A Stolen Fate

A Small Rebellion

RHEA'S POV

"The gardens have changed," Alpha Yuri says, gesturing toward a glass door that leads to a small, enclosed courtyard. "Is that new?"

I am now following Yuri through the western wing corridor after I have rested and changed into something simpler. He navigates the hallways with the confidence of someone who once called this place home, and I find myself relaxing for the first time in days. Miles won't look for me here, not with visiting dignitaries arriving and the festival preparations consuming everyone's attention. To get my mind off things, I decide to take Alpha Yuri's offer of spending some time together and catching up.

"Alpha Dennis had it redesigned last summer," I reply. "It's one of the few places that stays quiet, even during festivals."

"Sounds perfect," he says with a nod.

The courtyard is a hidden gem within the pack house; stone benches are nestled among carefully tended blue hydrangeas and climbing jasmine. The late afternoon sun filters through an ancient oak tree, casting dappled shadows across the flagstones. I lead him to a bench in the far corner, partially hidden by a trellis of climbing roses.

"So," I say, smoothing my dress over my knees as we sit, "Silverstone Pack. How does it feel to be Alpha now?"

Yuri laughs, but it sounds weary. "Exhausting. Rewarding. Lonely." His shoulders rise and fall in a small shrug. "Everything my father warned me it would be."

I study his profile, the strong jaw, the straight nose, the dark eyes that seem to notice everything. He has changed since his training days here. There is a new weight to him, a gravity that comes with responsibility.

"And you?" he asks. "How does it feel to be Luna of Snowfall?"

How does it feel? Like wearing someone else's skin. Like drowning slowly while everyone watches. Like loving a man who looks through you. "It's..." I search for a word that isn't a lie but doesn't reveal too much. "Challenging."

"I heard about your loss," he says quietly. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here."

The mention of my miscarriage sends a familiar ache through my body. I press my palm flat against my stomach, a gesture that has become habit. Now there is another life there, unknown to anyone but me.

"Thank you," I whisper. "It was a long time ago." Eighteen months, and the pain still feels fresh some days.

"And you?" I ask, needing to shift the focus away from myself. "How are you coping? I heard about Maria. I'm so sorry."

His face shifts, pain flashing across his features before he schools them back to neutrality. He looks down at his hands. "Some days are better than others," he says, his voice low and rough. "It's been over a year, but sometimes it feels like yesterday."

I reach out, hesitating for just a moment before placing my hand over his. His skin is warm, his knuckles rough under my fingers. "Tell me about her. If you want to."

Yuri's eyes meet mine, surprise flickering through them. Then something softens in his expression. "She was fire," he says. "Quick to anger, quick to forgive. She would curse me out for leaving my boots in the hallway, then bring me coffee an hour later like nothing happened."

I smile, picturing this woman I never met who clearly left such a mark on him.

"She was pregnant," he continues, his voice dropping lower. "Seven months along when the complications started. The pack doctors said her blood pressure was too high. They tried everything."

My heart clenches for him, for the life lost, for the child who never drew breath.

"I was in the room," he says, looking away. His voice cracks slightly. "I held her hand while she—" He stops, swallowing hard. "While she fought. She was so strong, right until the end."

"And the baby?" I ask gently.

"A boy." Yuri's fingers curl around mine, squeezing slightly. "They tried to save him, but he was too small, too early. I held him once. He had her nose."

I feel tears welling up and don't try to stop them. "I'm so sorry, Yuri."

"The worst part," he says, meeting my eyes again, "is that everyone expects me to find another mate. To try again. As if she was replaceable. As if my son was just a failed attempt."

"People can be cruel when they think they are being helpful," I murmur.

"Exactly." He shakes his head. "My council keeps pushing potential Lunas at me. Girls barely out of their Awakening ceremonies."

I squeeze his hand. "You don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"I know. But the pack needs an heir, and I—" He stops as my phone buzzes loudly against the stone bench.

I glance down to see Miles's name lighting up the screen. I decline the call, pushing the button on the side of the phone to put it on silent, and offer Yuri an apologetic smile.

"Important?" he asks.

"No," I say firmly. "Not at all. Please, continue."

Yuri eyes the phone but doesn't press. "As I was saying, the pack needs an heir, but I'm not sure I can..."

The phone buzzes again, and then again in quick succession. Three text messages in a row. I ignore them all, keeping my attention fixed on Yuri.

"I understand," I say. "The pressure to continue the bloodline is intense. But you deserve to heal first."

He nods, looking grateful for the understanding. "Enough about my troubles. Tell me about what you planned for these festivals. I hear the Luna's chosen games are the highlight of the season."

My phone vibrates again with a text this time. 'Where are you?'

I ignore it. Another call comes through. I decline it again. Another text.

'Answer your fûcking phone, Rhea.'

We shift to safer topics; the upcoming games, the traditional dances, the games that will bring all the eastern region packs together. My phone continues to light up periodically with Miles's name flashing like a warning signal. I turn it face down again and again. I can't seem to understand why he is suddenly calling and texting me like a maniac. When I woke up from sleep earlier, I had seen missed calls from him that I hadn't bothered to return. It's not possible that he suddenly cares about my welfare.

Yuri tells me about Silverstone's mountain territories, about the new trading routes he has established with the northern region, about the school he is building for young wolves who haven't yet had their first shift. His voice grows animated as he describes his vision for the future, and I find myself smiling, a real smile, not the brittle Luna mask I've worn for months.

"You should visit sometime," he says, then immediately looks regretful. "I mean, when things are less hectic with you."

My phone buzzes again. Six missed calls now. Ten text messages. All from Miles.

'WHERE ARE YOU?'

'ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE.'

'RHEA. NOW.'

Each one was more demanding than the last. I feel a twisted satisfaction in ignoring them, in making him wait, in exercising this small power when he has stripped me of so much else.

"I should probably go," I say reluctantly. "The staff will be looking for me soon. There is still so much to prepare before the opening ceremony."

Yuri nods, standing and offering me his hand. I take it, allowing him to pull me to my feet. "Thank you for this," he says. "It's been a long time since I've talked to someone who actually listens."

"Anytime," I say, meaning it. "Really, Yuri. Anytime."

He walks me to the door of the western wing before we part ways. "Will I see you at breakfast?" he asks.

"Yes, I'll be there." I hesitate, then add, "It's good to have you here, Yuri. The festival will be better for it."

He smiles, a genuine warmth reaching his eyes. "Good night, Luna Rhea."

"Good night, Alpha Yuri."

I watch him walk away, his tall frame moving with easy confidence down the corridor. Only when he turns the corner do I finally check my phone. Twenty-two notifications now. The last text from Miles is simply:

'BEDROOM. NOW.'

My heart races, but not with anticipation, with dread. I consider ignoring him again and finding some pack business to attend to, but I know it will only make things worse. With a deep breath, I make my way toward our suite.

The bedroom is dimly lit when I enter, just a single lamp casting long shadows across the bed. Miles is standing by the window, his back to me, his shoulders rigid with tension. He doesn't turn when I close the door behind me.

"Why the hell didn't you answer or return my calls and texts?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm.