Chapter 6_My world
1278 Words
Write a letter to the Grays. Invite them over for dinner,” Lucian Fenwick said, his voice low, clipped, and deliberate, like a blade being sheathed. His boots echoed through the palace corridor, each step purposeful. Killian fell into stride beside him, quiet as a shadow.
Lucian’s mind, however, was anything but quiet.
Thoughts crowded his head like a violent storm waiting to break. For days now, something had been clawing at him from the inside out—pacing like a caged beast within his chest. No matter how many meetings he chaired, how many disputes he resolved, or how many threats he dealt with at the borders, nothing settled the turmoil under his skin.
He hadn’t realized how quickly his heart was beating until he neared his chamber doors. He could barely stop himself from pushing them open too soon, too eagerly. But he did. Barely.
Because he knew what was inside.
The portrait.
He had commissioned it just days ago, giving the painter strict instructions to work in secret. No one was to know. Not even the court. Certainly not his mother.
And especially not Aria.
He could still hear his mother’s voice ringing in his ears the morning after the choosing ball: “Did you find your mate?”
He had lied without blinking.
“No.”
A smooth, practiced lie. Cold and final.
She hadn’t believed him. Of course she hadn’t. She had pressed him with her usual flair for theatrics—dramatic sighs, furrowed brows, veiled threats about arranged proposals—but he had brushed it all off like a man made of ice.
Only he wasn’t made of ice.
Not anymore.
He wasn’t even sure what he was anymore. Not since her.
Aria.
The name sat on his tongue like a sacred word, one he dared not say aloud.
Her family was ordinary. Insignificant in the grand tapestry of the packs. An Emberrest guard for a father. A mother who traded in herbs at a local market. A sister. That was it. No status, no lands, no political advantage.
And yet, she had ignited something in him. Something ancient. Wild. Unshakable.
He’d tried to walk away from it, tried to silence the wolf within him. But each day that passed made it harder. He became something desperate in his own silence—starved for her without understanding why.
So he did the only thing he could do without alarming the court: he assigned a spy.
The man blended in with Emberrest’s people, tasked with a single purpose—watch her. No contact. No interference. Just eyes. And reports.
Lucian read each one like scripture. He memorized her habits, her routes, the soft notes about her routines.
She hummed to herself while tending to herbs.
She smiled at children, even when she didn’t realize she was being watched.
She had a habit of staring off into the sky, as if looking for something that wasn’t there.
Every detail only fed the obsession. Every note made the emptiness inside him swell a little more.
He entered his chambers and saw it—the scroll, waiting on his desk like a sealed promise. He approached slowly, fingers brushing the parchment, reverent. He opened it carefully.
And there she was.
The portrait was a masterwork of emotion. She stood at her family’s modest stall, a shawl draped loosely over her head, barely hiding the cascade of chocolate-brown hair escaping beneath it. The painter had captured the sunlight streaking through the strands, giving her an ethereal glow.
Her face was tilted slightly downward, a soft smile just ghosting her lips. Her eyes—quiet, searching, impossibly blue—seemed to stare right into him.
She was clothed in simplicity, a linen dress worn from use. She looked like the very opposite of a queen.
And yet—he had never seen anyone more regal.
He sat down hard on the edge of the bed, the weight of his desire crashing into him all at once.
He needed her.
Not as a political pawn.
Not even as a Luna.
But as something more. Something only his.
Before he could let the thought linger, a knock sounded at the door.
“Alpha,” Killian said as he stepped in. “You’re needed at Whiteridge. A border dispute. Land claims.”
Lucian groaned internally. Duty again. But maybe… maybe this was good. Distance might clear his head.
Or break it.
****
Three days passed in Whiteridge. Tension. Negotiation. Alpha councils. Not once did she leave his thoughts. He barely slept. When he did, it was only to see her again—in his dreams.
He returned to the palace late in the afternoon, weary from the weight of diplomacy. But the moment his boots crossed into the main hall, he froze.
Her scent.
Lily and jasmine. So familiar by now, like a song he couldn’t stop hearing. But it wasn’t faint or lingering like his memories. It was fresh. Present. Real.
“While you were gone, I sent the letter,” Killian said, stepping up beside him again.
Lucian blinked, eyes narrowing. “What letter?”
“The invitation. To the Grays.”
For a moment, Lucian didn’t respond.
Then he whispered, “Good.”
His wolf stirred violently. Pacing. Growling. Now, it urged. Go now.
“When exactly did you send it?” he asked, already turning, already following the scent.
“This morning.”
Lucian didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to. His body was moving—possessed by instinct more than will.
The scent led him down winding halls, past bowing servants who cleared the way without being told. He didn’t even register them. He had one focus.
The queen’s court.
He hadn’t set foot there in years. Not since his father died. But now, his boots echoed across the marble as he entered.
A hush fell across the chamber. Maids stopped moving. The senior court lady blinked, startled by his unexpected presence. She was in the middle of leading a group of new court ladies through the ceremonial introductions.
But Lucian didn’t care.
He scanned the line once, eyes sharp. And then he saw her.
He walked toward her without pause.
She kept her head bowed, like the rest. But her shoulders were drawn tight—rigid. He could hear the breath catch in her throat.
He stopped in front of her.
The rest of the court disappeared.
“Your name,” he asked, voice a low command.
“Aria,” she whispered, barely audible.
Gods, that voice. He felt it strike something deep within him.
“Full name.”
Her hands trembled slightly at her sides. “A... Aria Gray.”
He closed his eyes for the briefest second. The truth of it echoed through his soul like a final note in a long-forgotten song.
“Look up.”
She hesitated.
“I said… look up.”
Her head rose slowly. Those eyes—those impossibly blue eyes—met his for the briefest moment.
Just one glance. Just a flicker.
But it was enough.
The tether snapped. Or maybe it bound him tighter.
“Tell the Luna she’s mine now,” he said coldly, already turning to Killian. “Put her in the west chamber. Have her change out of those clothes. Properly dressed. As she deserves.”
He didn’t wait for a reply.
Didn’t wait for her reaction.
He walked out of the court with his jaw clenched and his heart pounding too hard to hide.
Because now Aria Gray was here.
And Lucian Fenwick, feared Alpha of Silvercliff Hill, was no longer in control.
He wasn’t sure he ever would be again.
- Writer
