THE PROPHECY
Freya
I’m exhausted by the time I return from the training yard. My arms ache, my legs feel like jelly, and my palms are raw from gripping the staff too tightly.
After a long bath, I let the maids go and ask for my meal to be brought to my chambers.
Brin’s antidote sits waiting on my table.
I down it in one swallow. It no longer tastes foul or makes my body shudder like earlier.
He told me we’re almost done with the detox.
“Just a few more nights,” he said. “You’ll feel whole again. ”
I hope he’s right.
The food arrives. I eat quietly. When I’m done, I snuff out the candles one by one until the room softens into shadow. The moment I pull the blanket over my body a sudden sound cuts through the air.
A whoosh.
My eyes snap open. The drapes ripple, revealing a shape standing on the balcony.
Cold shoots down my spine. I reach for the pointed staff by the bed, grip it tight, and rise.
The silhouette shifts. The firelight from the hearth catches a familiar outline—broad shoulders, messy hair, eyes that gleam green even in the dark.
Rowan.
For a heartbeat, I forget to breathe. He looks radiant, almost otherworldly. It’s only been a few days since I last saw him at the border, but it feels like years have passed.
“Rowan?” My voice trembles with relief and confusion. “How—how are you here?”
I wrap my arms around myself, shyness suddenly taking over. The thin nightdress barely covers me, the fabric brushing my knees, leaving my arms bare. He’s watching me with a burning focus that makes my pulse race. I can’t look at him too long.
He takes a step forward, the faintest smile ghosting his lips. “I wanted to see you, Freya.”
My cheeks flush, but I force myself to focus on the world instead of my racing heart. “You can’t be here. The borders are sealed. The patrols—”
“I know,” he says, dipping his head. “I shouldn’t have come. But I couldn’t stop myself. When Noctra, my raven told me you wanted…” he trails off. Shaking his head, he begins again, “I had to—” He cuts himself off with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I should leave.”
“Wait.” I reach for him instinctively, fingers brushing air—only air. My hand passes straight through his arm.
I gasp and stumble back, staff raised, a shudder running through me. “W–What are you?”
He looks guilty. His outline flickers faintly, light shimmering through him. “I couldn’t actually come here,” he says quietly. “This is only a projection. ”
A projection. My throat dries. I stare at him, taking in every perfect detail—the shadow of stubble, the faint scar at his jaw, the way his hair falls into his eyes. He’s real and not real all at once.
He lifts his hand slowly, palm open. “It’s still me.”
I raise mine, hesitating, until our palms almost touch. The air between us buzzes, faint and electric. It prickles across my skin like static.
‘Magic,’ Nyx growls inside me.
I should pull back, but I don’t.
Rowan’s voice softens. “Not all magic is bad, Freya. It lets me see you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t feel how much you needed to know I was alright.
” His throat works as he swallows, his gaze boring into mine.
His fingers move closer to my face, but I feel no touch—only that strange, tingling warmth.
“I hate that I can’t feel you,” he murmurs.
My heart twists. He’s the Rogue King, a phantom in my room, and still, he looks at me like I’m something worth crossing worlds for.
“I shouldn’t be afraid of you,” I whisper. “But I am.”
He smiles faintly. “Be afraid of what I am, not of me.”
I think about the boy he was—the one who loved me before the world broke us. The one who was exiled because he refused to stop loving me.
I step closer. “You shouldn’t have risked this.”
“I’d risk worse for you,” he says without missing a beat.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t say that.”
He doesn’t move, but his voice is low, almost pleading. “I hate that I can’t touch you. I hate that this—” He gestures between us, at the space we can’t cross. “—is all I can do.”
My breath trembles, desire flooding my body. “Rowan…”
I lift my face to his, my heart pounding hard enough to hurt. His lips part, and for a moment, I think I’ll kiss him. I want to. I want to feel something that isn’t pain or loneliness.
But before our lips meet, I stop. The spell breaks.
I turn away, wrapping my arms around myself again. “Elder Thane,” I say suddenly. “He’s part of the High Council. I thought they’d help me get justice, but Izel’s tied to him somehow. She’s corrupted even them. I don’t know what to do.”
There’s a pause before he finally speaks. “You don’t need them, Freya. You’re powerful enough on your own. Once you claim Severance, no one can hold power over you.”
“Powerful?” I laugh hollowly.
He steps closer, the shimmer of his form glowing faintly. “You are High Luna, Freya.”
“High Luna,” I echo, sounding ridiculous.
“It means everything.” His voice deepens. “I found a prophecy. A High Luna who would bring a new world—one who would reunite rogues and packs, and end the false reign of the High Council under the Moon’s eye.”
I stare at him. “That’s absurd.”
“It’s the truth.”
I scoff. “I’m not that. I barely have control over my own children, let alone the world.”
Rowan’s mouth curves. “Empires don’t fall to armies first. They fall to the truth. And you—” He looks at me intently.
I shake my head. “This is too much. I’m not ready for any of this.”
“Then let me guide you.”
“How?”
“Win over your pack,” he says simply. “Even if Kade stands against you. Show them why you’re right. Expose Izel. Let them see who she really is. Stir the rebellion he’s afraid of.”
His words leave a hush between us, broken only by the quiet flicker of the hearth. Then he does something that makes my breath catch—he bends his knee.
“Rowan—”
He bows his head. “I pledge my loyalty to you, Freya Vale-Thorne. Until my death.”
“Don’t,” I whisper, shaking my head. “Please, rise. You’ve already sacrificed enough for me. You can’t give your life too.”
He lifts his gaze. “My life was never mine alone. It’s always been yours.”
Tears prick the corners of my eyes, my heart pounding so hard I’m almost scared. “You can’t say that.”
“I can,” he says softly. “But I won’t ask you to say it back. I don’t expect you to love me. I only want to love you. Freely. Respectfully. Like I always have.”
I can’t speak. His eyes—those green eyes that once meant home—hold me still. They remind me of sunlight through trees, of peace, of the girl I used to be before everything fell apart.
I step closer. My breath hitches. I close my eyes, leaning up just a little, until the faint hum between us brushes my lips.
“I want to kiss you,” he whispers.
“When we meet again,” I whisper back, “for real… I want you to.”
When I open my eyes, he’s no longer there. The air is still. The balcony empty.
Only the faint scent of pine and ash remains. And the ache in my chest tells me that somewhere, across the mountains, Rowan feels it too.