Reject me twice (Kira and Theron) novel Chapter 65

[Kira’s POV]

I spent the rest of the day with Elara, planning how things should go. I didn’t even realize when I went back to my chambers and slept through the night.

Then I woke to cold sheets and an empty bed.

The space where Malik had lain was already cool, the indent of his body fading from the mattress like a ghost dissolving in morning light.

Panic seized me before reason could intervene—sharp, animal, the instinct of a pregnant woman whose mate has vanished without explanation.

I was on my feet before I’d fully processed the fear, one hand pressed against my stomach, the other reaching for a robe that I threw over my shoulders as I rushed toward the main halls with my heart hammering against my ribs.

I stopped short at the top of the grand staircase.

Below me, the great hall had been transformed. Servants moved in coordinated streams, stringing garlands of silver and white flowers across the arched ceiling, arranging long tables heavy with arrangements of winter roses and moonblossoms.

The air smelled of baking bread and roasted meat and something sweet I couldn’t identify. Candles were being placed by the hundreds—on every surface, in every alcove, along every windowsill—their unlit wicks waiting for nightfall to turn the hall into a sea of warm light.

“Don’t you dare cry before the party even starts.”

Elara materialized at my elbow, pulling me into a hug so tight it pressed the breath from my lungs. She was vibrating with energy—eyes bright, cheeks flushed, practically bouncing with enthusiasm.

“The realm needs this, Kira,” she said, her voice fierce. “A celebration of the heir—of new life, of hope after everything you’ve survived. Your pregnancy has been nothing but political ammunition since the announcement, debated and dissected and weaponized by every lord with an opinion and a grudge.”

She squeezed my hands. “Tonight, we take it back. Tonight, it’s not a controversy or a succession crisis or a talking point for the Order. It’s a baby. Your baby. And that deserves joy.”

“Elara, this is—it’s too soon,” I protested. “How are you supposed to organize something like this in a single—”

Malik’s arm wrapped around my waist from behind, his lips pressing against my temple. “Now is exactly the right time,” he murmured against my hair.

“Let the realm see their queen glowing, Kira. Let them see what we’re fighting for—not politics, not prophecy, not bloodline arguments. A child. A future. Something worth protecting.”

His hand settled over mine on my belly. “I promise you, I’ll keep you both safe tonight. No matter what.”

Damon appeared at the foot of the stairs. I didn’t miss how Elara’s cheeks flushed deeper pink under his gaze, or how his hand found the small of her back. Something had changed between them—the careful distance collapsed into unmistakable intimacy.

Something I’d never seen in my brother’s guarded eyes—told me everything I needed to know about why Elara was glowing this morning with a radiance that had nothing to do with party planning.

“Tonight,” Damon said, his voice carrying the weight of a king’s decree and a brother’s love, “we celebrate the child.”

As darkness fell, the palace came alive.

Pack members filled the great hall—warriors, elders, families with wide-eyed children. Delegates from allied territories arrived bearing gifts.

Silver rattles from the Northern Reaches, engraved with protective runes. Enchanted blankets from the Eastern Provinces. Carved wolves from the Thornwood estates with moonstone eyes.

Silent. Masked. Moving with brutal efficiency. Order agents—I recognized the broken crown insignia before survival instinct kicked in.

My magic flared—then fizzled. Died. Something in the air clogged my lungs, thick and acrid. They’d suppressed my power before I could use it. They’d come prepared.

I fought anyway. Shifted into my silver wolf with a snarl that tore through the quiet garden. My jaws closed on the nearest attacker’s arm with a crunch of bone that sent him screaming. I twisted, lunged for the next one, tasted blood—

Darts punched into my hide. One in the shoulder. Two in the flank. Three.

The sedatives burned through my bloodstream—fast-acting, merciless, designed to bring down royal blood before she could howl for help.

The world tilted. My legs buckled. I shifted back involuntarily, my body crumpling onto the garden stones, my hand reaching for my stomach in a final, desperate act of protection.

The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me was a face, half-lit by lantern glow, watching from the shadows with the satisfied smile of a woman who’d waited a very long time for this moment.

Celeste.

Inside the great hall, the music played on. Laughter echoed off candlelit walls. Goblets were raised to a queen and her unborn children.

No one had noticed she was gone.