The Midnight Prince

The Fake Midnight Prince Part 1

“Papa?”

I looked up from the fire.

My daughter stood barefoot in the doorway, her nightdress dragging across the stone floor, her dark curls wild from sleep. Behind her, her brother tried to look innocent while clearly being the reason she was awake.

“Yes, little moon?”

She rubbed one eye. “You promised us a story.”

“I promised you sleep.”

“You promised both,” my son said, stepping beside her with all the confidence of a prince who had never once won an argument with his mother but continued trying anyway.

I leaned back in my chair and looked toward the window.

Beyond the glass, LunariaNova slept beneath a silver moon. The palace gardens shimmered with frost. Somewhere in the distance, wolves sang to the night, their voices rising soft and ancient beneath the stars.

I should have sent them back to bed.

A wise father would have.

But I had never been as wise as your mother claimed when she wanted me to behave.

So I held out my hand.

My daughter ran first, climbing into my lap as if she still fit there the way she had when she was smaller. My son sat near my feet, trying to look too grown for cuddling while leaning close enough for my hand to rest in his hair.

“What kind of story?” he asked.

“A fairy tale.”

My daughter gasped. “With a princess?”

“With a princess,” I said.

“Was she beautiful?”

I smiled. “Dangerously.”

My son’s eyes narrowed. “Was there a prince?”

“Not at first.”

“Then who saved her?”

I looked into the fire.

The flames curled blue around the edges, and for a moment, I was not a king sitting in a palace with my children.

I was a boy again.

A boy with ash on his sleeves, blood on his palms, and a promise heavier than a crown.

“No one saved her,” I said softly. “The princess was never the kind of girl who waited in a tower.”

My daughter leaned against my chest. “Then what happened?”

I touched the old ring on my finger.

The ring that had once been lost beneath moonlight.

The ring that had found its way home through the hands of a princess who refused to stop looking.

“This,” I said, lowering my voice, “is the tale of a little cinder boy who lived in a house of wolves.”

My son frowned. “Was he a hero?”

“Not yet.”

“Was he brave?”

“Sometimes.”

“Was he strong?”

I stared at the fire for a long moment.

“He did not know he was.”

My daughter whispered, “Was he lonely?”

The question struck softer than a blade and deeper than one too.

“Yes,” I said. “Very.”

She tucked herself closer, as if she could comfort a boy who had lived long before she was born.

“What was his name, Papa?”

I smiled faintly.

“In the beginning, almost no one called him by his name. They called him servant. Bastard. Weak. Omega.”

My son’s mouth twisted. “That’s mean.”

“It was.”

“Did he let them?”

I looked down at him.

“No,” I said. “He survived them.”

The fire snapped.

Outside, the moon rose higher.

And so I began.

Callan



The first thing I learned about power was simple.

Truth did not matter if you spoke quickly enough.

People believed the wolf who gave them a story before the blood dried.

So when Prince Solan PentNova stepped into the clearing, eyes sharp and furious, I already had mine ready.

Princess Moona lay unconscious in the snow.

Nara was sobbing.

Ashen was being held between two guards, his head bowed, wrists bound behind him.

And in my fist sat the ring.

His ring.

The one from the ball.

The one the princess had chased a masked stranger for.

The one that proved the servant boy on his knees had been the wolf she danced with beneath the Rare Moon.

Ashen.

My brother.

The bastard.

The omega.

The nothing who had somehow walked into a royal palace and made the future queen of LunariaNova look at him like he was made of moonlight.

Prince Solan’s gaze swept the clearing.

“What the hell is going on?”

I stepped forward before my father could speak.

“Your Highness,” I said, bowing just enough. “The princess fainted after being assaulted by a useless omega. We are handling the problem.”

Solan’s eyes moved to Ashen.

Ashen did not look up.

Smart.

If he looked up, the prince might see something worth questioning.

“Assaulted?” Solan repeated.

“Yes. He pinned her to a tree. She could barely breathe.”

Nara jerked forward. “That’s not what happened!”

I tightened my grip on her arm.

She cried out.

Ashen’s head lifted.

For one second, cold flooded the clearing.

Real cold.

Wrong cold.

The kind that came from somewhere beneath his skin.

I squeezed Nara harder.

Ashen lowered his gaze again.

Good dog.

Solan noticed.

Of course he did.

The prince was annoying that way. Too playful when he wanted people to underestimate him. Too quiet when he wanted them afraid.

He walked to Moon and crouched beside her.

“Move,” he said.

No one moved.

Solan looked up slowly.

“I said move.”

The guards stepped back.

Even my father.

Solan lifted Moon into his arms with surprising gentleness. His face gave away nothing, but his jaw was tight enough to crack stone.

“She needs a doctor,” he said.

“Our pack physician is ready,” my father replied smoothly. “We will take full responsibility.”

Solan looked at him.

Then at me.

Then at Ashen.

“I will notify the queen,” he said. “And when Moon wakes, I will hear her side.”

I smiled. “Of course.”

He did not smile back.

That was fine.

Suspicion was not proof.

Solan carried the princess toward the packhouse.

My father followed at a careful distance, all concern and polished lies.

Mother stayed behind.

Her eyes were on the ring in my fist.

“What is that?” she asked softly.

I looked at Ashen.

He was staring at my hand now.

Not at me.

At the ring.

For the first time in my life, I saw true fear on his face.

Not the quiet kind he wore when taking lashes.

Not the careful kind he used around Nara.

This was raw.

Beautiful.

I smiled.

“Take him away,” I told the guards.

Nara lunged. “No!”

Ashen’s eyes snapped to hers. “Nara.”

One word.

She froze.

His voice softened. “Do not fight them.”

Tears streamed down her face. “Ashen—”

“Do not.”

The guards dragged him back.

He did not resist.

He never resisted when she was watching.

That was the thing about Ashen. Everyone thought his weakness was obedience.

It was not.

His weakness was love.

And I finally knew exactly how to use it.

We did not take Ashen to the holding cells.

The holding cells had records.

Guards changed shifts.

Servants carried food there.

Prisoners could be seen.

No.

I had somewhere better.

Beneath the old west wing, past the wine cellar and the broken archive room, there was an ice chamber no one used anymore. It had been built generations ago to store winter meat during long sieges, back when SilvaFrost still feared war.

The lock was old.

The walls were thick.

The cold was constant.

Only three people knew I used it.

Me.

The two guards loyal enough to enjoy pain when I allowed it.

And now Ashen.

They chained him to the iron ring fixed into the wall.

He stood quietly while they did it.

Too quietly.

Blood from his cut lip marked the corner of his mouth. Snow melted in his ash-blond hair. His servant clothes were torn at the shoulder from where the guards had grabbed him.

Still, he looked calm.

I hated that most.

Even in chains, he looked like something waiting.

I stepped close.

“You should have stayed in your place.”

Ashen lifted his eyes.

Winter-blue.

Steady.

Infuriating.

“I tried.”

The answer was so soft I almost missed it.

I hit him.

His head turned with the force of it.

The guards laughed.

Ashen did not.

That made me hit him again.

“You went to the ball,” I said. “You danced with her.”

He said nothing.

“You made her chase you.”

Nothing.

“You dropped the ring.”

That did it.

His hands tightened in the chains.

There.

Finally.

“Where is it?” he asked.

His voice had changed.

Not louder.

Colder.

I smiled. “Safe.”

“A ring cannot belong to you.”

“And a princess cannot belong to you.”

His eyes lifted fully then.

For a moment, I felt it.

Not his wolf.

Something worse.

The absence of it.

Like standing before a locked door and hearing something massive breathing on the other side.

One of the guards shifted nervously.

I stepped back before he could see me do it.

“You will stay here,” I said. “Until I decide what story the kingdom gets to hear.”

Ashen looked at me.

“If Nara is hurt—”

“You will what?” I asked. “Freeze the wall? Bow me to death?”

The guards laughed again.

But Ashen did not look at them.

He looked only at me.

“If Nara is hurt,” he said quietly, “there will be no place in LunariaNova cold enough to hide you from me.”

The chamber went silent.

I told myself it was anger that tightened my chest.

Not fear.

Never fear.

I turned to the guards. “No food unless I bring it.”

One guard grinned. “And if he asks?”

“He will not.”

Ashen lowered his gaze again.

That was the problem.

He could look submissive and still make it feel like a threat.

I left him there.

For now.

Mealtimes would become useful.

The pack would eat upstairs. Laugh. Pretend.

And I would come below with guards, questions, and reminders.

A dog learned faster when hunger taught the lesson.