The next night, the dream returned as though it had never left.

Leila stood in a corridor that stretched endlessly, torchlight flickering against damp stone. Her daughter — no longer an infant but a lively little girl with curls brushing her cheeks — raced ahead of her. Her bare feet slapped against the floor as she giggled, weaving in and out of the shadows.

“Slow down, my fairy!” Leila called, her voice trembling with both laughter and fear. She hurried after her, her own steps sluggish, her body aching.

The child spun back, eyes alight like gold coins. “Catch me, Mama!”

Her laughter was a melody Leila would never tire of. She reached forward, grasped the girl by her waist, and lifted her into the air. The little one shrieked with joy, then collapsed into her mother’s arms, pressing sticky kisses against her cheek.

Leila held her close, heart swelling. Every moment with her was a miracle. Every laugh, every kiss, every “Mama” spoken with love. Even as her chest tightened with a cough, even as her arms shook from weakness, she wrapped herself tighter around her daughter, inhaling her scent as if it might keep her alive.

Later in the dream, time shifted again.

The castle was gone.

She and her daughter now moved through darkened alleys and overgrown fields, their steps hushed, their breaths sharp with fear. Leila’s cloak wrapped tightly around them both, shielding the child against her chest. Her body throbbed with pain, her limbs weaker than ever, but she pushed forward. Always forward.

The little girl peeked out from beneath the hood, her eyes wide as she whispered, “Mama, why do we hide?”

Leila pressed a kiss to her forehead. “To keep you safe, my fairy. Always safe.”

The girl nodded solemnly, as though she understood, and nestled against her mother’s chest.

But it was later still, another fragment of the dream, when the words came that broke Leila’s heart.

They were sitting on the floor of a small, crumbling shelter. The fire had long gone out. Leila’s cough had grown harsh, shaking her thin frame until her daughter’s small hands rubbed her back in comfort.

“Mama,” the little one said, her voice soft, careful. “Where is Papa?”

Leila froze. The question struck like a blade.

The girl tilted her head, curls falling into her eyes. “Other children… they have Papas. Where is mine?”

Leila’s lips parted, but no words came. Her throat closed, her chest ached as if her heart were crumbling to dust. She pulled her daughter into her arms, burying her face in her hair, tears spilling freely.

She could not answer.

She only clung tighter, as if her embrace could shield her daughter from every cruel truth the world had in store.

When Leila woke, her cheeks were wet. Her hands trembled so violently she could barely press them to her face. The question echoed in her ears long after the dream dissolved.

Where is Papa?

The weight of it broke her in ways the birthing pains never had.

All day she drifted through the tower like a ghost. She whispered to her invisible child as if she still lingered at her side, brushing her hair with trembling fingers, kissing her crown. She set bread on the table and murmured, “Eat, my fairy.” She opened the window wide as though to let her daughter see the stars.

Her body weakened with each passing day. Her coughs grew harsher, shadows deepened beneath her eyes. It was as though the dreams themselves were stealing her strength, tethering her more to the life within them than the one outside.

The world outside the tower did not notice. The festival in the capital had stretched to its third and final night. Leila could still hear the songs, the laughter, the endless howls of joy. It was a mockery, each note stabbing into her chest. They sang for their King and his destined mate.

And she sat alone, slowly unraveling.

Far away, the Emperor Levi sat at the head of the council table.

The chamber was alive with voices, though his ears heard little of them. Human envoys stood stiffly on one side, their eyes sharp with worry. The werewolf lords opposite them bristled with pride, their voices booming as they spoke of strength and destiny.

“The oath cannot be broken,” one of the humans said, his voice edged with steel. “Your Majesty is wed to the Khair princess. The treaty was sealed in blood. Should the marriage be dishonored, peace will collapse.”

Another envoy nodded quickly. “You must consummate the union, Sire. That was the condition agreed upon by both sides. To refuse it would be a betrayal to every human who bent knee to the crown.”

The wolves growled at the sharpness of their words. One slammed his fist against the table. “Do you dare question your King?”

The humans did not flinch. “We question nothing. We remind him of law.”

Levi sat unmoving, his golden eyes fixed on the table, though his mind was far away. His wolf prowled restlessly inside him, its voice low and insistent.

Mate.

The word would not leave him. It had haunted him since the night of the howl, clawing at his soul, demanding he listen.

But the council’s words dragged him back like chains. The oath, the treaty, the fragile peace that rested on his shoulders.

A human lord leaned forward, his voice quieter but no less sharp. “With respect, Your Majesty… if you refuse, you condemn us all. The bond between human and wolf was sealed through her. Whether you wish it or not, the princess must be your wife in truth.”

The chamber fell into tense silence.

Levi’s hands curled into fists beneath the table. His gaze lifted slowly, scanning the faces before him. Human eyes brimming with anxiety. Wolf eyes blazing with loyalty. Both factions watching him as though his choice would either crown or kill them.

Inside, his wolf growled again, more insistent this time.

Mate. She is near. Why do you not claim her?

Levi’s jaw tightened. He said nothing, but the emptiness in his chest howled louder than the festival outside.