with him instead of you?”