<b>Chapter </b><b>168 </b>
The manor was finally quiet.
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<b>55 </b>vouchers
After days of rebuilding, nning, and tending to new arrivals, even the most restless had sumbed <b>to </b>exhaustion.
Fires burned low in the hearths.
The children who had filled the halls withughter were now bundled in beds, dreaming safe dreams for the first time in years. Even the guards on the borders kept their steps soft, as though unwilling to disturb the fragile peace.
But I could not sleep.
Neither, it seemed, could Francesco.
I found him on the balcony, his tall frame outlined by moonlight, shoulders heavy with the weight of a hundred decisions.
His dark eyes reflected the night, fierce even in stillness.
For a moment, I simply watched him, my heart tightening with both awe and love.
He was a King, yes, but more than that–he was mine.
He turned as if sensing me, and the faintest smile curved his lips.
His arm opened, wordless invitation.
<b>I </b>crossed the stone floor and stepped into him, into warmth that felt like home no matter how cold the world had grown.
“Amore mio, My Luna,” he murmured against my hair, pressing a kiss to my temple.
But there <b>was </b>a heaviness in his tone that I couldn’t ignore.
“You’re troubled,” I whispered, resting my cheek against his chest.
His heartbeat was steady, but slow, like the weight of guilt dragged it down.
He exhaled, rough, weary.
“I promised you a holiday,” he said finally. “Just you and me. Quiet days. Sunlight. Laughter. A chance to breathe.” His arms tightened around me, almost desperate. “And instead… I dragged you into this. Into broken walls and whispers of war. Into a territory where even the air remembers screams. And now every <b>eye </b><b>is </b>on you, judging you as much as me.”
I pulled back, just enough to <b>see </b>his <b>face</b><b>. </b>
<b>7:20 </b><b>Mon</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>8 </b>
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<b>His </b><b>jaw </b>was clenched, his gaze turned away, <b>as </b>though ashamed.
My powerful, unshakable King looked almost… vulnerable.
“Francesco,” I whispered, cupping his cheek. His stubble rasped against my palm, grounding me in him. “Do you really think I care about what they whisper?”
He didn’t answer.
His silence was answer enough.
“Do you
think I ever wanted a holiday to escape you?” My lips curved into a small<b>, </b>genuine smile. “The holiday I wanted wasn’t a ce. It was you. Just you. Wherever you are, that’s my peace.”
His eyes flicked back to mine then, gold burning raw and unguarded.
“Even here? In this broken ce?” He sounded disbelieving.
I nodded firmly. “Yes,” I breathed. “Especially here. Because it’s with you.”
For a heartbeat, he only looked at me, as though memorizing every line of my face, every truth in my eyes.
Then his forehead touched mine, our breaths mingling, the bond humming warm between us.
“You deserve more,” he said hoarsely. “More than broken halls and rumors. More than nights where I wake ready to fight instead of dream.”
<b>I </b>shook my head. “I don’t want more. I want us. That’s all I’ll ever need.”
The words cracked something in him.
His arms crushed me against him, fierce, desperate, as though afraid I might vanish if he loosened his grip.
His lips found mine in a kiss that was not rushed but aching, pouring every unsaid apology and promise into <ol><li>me. </li></ol>
I melted into him, my hands fisting in his tunic, my wolf howling with the echo of his.
When he pulled back, his breath was ragged, his eyes molten. “One day,” he whispered, “I’ll give you the holiday I promised. No crowns. No wars. No rumors. Just me, just you.”
I smiled against his lips. “Then let’s call this the beginning. Our holiday starts now.”
Heughed then–a rough, real sound that rumbled through his chest and into me.
His tension eased, shoulders lowering as if my words had lifted a weight he had carried <i>too </i>long.
“Only you could call this a holiday,” he teased, kissing me again, slower this time<b>, </b>savoring.
“Only I could survive you,” I whispered back, tracing the line of his jaw.
His hands slid up my back, drawing me closer until I was certain no <b>space </b>existed between us.
Our kisses deepened, turning from soft reassurances to something hungrier, needier.
He kissed me like I was air, like I was the only tether keeping him sane.
And maybe I was.
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When atst we parted, lips swollen, breaths tangled, he pressed his forehead to mine again. “Run with <b>me</b><b>,” </b>he whispered.
I blinked. “Now?”
“Now,” he said, golden eyes gleaming. “No crowns. No eyes. Just us.”
My heart stuttered, then raced. “Yes.”
We left our clothes folded in the chamber, stepping into the night bare as the truth between us.
The moon hung full above, silver pouring across the courtyard, over theke, over the fields still scarred bu waiting to be healed.
Francesco shifted first.
The change rippled through him in a blur of power, bones reshaping, fur bursting forth dark as midnight
storms<b>. </b>
His Lycan form towered, massive, a giant of muscle and shadow–gray fur. ck eyes zed like a ck pearl. and the air itself seemed to bow beneath his presence.
My breath caught, as it always did, at the sight of him.
He is my King. My mate. My wolf.
The bond tugged at me, urging me forward, and I surrendered.
Heat raced through me, my body breaking and remaking in the
span of heartbeats.
When the world steadied again, I was on four paws, my fur glistening like snow beneath moonlight. White as legend. The kind of white that glowed, that belonged not to shadow or ash, but to light.
His Lycan rumbled a low growl of awe, and my wolf’s heart leapt.
We pressed against each other, muzzle to muzzle, breath to breath. He nuzzled my neck, his massive form curling around mine in a protective arc.
I licked his jaw in return, yful, loving.
And then we ran.
<b>Across </b>the courtyard, past the half–built homes, through the fields where new grass already dared to <b>sprout</b>.
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<b>7:21 </b><b>Mon</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>8 </b>
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Our <b>paws </b>thundered against the earth, beating in rhythm with our bond.
The wind whipped <b>past</b><b>, </b>cool and sharp<b>, </b>carrying the scent of freedom.
Francesco’s Lycan form surged ahead, a shadow <b>vast </b>and unstoppable.
I chased him,ughing in the way only wolves can, until he slowed and let <b>me </b>catch up. Side by side, we ran beneath the silver moon–his dark storm and my bright light.
Two halves of a whole.
A King and his Luna.
A holiday that belonged to us alone.
And for the first time since stepping foot in this brokennd, I felt not the silence of what was lost–but the song of what could still be.
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