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Two weeks after the coronation, and the Citadel finally felt quiet.
No more Council meetings. No more threats at the gates. No more blood on the stone. Just the soft sound of Aria’s breathing and the crackle of the hearth in our chambers.
For the first time since I came back, we were all under one roof. Safe. Together.
Darius had insisted we all sleep in the same room tonight. “No more separating,” he’d said, carrying a yawning Aria from the nursery. “Not after everything.”
So here we were. A Lycan King, a Lycan Queen, a 5-year-old Lycan Prince, and a 2-week-old Lycan Princess all in one massive bed that used to belong to Darius’s ancestors.
It was ridiculous. And perfect.
Elias was curled against my side, one arm protectively thrown over Aria’s bassinet even though she was asle
