How long have I been believing lies?
The question sent a chill down his spine. Malvek’s voice echoed in his memory, always ready with explanations about human weakness, always pushing for solutions that conveniently aligned with his ambitions. The council’s rhetoric about stability and strength, about the dangers of emotionalentanglement, about the necessity of choosing practical alliances over fated bonds.
What if they’ve been wrong about everything?
Korran moved toward his door, trying to reassert some control over the storm of emotions inside him. The funeral would begin soon, and he needed to be there for his mother, for his clan, for the ceremony that would officially mark the end of his father’s reign and the beginning of his own.
The mate bond pulsed again, stronger this time.
I should go to her.
His bear agreed emphatically, pressing forward with demanding intensity that made Korran’s control feel fragile and temporary.
But what could he offer her? A bond with a man who’d spent his entire adult life convinced that love was weakness? A future built on the wreckage of everything he’d believed about duty and strength?
She deserves better than a man who doesn’t even know what he believes anymore.
Korran pulled open the door to his chambers and stepped into the corridor. The estate felt empty around him, echoing with the absence of the people who should have been there—his father, who’d never again offer quiet counsel to him; his mother, who’d left early to provide comfort to the clan during her own time of grief; and Tess, who was probably questioning whether she had any place in this world.
She has a place. Right beside me.
The thought came with such fierce certainty that it surprised him. Whatever doubts plagued him about human-shifter bonds, whatever fears he carried about repeating his father’s fate, whatever political complications awaited them—none of it mattered as much as the simple truth that Tess belonged with him.
Fifteen minutes later, the ceremonial hall loomed before Korran like a monument to everything he’d failed to protect. Vehicles packed the snow-dusted lot—sleek SUVs belonging to the council, weathered trucks from the outer settlements, even ornate carriages that spoke to old clan traditions. The sight of so many gathered to honor his father should have filled him with pride, but instead it hammered home the finality of what he’d lost.
His hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. The engine ticked as it cooled, each sound marking another moment he’d hesitated outside, another second he’d spent questioning whether he could face this without falling apart in front of the entire clan. They expected strength from their future king—stoic acceptance, controlled grief, the kind of leadership that never wavered even in the face of devastating loss.
But what if I can’t give them that?
Korran forced himself from the SUV, his boots crunching against packed snow as he strode toward the hall’s entrance. Bear shifters moved aside as he passed, offering respectful nods and murmured condolences that he barely registered. The massive wooden doors, carved with intricate bear heads that had watched over ceremonies for centuries, stood open like a gateway to everything he wasn’t prepared to face.
He stepped inside, and the interior hit him with sheer force. Hundreds of clan members filled every available space, their voices creating a low rumble of shared grief and whispered memories. Flowers and ceremonial offerings covered every surface, filling the air with heavy perfume that couldn’t quite mask the underlying scent of sorrow. And at the front of the hall, surrounded by flickering candles and draped in the royal colors of deep blue and silver, lay the open casket that held what remained of King Voran Deyvar.
Father.
Korran’s steps faltered as reality crashed over him again. The man who’d taught him about duty and honor, who’d shaped his understanding of leadership through quiet example and firm guidance, was gone. Forever. No more late-night conversations about territory management, no more shared looks across council meetings when Malvek grew too ambitious, no more moments of connection between a father and son.
His gaze swept the front row, searching for his mother—and stopped abruptly when it landed on an unexpected figure. Tess sat beside Queen Lysia, her posture straight and composed despite the obvious weight of grief surrounding them. She wore a black dress that hugged her curves with elegant simplicity, the fabric flowing around her like liquid shadow. It was one of the dresses he’d provided in that massive wardrobe, his instinctive need to care for his mate expressing itself even when he’d been fighting the bond with everything he had.
She’s here.
The realization hit him with force. She was here, supporting his mother and honoring his father. Looking every inch the future queen she was meant to be, even if she didn’t know it yet. Something deep in his chest tightened—not the unbearable weight of grief, but something warmer and more complex. The mate bond thrummed between them, carrying echoes of her emotions. Sadness for a man she’d barely known but had tried desperately to save. Compassion for his mother’s loss. And underneath it all, a steady thread of determination that spoke to her refusal to abandon what she’d started.
Why am I fighting this? Why am I fighting her?
He forced himself to move, navigating through the crowd with the kind of controlled precision that had become second nature. Clan members parted before him, their faces reflecting mixtures of sympathy and expectation. He caught Malvek’scalculating stare from across the hall, the older man’s steel-grey eyes carrying unspoken demands about succession and the need to secure the royal line.
Beside Malvek sat Seraya, her dark hair styled to perfection and her blue eyes offering him a smile that managed to be both supportive and inviting. The perfect potential mate, raised from birth to be a queen, politically advantageous and personally undemanding. Everything the council wanted for him, everything logic said he should choose. But his gaze kept drifting back to Tess.
Korran reached the front row and took his place on the other side of his mother, the scent of her grief mixing with the floral arrangements. Queen Lysia looked fragile in a way he’d never seen before, as if losing her fated mate had drained something essential from her very core.
This is what the bond costs,he thought, watching his mother’s barely controlled composure.
But as the fears surfaced, he couldn’t ignore the strength Tess radiated beside them. She wasn’t weakening under the weight of their family’s tragedy or the clan’s scrutiny—she was offering silent support, her presence alone providing comfort to a grieving queen who’d accepted her like family.
The clan elder began the ceremony, his voice carrying the ancient words that would formally honor King Voran’s life and reign. Korran tried to focus on the familiar rituals, the recounting of his father’s achievements and the formal transfer of royal authority. But time seemed to compress and expand unpredictably, moments stretching into eternity while entire minutes vanished without trace.
Hold it together,he commanded himself as his composure began to crack.The clan needs to see strength, not weakness.
