Reject me twice (Kira and Theron) novel Chapter 115

The hardest thing I’ve ever done is choosing, with clear eyes, to put my children in a carriage and watch them disappear into the dark.

Malik lays out the logic the night before. His voice is steady, his hands tremble against the map table, and neither of us acknowledges it.

“The convergence site is three days from the palace. Magnus knows where the twins sleep. He helped design the guard rotations during Broken Crown coordination. He’s spent months studying our defenses as a trusted ally, and everything he learned becomes a weapon now.”

“I know the logic, Malik.”

“Every day they remain under this roof is a day he has access to them. He can choose his moment with the patience he’s already demonstrated, and when he moves, he’ll use a map of our defenses drawn from the inside.”

“I said I know!”

“They need walls Magnus hasn’t mapped. Theron’s response arrived an hour ago — he’s ready. Ciri is preparing the nursery wing. The route is planned.”

“When?”

“Before dawn. The carriage leaves at four, and we have six hours that will sustain us through however long this takes.”

His voice cracks: a fracture so small anyone else would miss it. “I don’t want to do this either, Kira, but I want them alive more than I want them close.”

Damon finds me in the nursery at midnight. The twins are asleep — Castiel on his back, Lyra tucked into his side, silver markings pulsing faintly in candlelight.

“I should be going with them,” he says from the doorway.

“You need to stay. If Magnus notices you’ve left, he’ll know something’s changed. You and I at the breakfast table, behaving normally: that keeps the cover intact.”

“I’m just telling you it’s tearing me apart.”

“It’s temporary. We get them safe, we deal with Magnus, and we bring them home.”

“You make it sound simple.”

“The alternative — leaving them here with a man preparing to drain their power — is not something I can survive. If anything happened while I had the intelligence to prevent it, I would never recover.”

“No, I wouldn’t either.” He crosses the room. “How do we act normal at breakfast? How do we sit across from that man and smile while our children are being carried away in the dark?”

“The same way we’ve survived everything else. By deciding that the performance is worth the price.”

“I’ve never hated a performance more.”

“But this one keeps them alive, and that’s the only metric that matters.”

We watch them sleep — the last time we’ll see them in this nursery for weeks. Through the bond, grief moves between us like water finding its level.

The escort assembles — wolves Malik selected personally, forged in the Broken Crown campaign.

Eight fighters, two nursemaids, a field medic. The carriage is unmarked. The route avoids every road Magnus’s wolves have traveled.

I wake the children at quarter to four. Castiel blinks in the candlelight, dark eyes finding mine with confused trust.

“Mama?”

“We’re going on a trip, sweetheart. You and Lyra are going to visit Theron’s pack.”

“Mama come?”

“Mama has to stay here. But I’ll come get you very soon, I promise.”

I hand him Castiel first. The boy goes to his father with reluctance, looking back at me over Malik’s shoulder with eyes that don’t understand.

Then Lyra, who lets me lift her without resistance, her hand pressed to my cheek until the last possible moment.

Malik holds one in each arm. The image carves itself into my memory: this man who was born with nothing, who grew up omega, carrying everything. His children against his chest, their silver markings glowing against his dark cloak.

“Bring them back to me,” I say.

“I’ll die before anyone touches them.”

He walks down the corridor. Castiel’s face watches me over his shoulder until the hallway curves and they’re gone.

I stand at the window and watch the carriage pull through the eastern gate, quiet and disappearing into pre-dawn darkness with my children inside.

The horses move at a controlled trot, the escort flanking in tight formation, Malik’s silhouette visible in the driver’s seat beside the coachman.

The carriage vanishes into the tree line, and the courtyard empties. The sky holds onto its darkness as though the dawn itself is reluctant to arrive.

I stand until the stillness becomes unbearable. Then I straighten, adjust the crown on my head, and walk toward the council chamber to face the man who made this necessary.

My children are behind walls he hasn’t mapped. His wolves are about to be sealed in quarters by operatives he never saw coming. The woman walking toward him is no longer the queen who welcomed him with warmth—

She is a mother whose children have been threatened, and she has never lost that fight.