Chapter 15 - Sinth
She came back from Wayne’s territory looking different. Lighter and happier. And ever since, she doesn’t push us away anymore. I’m not sure what happened to her in Wayne’s Pack, but whatever it was, it sure moved her out of her shell.
I like it. I really do. Although I can’t help feeling bad that I let her be all by herself for days. Wayne has even bragged about the one who saved our asses. If he hadn’t taken her out, she’d still be mad at us by now.
No lies detected. It doesn’t stop it from stinging, though.
Within the next few days, they get closer, and their bond grows stronger. Sometimes I hear her belly laughs echoing off the palace walls, a testament that her bubbly personality is back.
I’m not sure how he does it, but Wayne knows exactly how to make her smile. The man knows what to say, when to say it, and how to say it. He’s always been smooth with words anyway. Not just him—his whole Pack is a bunch of free-spirited shifters who love to have fun all the time.
His pack, Forestguard, has never been a territory that stands on ceremony, and it shows in how quickly they folded her into their noise without asking her to prove herself first.
Today, I’m walking the gardens with her in the cool evening. I’d decided to stop watching her and Wayne from afar and feeling a certain type of way that’s not healthy for me.
She looks absolutely stunning in her golden robe, the hem sweeping the floor behind her as she moves. The sun is setting across the horizon, its warm, golden glow spilling over everything it touches. And when it hits her skin, it highlights her beauty in a way that makes my heart skip a beat.
“They just accepted me, Sinth,” she says, walking beside me, something like wonder still lingering in her voice. “Nobody asked if I was shiftless. Nobody cared.”
“That’s Wayne’s people for you. Loud, accepting, entirely too fond of a good time,” I keep my tone light. “Besides, there’s no reason why anyone in their right senses wouldn’t accept you.”
Her cheeks flush at my words, and she tucks her hair behind her ear.
I watch her for a second, savoring her beauty.
Then she breaks the silence between us. “One of the children asked if I was going to be their Queen.” A quiet laugh falls from her lips. “Can you believe that?”
Of course, I can. Who wouldn’t see you and think you’re not royalty? You’re my Queen. You’re our Queen.
I don’t say that out loud, though. Instead, I ask, “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I just laughed it off. The question took me off guard, you know.”
I don’t push further on that, though something in me quietly notes the honesty of it, the fact that she didn’t deny it outright the way she would have weeks ago.
“Can I ask you something?” I stop in my tracks.
She does the same, a hint of curiosity flashing in her eyes as she stares at me. “Sure.”
I hesitate. “Why’d you run away that night?”
Color drains from her eyes, and her smile slowly vanishes. In my head, I’ve messed up; I’ve sent her back to a memory she probably doesn’t want to remember.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize immediately. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s okay,” she says, reaching out to touch my chest for no apparent reason.
I like the feeling, though.
“I’m glad you asked, actually.” She locks eyes with me and sighs. “I’m sorry I ran. I was just afraid of being rejected all over again.”
“Rejected?” I step forward, closing the gap between us. “By who?”
A pause. “I don’t know—the three of you maybe?”
“Charlize.” I take her hand, my gaze unwavering. “We’ve all accepted you, and in fact, if anyone should be apologizing, it’s us.”
A small smile plays on her lips.
“You do not have to be afraid of rejection ever again,” I say, meaning every single word.
She swallows, refusing to look away from me. “Do you promise?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
I pull close, my arm around her waist. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Her eyes search mine for a moment as though she’s looking for any sign of insincerity.
“You’re ours just as we’re yours,” I assure her. “And nothing’s ever going to change that.”
A moment of silence.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
I reach out with my other hand, fingers in her red hair, stroking her strands.
“You’ve asked your question. Can I ask mine?”
“Of course.”
“Well, it’s more of a request than a question really.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Can you show me around your territory?”
My lips curl into a mischievous grin. “You didn’t even have to ask; I was going to offer to do that.”
“Then what’re we waiting for?” She smiles broadly. “Take me there.”
***
The next morning, we ride to my territory, and for reasons I can’t explain, I find myself being nervous about her meeting my people.
This isn’t because I think they won’t accept her. No. I guess it’s because deep down, I’m afraid she’ll find them too boring, especially since she’s already met with the fun Pack.
Trident isn’t loud or made up of lively, jovial shifters like Forestguard. It isn’t grand the way Snowpeak carries itself either.
My people keep to themselves, mostly—fishermen and craftsmen and quiet farmers who’ve spent generations learning that peace between three territories requires someone willing to do the unglamorous work of keeping it.
We don’t throw parties. We don’t perform loyalty the way some packs do. We simply show up for each other, day after day, without much fanfare.
I worry, riding in, that she’ll find it dull after Wayne’s forest full of laughter and waterfalls.
To my surprise, when we arrive, she’s actually smiling, watching my people work with real attention.
Fishermen are mending nets along the shore. Women are weaving baskets from reeds gathered at low tide. An old craftsman is carving something delicate out of driftwood near his cottage door.
Nobody makes a fuss over her arrival. They nod, respectful, and go back to their work, and I watch something in her posture ease at the lack of spectacle.
“They’re not staring,” she says quietly, almost surprised.
“They don’t have much use for staring. Work still needs doing, whether or not their King’s mate just rode into their village.”
“I like that.” She says it simply, without elaboration, but I feel the weight of the compliment anyway.
We spend the afternoon walking the shoreline together as I show her around. She enjoys the scenery and won’t stop smiling at my people. A handful of noble men from the Pack even gifted her a chest later during the day.
She accepted it with warmth in her eyes and thanked them for being so thoughtful.
By evening, Wayne and Chris arrive at my territory after receiving an invitation from me.
They join us for dinner in my own hall—modest by comparison to the others, wooden beams instead of marble, simple fare instead of anything ceremonial.
Charlize seems more at ease here than I’ve seen her anywhere else, laughing freely at something Wayne says, teasing Chris when he tries too hard to maintain his usual composure at a table clearly built for informality rather than protocol.
“They say you have ice in your veins,” she says to Chris, watching him from across the table. “But sometimes even you have to loosen up a bit.”
“That’s ironic coming from a woman who locked herself up in her room for days, refusing to see anyone,” he replies.
For more than a few seconds, the hall is silent. Glances are exchanged, and although I know he meant it as a joke, I sit there hoping she catches the humor instead of getting offended.
“That’s a good one, Chris,” she says finally, voice devoid of anger. “You can have this moment, but I promise you, I’ll have mine.”
Wayne hurts out laughing while I exhale softly, grateful that a crisis was avoided.
“Who would’ve thought that the brooding King actually has a sense of humor, am I right?” Wayne teases.
We laugh at the table, and in that moment, I zone out briefly, watching the smiles on their faces. Even Chris, who never grins, has something that resembles a smile on his face. It’s faint. But it’s there, and it’s genuine.
Wayne makes another joke, and Charlize laughs so hard she has her hand on her belly. There’s something light in her eyes. Mirth. And it’s simply beautiful to behold. I catch the other two men staring at her like they also have been caught in the web of her warmth.
Together, at this table, I see the possibility of building a happy home with her. I know deep down that we can make it happen. We have to.
It’s a good night, and I let myself enjoy it without guarding against what comes next.
Before dinner is over, Chris finally offers to take Charlize to his Pack. Although there’s a moment of fleeting silence, she doesn’t refuse. In fact, she says she can’t wait to meet his folks.
My heart skips a beat because I know visiting his Pack won’t be as wonderful as she thinks. Chris’s people are just as cold as their Alpha. They’re not particularly known for their warmth with strangers.
Wayne and I exchange glances from across the table, but neither of us says a word.
***
Snowpeak is different from the moment we arrive. Chris lets Wayne and me tag along, probably because he knows how his people can be and a little backup wouldn’t hurt.
Chris’s territory carries itself the way Chris carries himself—cold, disciplined, unwelcoming to anything it hasn’t already decided to trust.
The mountain air bites harder here, the stone architecture severe compared to Trident’s driftwood and Forestguard’s timber.
I feel the shift in Charlize’s posture the instant our carriage rides through the gates. She straightens, wary, some old defensive instinct clearly kicking back in.
She’s right to be wary. It doesn’t take long before the first sign of trouble surfaces.
An elder of Chris’s pack approaches us in the main hall. Older, severe, flanked by two others who wear the same expression of thinly veiled disgust. His eyes move over Charlize with open contempt.
“This is the shiftless girl the council speaks of?” His voice carries clearly across the hall, meant to be heard.
The words land so hard that my face twists in fury.
“You bring her here, into Snowpeak, expecting us to welcome what half the island already whispers is an abomination against nature?”
Charlize goes rigid beside me. I feel her flinch, small and controlled. There’s fear in her eyes. But there’s also anger.
Chris moves before I do.
“Careful,” Chris says, voice dropping into something sharper, more dangerous. “Choose your next words with extreme caution.” His eyes are blazing red, fingers already curled into fists at his sides.
“My King, with respect, the girl has no wolf. Bringing her into our halls, presenting her as—”
Wayne rolls his eyes. “Are you deaf? Are you just simply dumb? The instructions were simple. Choose your next words carefully—and you open your big mouth to spill this nonsense?” There’s a hint of bemusement in his tone.
The elder’s jaw locks, clearly feeling insulted.
“She is my fated mate.” Chris’s voice cuts through the hall like a blade, final and absolute. “Mine, Wayne’s, and Sinth’s. Anyone in this pack who speaks of her as an abomination speaks against their King directly, and I will treat it exactly as such.”
Silence.
The elder pales and swallows hard. “My King, I only meant—”
“I know precisely what you meant.” Chris takes a step closer, and the temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees along with his tone. “You will not speak of her that way again. Nor will anyone under my command. Is that understood?”
The hall goes still. Nobody argues further, though I catch more than one uneasy glance passed between pack members, the kind that says the tension hasn’t dissolved so much as gone quiet for now.
As we walk further down the hall, flanked around her like bodyguards, I lean in and whisper, “I apologize for what just happened. I probably should’ve warned you.”
Her response is a wry grin, a little dull.
We stay in Snowpeak longer than either of the other two territories, mostly because Chris refuses to leave until the tension eases.
I watch him work harder over those days than I’ve ever seen him work at anything.
He walks the halls with her personally, correcting anyone who so much as hesitates too long in her presence.
He has his own healer check on her daily. He ensures she’s fed the finest the territory has to offer. He personally escorts her through the training yards and the mountain paths rather than leaving the task to guards.
It’s an entirely different Chris than the one who once called her not worth the trouble. He does everything he can to show her another version of him—a kinder and gentler Chris Winterborn.
She doesn’t make it easy for him at first, and he’s clearly unused to the work of earning something rather than simply commanding it.
Slowly, the pack begins to shift around her.
A young girl once ran and hugged Charlize’s feet during one of our excursions around the territory. She then smiled and offered her a flower. She told Charlize that she’s as pretty as the flower and took off before Charlize could even thank her.
A guard who once eyed her with suspicion begins nodding a proper greeting each morning.
Small things, incremental, but I watch Charlize’s shoulders loosen bit by bit as the days pass. I watch some of the old wariness give way to something more settled.
She even laughs, once, at something one of the younger pack members says during a meal—a genuine, unguarded sound that has Chris looking over at her with an expression I’ve never seen on his face before. Something between disbelief and quiet, desperate hope.
The possessiveness doesn’t fade, though. If anything, it sharpens the longer we stay.
A young soldier compliments her during a training exhibition, harmless enough, and Chris’s entire demeanor shifts within seconds.
He turns cold and dismisses the man from the yard with an excuse thin enough that everyone present understands exactly what’s actually happening.
Wayne does the same thing days later when a merchant’s son lingers too long at her side in the market. I catch myself doing it at times too, my hand finding the small of her back a beat too quickly whenever someone stands closer to her than I’d like.
She notices. Of course she does. Our possessiveness of her is clear as crystal.
“You three are ridiculous,” she says one evening in her quarters. “I spoke to a soldier for thirty seconds. Chris looked ready to have him reassigned to guard duty on the coldest peak in the territory.”
“He probably still will,” I admit, seated on her head with her back against the headboard.
She’s lying and facing the ceiling, the back of her head resting on my lap.
“That’s absurd.” She glances at me.
“Maybe to you. But to us, whoever touches you will have us to contend with.” I shrug, stroking her hair. “None of us are being reasonable about this. I don’t expect that to change anytime soon.”
She doesn’t argue further, and I catch the small, reluctant smile she tries to hide.
Something in my chest settles at the sight of it—proof, however small, that whatever’s growing between the four of us survived even Snowpeak’s coldest welcome.