The Midnight Prince

Kill on Sight

The Midnight Prince

Ashen

“Papa,” the little girl asked, quieter than usual, “did Mama know she loved him then?”

The father looked toward the fire.

For a while, he said nothing.

His son frowned. “That means yes.”

“It means,” the father said softly, “that your mother knew many things before she was ready to say them.”

The girl hugged her knees to her chest. “But the bond told her, right?”

The father smiled faintly.

“The bond told her pieces. Warmth. Fear. Want. Pain. A pull. But a bond does not explain a heart perfectly. It does not hand you a book of answers.”

“So she guessed?”

“She guessed,” he said. “And sometimes she guessed wrong.”

The boy leaned forward. “Did that hurt?”

The father turned the ring on his finger.

“Yes,” he said. “It hurt both of them.”

Princess Moon

I had grown up believing fated mates were the Moon Goddess’s gentlest mercy.

That was what every story said.

That was what every mated pair made us believe when they did not know anyone was watching.

My mother could touch my father’s wrist in the middle of a council argument, and his anger would soften without a word. Elder wolves pressed their foreheads together after disagreements. Young mates could barely stand on opposite sides of a ballroom without drifting back toward each other like tide pulled by moonlight.

A touch calmed rage.

A scent quieted fear.

A heartbeat called the other home.

That was what I had expected.

Not perfection.

Not some silly fantasy where a prince saw me once and lost every thought in his head.

But closeness.

Instinct.

Ease.

A fated mate was supposed to feel like finding the one person your soul already knew how to reach for.

With Ashen, my soul reached.

Constantly.

It reached when he stood near the window with the dawn light touching his pale hair. It reached when he spoke quietly to Nara. It reached when he held himself too still, as if movement might give away how much the world had hurt him.

It reached even now, while he stood across the cabin from me, close enough for his scent to pull at every restless part of Storm and far enough that the distance felt deliberate.

Maybe it was not.

That was the worst part.

The bond gave me pieces, not answers.

A cold pressure against my ribs. A flicker of tension. A heaviness that might have been fear or shame or exhaustion. Sometimes I felt him near me through that thin silver thread between us, and then suddenly he was gone, not physically, but emotionally, as if a door had closed too quietly for anyone else to hear.

I did not know what it meant.

I only knew it hurt.

Ashen stood beside the window, watching the tree line like enemies might step out of the mist at any second. His posture was calm, but I was learning that calm did not always mean peace with him.

Sometimes calm meant control.

Sometimes calm meant he had locked everything else away.

Solan sat near the hearth with a strip of cloth around his throat, looking irritated every time I glanced at the bruises there. Nara was curled on the small sofa with a blanket around her shoulders, though her eyes were too bright for sleep. Veyra leaned upside down in a chair like gravity was a suggestion she personally disliked.

No one had truly rested after Ashen heard his wolf.

Auron.

The name still moved through my mind like snow falling in moonlight.

Ashen had a wolf.

He had always had a wolf.

Half-awake. Chained. Exhausted.

But real.

I wanted to go to him and tell him that until the words rooted themselves somewhere deeper than doubt could reach.

Instead, he stayed by the window.

And I stayed near the table.

Like strangers pretending distance was practical.

Storm paced beneath my skin.

Go to him.

I pressed my fingers lightly against the edge of the table.

Not yet.

Why?

Because he might step back.

Storm went still.

That was the truth I had not wanted to name.

I could face Dorian. I could face court politics. I could face rogues in a forest with blood on my hands and no shoes on my feet.

But I did not know what to do with the possibility of reaching for my mate and watching him retreat.

Not because he hated me.

Not because he wanted to hurt me.

Because closeness frightened him in a way I could not fully understand.

And understanding that did not make the ache smaller.

“Ashen,” I said quietly.

His gaze shifted from the window to me.

The whole room seemed to notice.

Nara’s eyes flicked between us. Veyra, very unhelpfully, stopped being upside down. Solan looked into the fire with the exaggerated dignity of a man pretending not to listen.

“What is it?” Ashen asked.

His voice was gentle.

That made it harder.

I glanced toward the stairs. “Can we talk?”

Something moved across his face. Caution, maybe. Or worry.

Again, the bond gave me a hint and no translation.

He nodded once.

We stepped into the narrow hall near the kitchen, not far enough that the others could not call for us, but far enough that my words would belong to him first.

Ashen stood with his back near the wall, leaving me space.

Always space.

Too much space.

I drew in a breath.

“I need to say something, and I do not want you to think I am pushing you.”

His brows drew together. “Moon—”

“Please. Let me finish first.”

He went still.

I hated how quickly he obeyed when my voice turned serious.

Like he expected orders even when none were meant.

“I know this is fast,” I said. “I know we barely know each other. I know you have had more thrown at you in a few days than most people survive in years. And I know this bond is… complicated.”

His gaze sharpened at the word bond.

I swallowed.

“But it is affecting me, Ashen. Strongly.”

His fingers curled once at his side.

“I want to be near you,” I admitted. “I want to touch you when I am upset. I want your scent close because it calms me. Storm wants you close. I want you close.”

His throat moved.

I rushed on before embarrassment could steal the rest of my courage.

“And when you pull away, it hurts.”

He stared at me.

The bond flickered.

Cold.

Sharp.

Then gone.

“I am not pulling away from you,” he said.

Not defensively.

Not harshly.

As if he truly believed it.

I gave him a sad little smile. “You are.”

His lips parted, then closed.

“You pull away physically,” I said softly. “And through the bond. Or maybe I am reading it wrong. Maybe I do not understand what I am feeling from you. But sometimes I feel you close, and then there is nothing. A wall. Silence.”

He looked down.

“I don’t know how to control that.”

“I am not asking you to control it perfectly.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“To talk to me.” My voice cracked slightly, and I hated that it did. “I do not want to seem desperate. Or demanding. Or like I expect you to become someone different overnight. But I need you to know that it hurts when you shut me out, even if you are not doing it on purpose. Knowing you do not mean to hurt me does not make it stop hurting.”

For a long moment, Ashen did not speak.

The silence stretched thin between us.

I wondered if I had said too much.

Then he rubbed both hands over his face and exhaled.

“You’re right.”

I blinked.

He looked back at me, and there was something tired and open in his eyes.

“I think you are right,” he said. “Maybe I have been doing that. Pulling away. Closing the bond or whatever it is. But I swear to you, Moon, I am not doing it because of you.”

That helped.

A little.

“It feels like me.”

His face tightened.

“It has always just been me,” he said. “Me keeping Nara safe. Me keeping my head down. Me not wanting too much. Me not needing anyone close enough to be used against me. Me making sure whatever I felt stayed quiet because feelings were… inconvenient.”

The word was too small for what I felt from him.

A bruise beneath a bandage.

“I have never had someone reach for me and expect me to reach back,” he continued. “Not like this.”

My throat ached.

“Ashen—”

“And now there is you,” he said, voice lower. “And the bond. And Auron. And everyone saying words like mate and prophecy and White Wolf as if I should know how to carry any of it.”

His eyes dropped to the floor between us.

“I am bad at this.”

The honesty hit harder than any polished confession could have.

“I am not asking you to be perfect,” I said.

“I know.” His mouth curved faintly, but it did not reach his eyes. “But I do not even know how to be normal.”

I wanted to hug him.

The need rose so fast I almost stepped into him before thinking.

Storm pressed at my ribs.

Go.

But I remembered the way he sometimes stiffened beneath sudden touch. The way his body knew danger before tenderness. The way wanting too much too quickly could make him retreat farther.

So I stayed still.

This time, I waited.

Ashen noticed.

His expression shifted.

Softened.

“You are going to have to give me time,” he said quietly. “To be the mate you want.”

My breath caught.

“The mate I want is you.”

Something flashed through the bond.

Warm.

Startled.

Gone too quickly for me to hold.