THE PRINCE'S EXILED MATE

ROYAL HOME/THE VALENS

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LYSANDER - POV

Dinner at the pack house is rarely quiet.

There is always movement-plates passing, Leo's chair scraping too loudly against the floor, Leo and Clara bickering over nothing in particular. It is familiar. Safe. Tonight, it feels heavier.

Lysander barely touches his food.

His mother notices first. She always does.

"You're quiet," Adeline says, studying him over the rim of her glass. "School exhausting you already?"

"Something like that," he replies.

Five minutes pass. Small talk. Leo complaining about training. Clara teasing Ansel for getting sauce on his shirt again. Their father listens, composed, regal even at the dinner table.

Lysander finally exhales.

"I have something important to tell you all."

That gets their attention.

Leo leans back immediately. "Oh goodness."

"I knew it," Clara says, pointing her fork at him.

Leo's grin widens. "We are royals, brother. Please don't tell me you got someone pregnant."

"Leo," their father says calmly, not looking away from Lysander, "I have a feeling that is not the news. Let him speak."

He presses his fingers to his forehead briefly. "Thank you. And no. That's not it."

He straightens.

"You know my sociology partner. The one I've been working with."

Adeline nods. "The one you keep mentioning."

"I've been spending time at her house," Lysander continues. "Her name is Elora. She's intelligent, compassionate, and grounded in a way I didn't expect." He pauses. "She's also my mate."

For a moment, his parents look... pleased.

Adeline's face softens instinctively. "Oh. That's wonderful, darling-wait." Her brow furrows. "She's at a human college. Is she human?"

"No," Lysander says. "She's a werewolf."

Clara immediately spits her drink back into her glass.

Ansel wrinkles his nose. "Yuck mates."

Leo snorts. "Congratulations, brother. But judging by your face, there's more."

Aslan sets his fork down. "What pack is she from?"

Lysander inhales slowly.

"I met her whole family," he says instead.

"They're kind. Close. They take responsibility for their past without hiding from it." His voice steadies. "Her full name is Elora Merrow. I want you to meet her."

Silence.

Not the awkward kind. The dangerous kind.

Aslan's posture shifts-subtle, but unmistakable. King first. Father second.

"I remember her family," Aslan says evenly. "Her father and uncle were promising once. Warriors. Gammas." He frowns slightly. "You're close in age. You would have shared a class, I believe."

Lysander blinks. "We did?"

Adeline's gaze drifts, distant. "I remember that time," she murmurs. "So many accusations. So much chaos. Trusted wolves elevated while others were quietly stripped of rank. It never felt... right.".

Leo whistles under his breath. "Well. This just got interesting."

Ansel, oblivious to the tension, looks up with food on his shirt. "Are you saying they're bad guys, Daddy?"

Aslan answers without hesitation. "Yes."

"No," Lysander snaps, standing abruptly. The chair scrapes loudly against the floor. "They're not all bad. They admit what they did. They live with it every day."

Adeline's voice is calm, but firm. "That doesn't undo the damage their family caused."

"The mate bond is sacred," Aslan says. "But how do you know she's different? Banishment was merciful, Lysander. Others would have demanded blood."

"She was a child," he says, heat rising in his chest. "She was seven. Just like Ansel is now. Has it ever occurred to you that our punishment laws might be flawed?"

No one interrupts him.

"You have to meet her," he says, voice steadier now. "Not just because she's my mate-but because of who we are. The power we have. The change we can make." He looks between them. "I think you'll understand."

His parents exchange a glance-years of shared rule, shared grief, shared certainty passing silently between them.

Finally, Adeline nods. "All right."

Aslan follows a beat later. "We'll meet her. We'll listen."

It isn't acceptance.

But it's a beginning.

Lysander sits back down, heart still pounding

knowing one thing with absolute certainty:

Nothing will ever be simple again.

And he wouldn't trade it for anything.