The Lycan King's Gift

chapter 3

Nova’s POV

The iron gates of the Moonhaven Academy stood just ahead—towering, carved with ancient runes and the royal crest of House Moonhaven: a silver wolf howling beneath a crescent moon. As we approached in the sleek black shuttle, my heart thudded once—not in fear, but in quiet defiance.

I wasn’t the same girl who stepped through those gates two years ago. And I wasn’t going to let anyone—not the Council, not fate, and definitely not Prince Max—define who I was this year.

“Ready?” Elara asked, adjusting the strap of her travel bag. Her long silver braid glinted under the morning light.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied, stepping off the shuttle.

Students filled the courtyard, voices buzzing, energy charged with anticipation. Some wore pride like armor. Others masked nerves behind polite smiles. But me? I kept my expression neutral, focused.

Then the air changed.

A hush rippled through the crowd like a storm passing over water.

I didn’t have to look to know who had arrived.

Maxwell Moonhaven descended the stone steps of the main tower, flanked by his ever-present entourage—Logan, his Beta-in-training with a mean right hook and no personality, and Lincoln, his Gamma in training. Loyal shadows.

He was dressed in regulation black with silver accents, his Academy badge gleaming on his chest. His stride was confident, calculated. His dark hair was tousled like he’d run a hand through it before stepping out. And his storm-blue eyes scanned the crowd with bored indifference… until they locked on me.

There it was. That subtle shift in his expression. The faint curl of his lip. Recognition, amusement… and something sharper.

“Look what the stars dragged back in,” he drawled as he approached. “Nova Rosewood. I almost didn’t recognize you without the pity votes and underdog speeches.”

I rolled my eyes. “Still clinging to those tired lines, Max? I’d hoped royal training taught you how to be original.”

His friends smirked. Elara stiffened beside me, ready to jump to my defense, but I lifted a hand to stop her.

Max stepped closer, his voice lowering just enough that only I could hear. “Tell me, Starstray—did you come back for a mate, or just to finish playing pretend?”

His words were a knife—sharp, targeted—but I didn’t flinch.

I stepped forward until there was barely an inch between us. “I came back to finish what I started. So if you’re in my way again this year… you’d better keep up.”

For a moment, we just stood there—two wolves sizing each other up, fire meeting frost.

Then he smiled.

Not a kind one.

A challenge.

“I look forward to it,” he said, then turned and walked away, the crowd parting like waves before him.

Elara exhaled beside me. “Goddess, you two are going to kill each other.”

“Maybe,” I murmured, eyes still on his retreating form. “But I’ll make sure I win first.”

—

Max’s POV

Legacy is a heavy thing.

People think being the son of the Lycan King is about privilege—about power, prestige, and reverence. They don’t see the weight. The expectations carved into my bones before I could even walk. The rules. The bloodline. The prophecy.

My name is Maxwell Moonhaven. Crown Prince. Heir to the first and oldest shifter bloodline. Someday, I’ll rule over every pack, every shifter territory in the world. My choices will ripple through generations. And everything I do—every step I take—is watched.

Scrutinized.

Measured.

Judged.

I learned to fight before I learned to read. Trained by warriors old enough to have seen the first blood wars. The Academy wasn’t a choice—it was a battlefield, wrapped in gold and glory. My father expects nothing less than dominance. My mother expects perfection. And the world expects me to be more than a prince. They want a symbol.

But lately… all anyone seems to want is to talk about fate. Mates. The Awakening.

I don’t have time for that.

Especially not with her back.

Nova Rosewood.

She walked off that shuttle like she owned the place. Shoulders squared, jaw set, that same fire in her eyes that drives me absolutely insane.

It shouldn’t matter. She’s nobody. An orphan dropped on a border with no bloodline, no heritage. She doesn’t belong here—not by royal standards. But the Council approved her enrollment. The Elders allowed it. And worst of all?

She keeps up.

No—she pushes me. She matches me.

She threatens the control I’ve spent years mastering.

And that? That makes her dangerous.

When I saw her today, I felt it again—that flicker beneath the surface. The pull. It’s not an attraction. It’s... something I can’t name. Something ancient. Instinctive. And it makes me want to provoke her. To test her. To unravel her.

So I did.

I stepped in front of her like I owned the space between us. Like I owned her.

"Look what the stars dragged back in..."

She didn’t back down. She never does.

Nova has this way of looking at me like she sees right through the title. Through the armor. Like she sees the boy under the crown, and that terrifies me more than any enemy blade.

When she stepped closer—gods, so close I could smell that faint scent of pine and snow she always carries—I caught it. A shimmer in her eyes. Challenge. Fire. But no fear.

"I came back to finish what I started," she said. "So if you’re in my way again this year… you’d better keep up.”

And I smiled.

Because this year, the game is different.

And for reasons I don’t fully understand… I don’t want her to lose.