BROKEN MATE BOND

WHISPERS OF DECIET

Selene’s heart trembled under a weight she could not shake; the betrayal she had just witnessed gnawed at her, sharp as shattered glass. Every memory cut deeper—the sight of Zevaris with Kaelen, the unexpected kiss, the coldness of a man she had thought she knew. Her hands quivered as though the very air around her had turned fragile.

Back at the palace, Zevaris wrestled with his own storm. Pride and panic warred within him, each a blade against the other. The thought of losing his fated mate left him hollow, yet he could not bring himself to pursue her. Pride held him fast, blinding his better judgment. He rose slowly, body stiff, fingers clenching in a futile attempt at composure.

“Let her go. I will find another mate,” he said finally, voice strained but brittle, carrying the weight of a man on the edge of collapse.

Kaelen leaned toward him, her whisper soft yet sharp. “Zevaris, you should not wreck yourself over Selene. She is useless without you. She cannot protect herself from danger.”

Zevaris’s jaw tightened. “Kaelen, you do not understand. Selene is my mate. I must bring her back—whatever it takes.” The words were meant to be steady, but beneath them, something raw and trembling shone through.

Kaelen’s temper ignited. Her fist clenched, nails biting her palm, and a hiss slipped through her teeth like venom. “That wretch. I will silence her. End her. She always takes what is mine. I despise her existence.”

Below, the great hall hummed with the full-moon celebration. Lanterns burned like captured stars. Music and laughter wove through the columns, the scent of spiced wine and roasted meats heavy in the air. The moon hung large and expectant above the roofs, but none of its joy reached Zevaris. He felt hollow, as if a part of him had been carved away.

He descended into the hall, seeking to drown his unrest among the revelers.

“Zevaris,” Simba said, worry etching his features. “I saw Selene leave. She refused to let me go with her, saying she would be better alone. I tried—my lord, I tried my best.”

“It is fine. Bring me a bottle of white wine,” Zevaris said, his tone clipped, as though rehearsed ease could mask the turmoil inside. He laughed at jokes, offered curt smiles. Only the keenest observer would notice the tremor in his hand, the strain behind the practiced mask.

Minutes stretched. Half an hour later, Zevaris sat at a round table, goblet pressed to his lips. Laughter tinkled around him. Women danced, skirts a blur, eyes bright with life. He ordered another glass. “I need wine,” he said to Simba, his voice hollow even to himself.

The broken bond had wounded him. Zevaris, strong and ruthless, who measured power by obedience, now bore a quiet, unseen fracture. Yet he would not show weakness to the world.

Then the night shifted. Across the moon’s face, something strange crept. Half of it glowed deep red, as though wounded.

“What is happening?” murmured the crowd, faces tilting skyward.

“What the hell is this?” Zevaris demanded, his voice sharp, cutting through the chatter.

Confusion rippled among the guests. Priest Ally, robes whispering, stepped forward. His voice was grave. “This occurs only when a mate bond has been broken. The Moon Spirit feels the pain of the hurt mate. When the bond is severed, it is as though one or both are struck down.”

“But no one died,” Simba said, shading his eyes. “We are all here—except Queen Selene. She is outside, whole. She is unharmed.”

Zevaris remained silent. He understood the omen in his bones. The longer he stared, the heavier his chest became, until breathing itself felt like a struggle.

Unable to endure it, Zevaris fled the hall. Under the wounded moon, he stared skyward, as if the heavens were written with his fate alone. A thin, strange smile curved his lips, and almost immediately, he laughed—a sound void of joy, void of eyes.

“Has he gone mad?” a guest whispered.

“I will get you back…” Zevaris muttered, staggering, speaking to the moon as if it could rewrite what had been done.

Simba and two others hurried to him, murmuring endearments that could not soothe the pain. He drank until his limbs grew heavy. Even a man as ruthless as he could not deny the tender ache Selene had left behind.

“Oh, my dear Kaelen…” he sighed, a thread of plea woven with curse.

“Just let him be. I will help him,” Kaelen said, stepping in with calm control, masking the flicker of triumph in her eyes.

Far from the lights, Selene knelt where she had broken away, legs trembling beneath her. Grief filled the void where hope had lived. Her attempt to save their bond had felt like pouring water on stone. The wounds would not close.

The trees swayed with the wind, whispering. Shadows flickered among the trunks, eyes following her. At each step, darkness mirrored her—an ominous promise that her story was only beginning and already darkening.

“How could he?” she whispered to the empty forest, fingers scraping damp earth. “I tried my best to save our bond.”

A cold brush on her shoulder made her spin, yet nothing met her eyes. Whispers threaded through branches, cruel and soft.

“Selene, you are weak. No one will miss you if you remain away. Your presence does not matter,” breathed a voice, thin as ivy.

Selene straightened, facing the trees. “I do not know what you are,” she said, voice firm, “but you must leave.”

Eyes blinked in the dark; whispers gathered like wind. The forest of deceit reached for her, believing it could crush her in weakness.

A child of the Bloodfang Pack, she had never been given her full place in the kingdom. She could not speak to the Moon Spirit; her gift remained shuttered. She longed for that communion, the sign that would earn her mate’s respect. Now she stood alone—without power, without mate, without the Spirit’s answer. The forest’s taunts rang bitter in her ears.

“You may be right,” she admitted briefly. Then she steadied herself. “I am not weak. I will return stronger.”

Back at the palace, the night soured. Voices that toasted hours ago now whispered behind corners. Zevaris stumbled up the steps, singing, words slurred and brittle. “She left me…” he muttered, voice folding in on itself.

“Shh,” Kaelen snapped, her fingers quick and possessive over his mouth. She steered him toward the inner rooms, anxious to hide his shame. “People do not need to know this.”

“Kaelen, I should help you,” Simba interjected, concern clear.

They guided Zevaris away. Revelers dispersed; whispers lingered. Zevaris had embarrassed himself, and murmurs would not let him forget.

Morning rose pale and delicate. Zevaris lay half-asleep in his court. Kaelen watched, hands pressing on his chest, rubbing slowly, her expression a flicker of longing and calculation.

Zevaris stirred, eyes clouded. “What are you doing here?” he asked thickly. “You should not be here. What will people say?”

Kaelen’s face tightened. “You held me last night. You should not act surprised.”

“You did not say this when I had you in my arms,” Zevaris muttered. “You were here then, and now you challenge me? My head aches.”

How dare you speak to me so?” Kaelen shot back. Anger flared, yet beneath it vulnerability peeked. “You must be out of your mind if you think I will stand aside.”

Zevaris lowered his voice, dangerous. “This is between us. If anyone else hears, they will regret it.”

“You are lucky no one can hear us,” Kaelen muttered, trying to reclaim dignity.

Outside, Simba’s concern grew. He knocked, louder this time. “Zevaris!”

“Relax, I am coming,” Zevaris said, groaning, pulling himself upright. He shoved Kaelen toward the wardrobe. “You will stay there. Speak only when I allow it,” he said, then left for the door.

Simba’s worry etched his face. “Zevaris, Selene is missing. We cannot find her anywhere. Her chambers—she is gone.”

Zevaris’s chest tightened. “What do you mean she is missing?”

“I saw her last night. She refused to be accompanied. I tried to stop her, but she would not listen,” Simba replied, voice shaking.

Zevaris moved like a man struck. He donned a fresh robe with haste, then stepped into the cold air, Simba at his side. They ran—swift and desperate—toward the Forest of Deceit.

Inside the wardrobe, Kaelen clenched her fists, fury coiling. Zevaris had been in Selene’s arms, and now her ambition flared. She pressed her palms to her temples and hissed. “I will make you pay. You held me last night, and now you treat me as nothing. Because of Selene, I will teach you a lesson.”

She flung the door open, striding away, each step a vow. Long brown hair cascaded in waves; men noticed her presence, yet her heart was fixed on one who barely saw her. The obsession twisted her.

No one knew her origins. Some whispered she was from the underworld, a thing of shadow. Selene had once rescued her, and gratitude had masked ambition. That facade shattered with the revelation of Selene’s destined mate.

Now Kaelen moved through the halls as if on a private stage, rehearsing her next act. Passing a guard, she flashed a small, innocent smile. “Just tidying up,” she said, noting the worry on his face. He nodded politely and moved on.

A glint in her hand caught the light. Zevaris’s ring, now hidden in her cloak, made her palms sweat with triumph. She would stop at nothing to keep him close.

Zevaris and Simba pressed through the forest undergrowth, searching every shadow, every hollow. Zevaris stumbled on something enormous, draped in dried leaves. He brushed them aside, heart hammering.

Underneath lay a face, pale and still. His breath caught, leaving only a fragile sound, half-prayer, half-horror.

“Oh no,” he whispered, frozen, unable yet to comprehend the sight before him.