*Nemesia's POV*

The morning's crisp air was tinged with the scent of pine and wet earth, remnants of last night's rain. The camp buzzed with low conversations and the clinking of weapons. Rebels moved about, preparing for the day's duties, but my mind was elsewhere.

As I stepped out of my tent, Murphey approached, a serious look on his face that told me this wasn't just a casual check-in.

"Nemesia, there's something we need to address," he started, his voice barely above a whisper. We walked to a secluded spot, away from prying ears.

"It's about Aiden," he continued, the weight of his words sinking in. For a moment I stopped breathing. Did they...?

"The camp needs closure. They need a hero to remember, not just the tragedy of his loss."

I nodded with hidden relief, understanding the delicate balance of morale in such tight-knit groups and glad that I wasn't found out.

"So, we give them their hero. We celebrate his bravery, his sacrifice."

"That's the plan," Murphey confirmed. "A memorial, this evening. Speak of him, of his courage. It would mean a lot to everyone."

The idea of praising a sacrifice I orchestrated felt like swallowing thorns. Yet, it was necessary. For the cause, for the morale... for my cover.

"Understood. I'll prepare something," I assured him, my mind already drafting the words I would say.

*

As the sun began to set, the camp gathered around a newly erected marker—a simple wooden post with Aiden's name carved into it. The rebels stood in solemn silence, their faces a mix of grief and pride.

I stepped forward, the flicker of the campfire casting long shadows over the assembled faces.

"Today, we remember Aiden," I began, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "His laughter, his determination, and above all, his bravery. He took on a mission knowing the risks, and because of his brave solo actions, we struck a significant blow to our enemies and returned home safely."

Whispers of approval rustled through the crowd, and I continued,

"Let us honour his memory, not with tears, but with renewed resolve. His sacrifice will not be in vain. We owe him—and ourselves—that much."

The rebels nodded, some clenching their fists, others wiping away discreet tears. Aiden had become more than just a fallen comrade; he was a symbol of their struggle, their pain.

As the gathering dispersed, Murphey clapped a hand on my shoulder, his nod one of gratitude. I had given them their hero, their martyr. But I also became someone trustworthy with this... Grief can make people come closer, and forget their barriers. I became one of them... That easily. Well... if sacrificing a young man can be called easy.

Melody's POV

The royal chambers, usually filled with the subdued whispers of court intrigue, were exceptionally quiet this morning. Marco was deeply engrossed in his work, surrounded by scattered papers and reports that seemed to consume his every moment. From what I found out, he was really bad at it... I heard Nemesia was always dealing with it all and he was spending that time playing around, hunting, running, or chilling with friends.

Noticing his intense focus—and the deep furrows of frustration lining his forehead—I felt a stir of desire to ease his burden, if only for a few moments.

Slowly, I approached him from behind, my fingers lightly touching the tense muscles of his shoulders.

"Marco, you've been at this for hours," I whispered, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on the nape of his neck.

He tensed initially, a sigh escaping him as he momentarily set aside his pen and leaned back into my touch.

"Melody, not now... I really need to focus," he murmured, though his voice betrayed a hint of resignation.

Ignoring his protests, I intensified my touch, massaging the stiffness from his shoulders.

"You're always focused on duty. Take a moment for yourself... for us," I urged, my voice low and seductive.

Gradually, his resistance ebbed away as his body began to relax under my hands. Turning to face me, his eyes held a mixture of appreciation and lingering stress.

"This isn't a good time—"

But I silenced him with a finger to his lips, then replaced it with a kiss, pulling him gently away from the desk. His initial reluctance faded when he finally gave in, returning my kiss with an urgency that spoke of suppressed need and longing. Our connection deepened, the papers and maps on his desk forgotten as we lost ourselves in the moment, the world narrowing down to just the two of us. His hands quickly found their way under my simple dress, one of them kneading my breast.

Just as the kiss and his touch grew more passionate and I began to lead him towards a more secluded part of the room, ready to surrender to the intimacy that had been building between us, a sharp knock at the door shattered the moment.

"Your Highness, pardon the interruption, but there's urgent news about the dam!" a voice called out, urgent and unyielding.

Like brought back from under a spell, Marco stepped back, his expression shifting from personal to princely in an instant. My body felt cold as he left me standing alone in a matter of seconds.

"Enter," he commanded, straightening his attire and quickly shifting back into his role as prince.

A royal messenger hurried in, bowing quickly before delivering his report.

"Your Highness, the dam to the north has suffered significant damage. Early reports suggest it was an attack by a lycan. We are still gathering details, but the situation looks grave."

The news struck like a cold wave, washing away any remnants of our fleeting escape from reality. Marco's face hardened as he took in the information, the strange new desire overtaking the man I had just held in my arms.

"Thank you, dismiss," he said roughly, dismissing the messenger with a wave. As soon as we were alone again, his demeanour became all business, the warmth we had shared moments ago completely evaporated.

I tried to catch his hand and put it on my breast to continue but he pulled away coldly.

"Melody, I need to handle this," he said, moving back to his desk to gather the scattered reports.

"This could have serious implications for the safety of our people... and it could be about Nemesia."

When he said her name I knew... this was the only reason he stopped paying attention to me. He had an obsession with her of some sort.

"Well... she's his mate..." I heard Euphie's voice.

"No! This is a mistake! He told me it was a mistake! He feels nothing for her! I am his fated one!" I almost cried angrily at my wolf silencing her.

Standing back, I felt a pang of disappointment, mixed with a sense of helplessness.

As Marco dove into action, issuing orders and coordinating with his advisors, I retreated to the edge of the room, my thoughts troubled and my heart heavy. The distance between us, both physical and emotional, seemed to expand with each passing moment.

*

Later, as I returned to my quarters, the sting of the interrupted moment lingered. The maids in the hallway, unaware of the turmoil inside me, giggled and whispered among themselves, their voices carrying snippets of their conversation.

"Did you see how she threw herself at him? As if the prince has nothing better to worry about than her flights of fancy!" one laughed.

"Truly, does she think she can just distract him from his duties with a bat of her eyes? So inappropriate," another chimed in, their laughter echoing down the hall.

"Yes. She's nothing like her ladyship Nemesia. She had such charm and demeanour. His highness wasn't able to tear his eyes away from her no matter what job came in," one of them snickered.

"Yes. It was always her who would put work in the first place. She knew what was important and how to behave..." they were continuing her rattling unaware... or maybe aware that I could hear them.

Their words, meant to be teasing, cut deeper than I knew. Closing the door behind me, I leaned against it, the cold wood a stark contrast to the warmth of Marco's touch I still felt on my skin.

"Euphie," I whispered to my inner wolf, seeking comfort in her ever-present strength.

"They don't understand, do they?" Euphie's voice was a soft growl in my mind, protective and fierce.

"No, they don't," I replied, pushing away from the door. "And perhaps they never will."

Resolved to not let their words affect me, I sat at the small desk in my room, pulling out a piece of parchment. Tonight, I decided, I would write to Marco. If our moments were to be stolen by duties and crises, then I would find another way to reach him, to remind him of the connection we shared, fleeting though it might be.