The Lycan Mate's Souls

Chapter 3: Boriken Islands of King August

Celeste Point of View

As my boot crossed beyond the threshold of the Oak, I felt it—

A pull.

Firm.

Sudden.

My arm was drawn back, and my body followed, guided closer to Prince Cassian before I could fully step into the open.

“Forgive my boldness,” he spoke at once, his voice low, yet earnest. “I would not bring you discomfort, nor add to any burden you already bear. Yet I failed to ask—before we crossed—if I might be granted a moment alone with you.”

His hold did not tighten, yet it did not release either.

A quiet urgency rested in his words.

“I know well you are to be wed to my brother… to my king,” he continued, his gaze steady upon mine. “Yet I have grown… fond of your company. Might I be granted the grace of seeing you again—once the rites are complete?”

His words stirred something unexpected within me.

Curiosity.

Not unwelcome.

Not unpleasant.

And though his action had been sudden, even improper, I found no offense in it—not when he offered reason with such sincerity.

Yet—

Beatrice did not share my patience.

“Remove your hand from your future Queen—my sister, Prince Cassian,” she snapped, her voice sharp as drawn steel. “Or I shall see it taken from you.”

The air shifted.

Tension coiled.

Cassian’s gaze turned to her, his expression hardening—not with rage, but with a quiet, dangerous authority that did not go unnoticed.

“I have already spoken my reason to your sister—my future Queen, and to the people I shall one day serve beside them,” he replied, his tone controlled, yet unyielding. “I meant her no harm. I sought only to steady her step, not see her stumble by my own doing.”

A breath passed.

Measured.

Deliberate.

“You mistake my intent.”

His gaze sharpened, his voice lowering just enough to carry weight without raising sound.

“And should you raise a hand against me, you would answer for it as one who has attempted harm upon a Prince of the Borinken Island’s.”

Beatrice stilled.

Not in submission—

But in surprise.

I, however…

Found myself taken aback for an entirely different reason.

There was something in the way he spoke—

Not merely in authority…

But in restraint.

In the careful balance between strength and respect.

And against my better judgment—

I found it… charming.

Almost as charming as Mario had been to his beloved Mia within the pages I held so dear.

I found myself wondering—

Was my curiosity nothing more than passing intrigue…

Or was he, in truth, akin to the man I had come to admire within the pages of my book?

But just as a friend…

The thought lingered, quiet yet persistent, as I turned to my sister and spoke with firm composure.

“I see no fault in his actions nor in his words, Beatrice,” I said, my voice steady, though gentle in its restraint. “A brief conversation with the Prince would bring no harm. You must not answer with such harshness where none has been given cause.”

My gaze softened, though my resolve did not.

“What Prince Cassian has asked is neither improper nor dishonorable. We have shared his company, and not once has he treated us with disrespect. Why, then, do you judge him so?”

Beatrice’s lips pressed into a pout, her annoyance plain as she crossed her arms upon flat her chest.

“Because,” she replied sharply, “that is how they all began with our sisters… before they acted as they pleased upon them in our absence.”

Her words held truth.

A truth I could not dismiss.

And yet…

I did not believe Cassian to be of that nature.

Not from what I had seen.

Not from what I had felt in his presence.

Still—

Caution was not weakness.

And there was a way to know.

My gift.

The Tear Crystal.

It could reveal what no word or expression ever could—the truth of a soul, its intent, its hidden desires.

If I chose to wield it.

The thought brought a quiet smile to my lips, one I concealed beneath calm composure as I reached inward—not outward—toward the presence of my gift.

I did not seek his permission.

For I knew well that if I asked, he would refuse.

And worse—

He might learn to guard himself against it.

As I had been warned.

As Brandon had instructed me during my visit to my sister, Eda.

I was not merely a bride.

Nor only a future Queen.

I had been raised with purpose.

Educated not only in grace and duty… but in something far greater.

A mission.

To see the unworthy fall.

To bring an end to those who ruled without rightful strength.

And if I were to stand among those chosen—among the royal blood blessed beyond mortality itself—

Then I must prove my worth.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Even now.

As I steadied myself to act upon my resolve, Beatrice’s reaction broke through my thoughts in a way I had not expected.

Her voice rose—not in anger, nor in warning—

But in wonder.

Pure.

Unrestrained.

She stepped forward, her hand lifting as she pointed between Prince Cassian and me, her eyes alight with a childlike amazement I had not seen upon her in many years.

“Celeste—look! A Kachina!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with delight. “I have never beheld one before… oh, look at it!”

Her words drew my gaze at once.

And there—

Between the veil of air and light—

It revealed itself.

A being not entirely of this world.

The Kachina stood as though shaped from spirit and breath, its form both present and fleeting, as if it could vanish with the slightest whisper of wind. Its body shimmered with colors not easily named—earth and sky woven together in hues of turquoise, sun-warmed gold, and deep ceremonial crimson.

Its presence carried a sacred stillness.

Feathers adorned its crown, each one glimmering with quiet magic, swaying though no breeze dared touch them. Intricate markings traced its form—symbols ancient and deliberate, as though etched by hands long forgotten, yet never lost to time.

Its face—

Neither wholly human, nor entirely spirit—

Was carved in solemn grace, its eyes holding a knowing that unsettled and comforted in equal measure.

Around it, the air pulsed.

Softly.

Rhythmically.

As though the very essence of the land breathed through it.

It did not speak.

It did not move.

And yet—

I felt it.

Watching.

Judging.

Witnessing more than what lay upon the surface of the moment.

A guardian.

A messenger.

A fragment of something far older than crown or kingdom.

As it stood before us, we bore witness to its blessing.

I felt it then—

Drawn toward me.

Gentle.

Unyielding.

The Kachina’s magic moved like a living current, flowing through the air until it settled upon me, wrapping itself around my being with a warmth both foreign and familiar.

And with that touch—

She stirred.

‘Such a gracious gift from a spirit,’ came the voice of my Lycan, soft and serene within me. ‘May it return to its path and carry fortune to those still in need of its light.’

A smile found me at once.

Brighter.

Freer than before.

‘Forgive me for waking you, my dear friend,’ I answered her with quiet warmth. ‘I wished only for your rest until the hour came for you to stand before your chosen mate once more.’

In the depths of our bond, I saw her.

Felt her.

Flower.

Her red fur shimmered beneath unseen light, her bright blue eyes alive with gentle knowing. The soft white of her furry throat rose as she stretched, her presence unfolding with the same calm affection she had always offered me.

‘No apology is needed,’ she replied, her voice a soothing echo within my mind. ‘It was not you who stirred me, but the spirit itself. It comes to bless our path… it seems fate has woven more than we have yet come to understand.’

Her words lingered.

Mysterious.

Heavy with truths yet unseen.

I found myself wondering—quietly, carefully—if she would grant me leave to use my gift as I intended… to seek what lay hidden within another’s soul.

But before the thought could fully take form—

She spoke again.

For nothing within me was ever truly hidden from her.

‘I sense no ill will within his wolf,’ she murmured, calm yet certain. ‘He is… decent. Though not without temper, should he be provoked.’

A pause.

Measured.

‘It was wise of you to stay your sister’s hand. A political fracture born of misunderstanding would serve no one—not now.’

I inclined my head ever so slightly, my smile softening as I felt the quiet reassurance of her presence.

Her judgment…

I trusted.

With all that I was.

For Flower saw what I could not always see.

Felt what lay beneath words and appearances alike.

Through her, the world revealed itself more truthfully.

She could speak not only to me… but to the wolves of others, just as they could reach toward her in return. Such communion between beings was not uncommon among those of our kind—

Yet when a wolf chose silence…

Chose to withdraw from that connection—

It was never without reason.

And seldom without danger.

With her answer, I chose—for now—to withhold my gift.

Though the thought lingered, quiet and watchful, I would not act upon it unless necessity demanded it.

As the spirit’s presence faded, I felt the shift at once.

The blessing did not leave emptiness behind—

But abundance.

The land itself seemed to breathe more deeply, as though awakened. Magic flowed richer through the garden, weaving itself into every living thing. For within the Oak, another world existed—one unseen, yet ever present.

A realm sustained by power.

By magic of all kinds.

The trees, the blossoms, the very soil beneath our feet—each drew from it, nourished by its endless current. And should one source of magic wither, another would rise to take its place.

Balance.

Unending.

The beauty within the Oak’s domain was unlike anything I had witnessed in all my years.

It was… peaceful.

A rare stillness.

A place untouched by the burdens of crown and duty.

And before I could restrain myself—

I reached for Beatrice, taking hold of her wrist with a lightness that surprised even me, my voice slipping into something far more playful than a princess ought to allow.

“How would you feel,” I asked with a soft smile, “about rolling down this hill… before we are forced to become proper royals before strangers?”

Beatrice’s expression shifted at once—mischief lighting her light sky blue eyes.

A small, delighted laugh escaped her.

Then—

A voice joined us.

“May I partake in this…?” Cassian asked, his tone touched with curiosity, yet warmed with a playful ease I had not expected. “I confess, I have never indulged in such a thing.”

That alone—

That honesty—

Drew a soft laugh from me.

I extended my hand toward him without hesitation.

“Then take my hand,” I offered. “We shall learn together… for soon enough, we are to be bound as family.”

His smile deepened as he stepped closer.

And as he did—

I saw him.

Truly.

Cassian was not an unremarkable man.

No—

Those who walked with creatures such as Lycans or werewolves were seldom anything less than striking. Their strength, their bond, their nature—it shaped them.

Refined them.

And Cassian was no exception.

His eyes were blue—clear, bright, yet softer than the deep, unforgiving waters of the North. There was warmth within them… something that drew the gaze and held it.

His skin bore a sun-kissed bronze, a tone that seemed to carry the touch of his lands with him. And his hair—

Dark.

Curled.

Untamed in a way that felt deliberate, as though it refused to be wholly governed, much like the man himself.

There was strength in him.

Not merely in form—but in presence.

His royal attire, though regal, clung to him with purpose, the sharp lines and fitted cut only serving to emphasize the power he carried so naturally.

And yet—

There was ease in him.

A quiet charm.

One that stirred something dangerously close to fondness within me.

I knew he was not my fated mate.

That truth did not waver.

Yet still—

There was something about him…

Something that reminded me of the man within my book.

And though I would not name it—

I could not deny it.

As he drew nearer, we gathered ourselves at the crest of the hill, the three of us aligning side by side as though bound by a moment far simpler than the roles we were meant to carry.

For but a breath—

We were not royals.

We were not heirs.

We were simply… free.

With a shared glance, we let ourselves fall.

The meadow welcomed us.

Soft.

Endless.

Dandelions lifted into the air as we rolled, their fragile seeds carried by the wind like scattered stars. Laughter escaped us without restraint, bright and unguarded, as we tumbled down the slope with no care for grace nor composure.

For a fleeting moment—

We were children once more.

When at last we reached the bottom, breathless and undone, our laughter only grew, echoing across the meadow as though the land itself delighted in our defiance of formality.

We allowed it.

Allowed the moment to linger.

To stretch.

Until peace settled over us like a quiet blessing.

Then—

Cassian’s voice broke through, softer now, though touched with gentle caution.

“I believe we should rise,” he said, his tone kind, yet mindful of the world awaiting us beyond this hill. “My brother would not take kindly to being kept waiting… especially not by you, my future Queen… and sister.”

Beatrice smiled at his words, her earlier sharpness softened, and together we rose to our feet, brushing away the remnants of the meadow from our garments.

Yet as I lifted my gaze—

I stilled.

For before us stood a figure unlike any I had ever beheld.

An Elf.

No—

A King among them.

His beauty was not of the kind sung in fleeting tales, nor painted in the soft exaggerations of courtly art.

It was something far more… ancient.

Refined.

Otherworldly.

His features were carved with a precision that seemed untouched by time itself—sharp yet impossibly smooth, as though shaped by something beyond mortal hands. His gaze held a depth that unsettled, eyes clear and piercing, carrying the quiet authority of one who had seen centuries pass without yielding to them.

His hair, long and pale as moonlight upon frost, fell freely over his shoulders, catching the light in a way that made it seem almost unreal.

And upon his brow—

A crown.

Delicate.

Intricate.

Forged not merely of metal, but of art itself—curving like antlers, like branches, as though the forest had claimed him as its sovereign.

His attire mirrored his nature—elegant, adorned with fine detailing, yet bearing the strength of one who was not only ruler… but guardian.

He did not move.

He did not speak.

And yet—

His presence alone commanded stillness.

The air around him shifted, as though the very magic of the land recognized him… and bowed.

And in that moment—

I understood.

This was no mere meeting.

This was an arrival.

“I am King Glorandal,” he spoke, his voice neither raised nor forced, yet it carried with it a quiet authority that stilled the very air. “Husband to Her Majesty, Queen Kharleya of the Fair Folk. I have been summoned to escort you, that you may be brought before His Highness, who has grown… less patient in awaiting your arrival, Princess Celeste of House Gothel, of the Northern Realm.”

His gaze rested upon me alone.

And in that moment, it was made clear—

Nothing had gone unseen.

Not our laughter.

Not our fall into childish freedom.

Not a single step beyond what was expected of us.

Yet I did not falter.

For I knew what must be done.

I would correct what had been misplaced.

Restore what had been lost in that fleeting moment of joy.

But before I could speak—

He continued.

“This will not suffice,” he said, his tone shifting, not unkind, yet firm in its judgment. “Permit me to amend what has been undone, that you may present yourselves as befits your station.”

I felt Beatrice beside me stiffen.

Her temper, ever near the surface, stirred dangerously.

Yet before she could give voice to it—

Cassian stepped in, his voice calm, steady, grounding.

“He speaks with good intent,” he said gently. “Though our brief escape did not pass unnoticed by my brother, I shall do what I may to shield you both from undue consequence. This was not born of ignorance… but of a shared moment of freedom.”

As his words settled, the Elf King lifted his hand.

Magic answered.

It moved like a quiet command, unseen yet undeniable, weaving itself around us. Our attire shifted—not changed entirely, but refined, restored—each crease, each loosened thread returned to its rightful place.

Modesty.

Composure.

Royal bearing.

All restored as though they had never been lost.

Beatrice blinked, her brows lifting in quiet surprise as she glanced down at herself, her earlier defiance softened—if only slightly.

When she turned to Cassian, her voice carried a sincerity she did not often offer.

“I… thank you for your concern,” she said, her tone measured, yet genuine. “It is… appreciated.”

As their exchange lingered in a rare moment of peace, I stepped forward, turning my attention back to King Glorandal.

“We are grateful for your guidance,” I spoke, my voice composed, carrying the weight of my station once more. “If it pleases you, we would ask that you lead us to King August.”

He did not hesitate.

Not a breath.

Not a pause.

With a single motion—a snap of his fingers—the world shifted.

Light folded.

Air stilled.

And in the span of a heartbeat—

We were no longer within the sacred world of the Oak.

Before us now stood the threshold of another realm.

An oval gate, radiant with magic, its surface shimmering like water touched by moonlight.

Beyond it—

Lay the island kingdom.

And the man I was destined to face.

‘Mate!’

The word struck through me without warning.

Sharp.

Unyielding.

It did not whisper—

It claimed.

My body stilled at once, every breath caught within my chest as though time itself had faltered. No sign had come before it. No gentle pull, no quiet awareness—

Only this.

Sudden.

Overwhelming.

And I stood there, lost between disbelief and something far deeper I could not yet name.

I could not even turn inward to Flower, could not question her voice, nor seek understanding—

For he stood before me.

And all else faded.

Flower, within me, saw as I saw.

Felt as I felt.

And together—

We looked upon him.

Our gaze found his.

And it did not waver.

The world narrowed to that single moment.

That single man.

King August.

He stood with a presence that did not demand attention—

It commanded it.

Effortlessly.

His form was carved with the strength of one forged by both battle and birthright, his broad frame held with a quiet, unshaken authority. The garments upon him, though royal in nature, seemed almost secondary—as though no fabric could ever truly contain the power he carried.

His skin bore the warmth of sun-touched lands, bronzed and marked by a life not sheltered, but lived.

His chest, partially revealed beneath the loosened folds of his royal attire, spoke of both strength and survival—of a king who did not merely rule from a throne, but had earned his place upon it.

And then—

His face.

There was a wildness to him.

Not uncontrolled—

But untamed.

His features were strong, defined, yet softened by something far more dangerous than harshness—

Calm.

A stillness that spoke not of peace… but of restraint.

Of power held back.

His hair fell freely around him, golden and sunlit, unruly as though it refused to bow to crown or command. It framed his face like a storm caught in silence, each strand catching the light as though it belonged more to the elements than to man.

And his blue eyes—

They held me.

Completely.

A depth within them that drew me in without permission, as though they had known me long before this moment… as though they recognized something within me that I had yet to understand myself.

There was no doubt.

No hesitation.

Only certainty.

And in that certainty—

I felt it.

The truth of Flower’s cry.

Not a mistake.

Not confusion.

But fate.

Standing before me in flesh and breath.

And for the first time—

I did not think of duty.

Nor crown.

Nor the path I had been raised to follow.

Only him.

And the undeniable pull that bound us in that single, unbroken gaze.