SCENT OF THE FORSAKEN KING

I hadn't seen him in three days.

He was just on the other side of the wall-so close, yet maddeningly absent. He never came in or asked to see me. I could hear him moving around in the mornings, at dusk, and during those restless hours when sleep evaded me.

He was waiting for me to make the first move.

I didn't.

Instead, I lost myself in exploration. The library became my refuge, filled with towering shelves of books on lupine history, mating practices, and ancient magic. I searched for any mention of the Withering or a possible cure.

But I found nothing.

On the fourth day, I decided to visit the healing gardens. They were perched on the southern cliff, with glass and iron stretching over the bubbling lake. Tropical plants mingled with tall northern evergreens, and the air was heavy with humidity.

As I examined a moonflower, I sensed his presence.

Not just saw him-*felt* him. It was an unbreakable thread connecting us, invisible yet palpable. When he stepped into the gardens from fifty meters away, I knew exactly where he was and how rapidly his heart was beating.

"You found my favorite place," he remarked.

"It's open to the public," I replied.

"Nothing in the Citadel is truly public." He drew closer, and I could feel my heart tighten with each step he took. "I let the staff in-anyone in need of... peace."

I glanced at him. He was dressed casually in loose trousers and a simple tunic-no armor. He seemed younger but more worn, shadows darkening under his eyes.

"You look tired," I said.

"So do you." He paused just a few feet away. "I can tell through our bond. Your restlessness is palpable."

"I'm trying to find a way out of this," I confessed.

"I know." He didn't sound angry-just resigned. "Have you discovered anything?"

"No."

"Then maybe you'll consider my help." He took out a small leather journal. "It belonged to my great-grandmother. She was the last person recorded to have experienced the Withering, and she survived it."

I stared at the book, intrigued. "How did she manage that?"

"That's the mystery." He extended it toward me. "She never completed her bond. Her fated mate died in war before the ritual, yet she lived for forty more years."

I accepted the journal, and our fingers brushed together, sending a spark of heat through me. The bond stirred, craving connection.

Kael's jaw tightened as he stepped back.

"Read it," he urged. "Tell me what you find."

Then he left, leaving me holding a possible lifeline.

***

The journal was written in an ancient lupine script that was tricky to navigate. Thankfully, my training in old texts came in handy-understanding the past was vital for healing.

Her name was Seraphine. She was engaged to an Alpha from the western mountains. When he passed away, she began to feel the Withering creeping in. Yet instead of submitting to fate, she did something remarkable.

She bound her wolf to the land itself.

Not to a person, but to the territory-the mountains, rivers, and rocks. She became a living anchor, drawing strength from the earth rather than a mate.

The ritual required a sacrifice. She never shifted again; her wolf became dormant. She never took another lover, never experienced touch. She lived alone as a hermit priestess, powerful yet solitary.

Forty years devoid of intimacy but brimming with strength.

I read the journal twice, then sat in my antechamber, staring at the wall that separated me from Kael. I finally understood what he was offering.

Not just a way to be cured. A choice.

I could bind myself to the land and survive without the mating bond, but I'd have to let go of Aurora-her voice, her essence. I'd sacrifice touch, passion, and the chance of ever truly being *known*.

Or I could complete the bond with Kael. Live fully, love if I could find the strength to forgive. But I'd lose my independence for good-because fated bonds meant merging into one.

Neither option felt like true freedom.

***

That night, I found him in the library.

He was absorbed in a book, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He didn't look up when I walked in, but I could feel his attention shift toward me.

"You read it," he said.

"I did," I replied, stopping a few paces away. "You already knew what it contained."

"I suspected. Family histories can be vague. But I was hoping... maybe there was another option."

"You want me to choose the bond."

"I want you to *live*." He stood up. "I don't care how you do it. If you decide to bind yourself to the land, I'll help you. I'll find the ritual and protect your solitude for as long as I can." He stepped closer. "But I need you to grasp the weight of what you'd be giving up."

"I understand."

"No," he replied, gently touching my face. "You get it in your mind, but not in your heart." His hand moved to his chest, then to mine, over my heart. "The bond isn't a chain. It's a harmony-two notes creating a melody. Alone, we're just singular tones. Together, we create something beautiful."

"Nice words from a man who wants to claim me."

"Yes." The honesty took me by surprise. "I do want to possess you. Own you, mark you, claim you." His hand pressed against my chest, an urgency in his touch. "But I also want you to want it. To see a future with me, not a prison."

"How can I?" I whispered. "Every time I look at you, I'm reminded of the soldiers who destroyed my village."

He lowered his hand and stepped back, hurt evident in his eyes.

"Then see *me*," he urged quietly. "Not my father. Not his soldiers. Just me. The man who spent three days researching how to bind territory, hoping you might prefer that to his touch."

He crossed the room, and before I knew it, his hand was on my cheek-warm, tender, trembling.

"I'll wait," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "But don't make me pretend I don't remember what you taste like."

He kissed me. It wasn't frantic or hurried; it was slow, almost tentative. His lips explored mine, as if he were trying to memorize my shape.

When he pulled away, his eyes looked dazed. "Honey and grief," he murmured, "and now, victory."

"This doesn't mean I forgive you," I said softly.

"I know." He rested his forehead against mine. "But it means you're still here. Still fighting. Still mine, even if you don't want to be."