Chapter <b>172 </b>
The lie spread faster than fire in dry grass.
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By dawn, the couriers were already carrying Alpha Dorian’s story across France. At every tavern hearth, in every elder’s hall, the same tale was told: Sofia of Valois has been kidnapped.
I heard the whispers long before the parchment reached our hands. Wolves spoke in half–truths and gasps: rogues had taken her, witches had cursed her, Lycans had stolen her in the night.
Each voice carried fear, and beneath it, suspicion–always suspicion pointing toward Italy, toward Francesco.
When the courier finally staggered into our hall, pale and breathless<b>, </b>I already knew. But knowing didn’t soften the sting when Alfonso broke the wax and read the words aloud.
“My daughter, Sofia of Valois, has been stolen from me. Kidnapped by shadows and lies. I beg my neighbors for aid to return her honor, for her honor is my people’s honor. Whoever rescues her will find Valois loyalty and gold waiting.”
The words dripped like venom from Alfonso’s tongue.
The hall erupted in outrage.
“Kidnapped?” Audrey mmed her fist against the table so hard the wood cracked. “That lying bastard dares twist the truth, after trying to chain his own daughter to a stranger?”
Marlow swore, pacing like a wolf restless for blood. “He’s clever. He knows no one can disprove him–not unless they stand here and see her with their own eyes. And by then, he’ll have every Alpha in France frothing
for war.”
I turned to Sofia and Lucien.
Sofia’s face was pale as moonlight, her hands shaking, but her voice was sharp, bright with fury. “He’s making me look weak. Like I was dragged away! When I chose him–I chose Lucien!”
Her mate’s crimson eyes glowed, his fangs shing in the torchlight,
Even bound in tension, Lucien radiated something I could not deny; protectiveness, unwavering as stone. “He hides behind honor,” he growled, “while spitting in the face of the Goddess<b>.</b><b>” </b>
Around <b>us</b>, wolves muttered, some with doubt, some with sympathy.
The vampire’s presence still made them uneasy. But when Sofia’s hand clutched his, when their bond shimmered so clear it hummed through the air, I knew the Goddess had spoken.
And no Alpha<b>, </b>no father, had the right to undo it.
Beside me, Francesco stood silent. Too silent.
Through our bond, I felt the storm building–tight, sharp, dangerous. His power pressed against my skin like
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:
a storm before lightning, and the golden fire in his eyes burned hotter with every heartbeat.
When he finally moved, the entire hall froze.
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He strode to the writing desk, each step heavy with fury held on a leash. His hand closed around the quill like a de, and words carved themselves into parchment with quick, hard strokes. I could see the muscle ticking in his jaw, the rigid line of his shoulders, and I knew every word was a battle between his rage and his restraint.
When he finished, he sealed the letter with his crest and turned to face us. His voice rang like a war–drum as he read:
“Your daughter has not been kidnapped. She stands in my hall, under my roof, protected by me as her King. She is with her fated mate, Lucien–vampire though he is. Fate has bound them, and no Alpha nor father has the right to break what the Moon Goddess decreed. Call it theft if you wish, but it <b>is </b>the Moon Goddess herself who wrote their bond. Come to Valmont and see her with your own eyes. Then dare to call her stolen.”
The words hit the hall like a hammer.
Gasps<b>, </b>curses, disbelief.
Alfonso muttered, “Blunt as always.”
Audrey smirked despite herself.
And me? I could only breathe, because I felt the truth of him thrumming through our bond.
He would defend her as he defended me.
Because to deny one fated bond was to deny them all.
“Marlow,” Francescomanded, his dark gaze fixed.
Mymander stepped forward. “Yes, my King.”
“You’ll deliver it. Take two of your best men. Ride hard. Don’t stop until it’s in his hands.”
Marlow bowed low. “dly.”
Momentster, he was gone, his wolf form tearing across the bordends with two warriors at his side.
The hall was restless after his departure.
Wolves whispered in corners, elders muttered darkly, and some nced uneasily at Lucien.
But my eyes stayed on Sofia.
She sat rigid, trembling but defiant, her fingers tangled with Lucien’s. I recognized that look–the same defiance I’d once felt when the world threatened to rip Francesco from me. Her fear was real, but her bond
was stronger.
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Hours stretched.
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The weight of waiting pressed heavy. Francesco paced the hall like a caged storm, his aura keeping even the boldest wolves silent.
When atst the doors burst open, Marlow staggered in, dirt streaked on his skin, his chest still heaving from the run.
He dropped to one knee before us.
“He read your words,” Marlow said, breathless. “And he wille. Himself. To speak with you directly.”
The hall rippled with unease.
Wolves muttered sharp whispers.
“He’sing here?” one elder gasped.
“With warriors, surely,” another muttered.
“It’s a trap,” someone hissed.
Sofia’s lips parted, her eyes wide with both shock and terror. “He’sing?<b>” </b>
Lucien pulled her against his side, his voice low, fierce. “Let hime. He’ll see you stand with me. He’ll know you’re not his tomand.”
Her hand shook, but she squeezed his tighter, her voice trembling but strong. “Then we’ll face him. Together.”
I watched them–two young souls clinging to each other against the storm of a father’s wrath and a kingdom’s
lies.
And I saw myself reflected in them, remembered the pain of almost losing Francesco,
I turned my gaze to my mate.
His ck eyes burned like fire, his aura fierce, but through our bond I felt the core of him–steady, certain, unbreakable.
“Let Doriane,” Francesco growled, his voice ringing through the hall. “He’ll find his daughter standing free. And he’ll learn the cost of lying to the world.”