The Betrayed Princess Rising (Lylah and Ezra) novel Chapter 411

Chapter 411

3rd Person’s POV

“Let me take care of him. He comes here often, so we already know each other,” Luén said softly to Azrel.

The Beta was far too drunk to question anything. Wine clouded his senses, dulling both instinct and caution. After a brief hesitation, he nodded and released Rowan into her care.

Rowan barely remained standing.

The Alpha’s larger frame leaned heavily against Luén as she guided him away from the crowded club floor. Despite the music still pulsing through the walls, the farther they walked, the quieter the world became.

They entered a dim hallway lined with deep maroon carpet and low golden lights that flickered like dying embers. At the end of the hallway, she pushed open the door to one of the private suites and led him inside.

The moment the private room door clicked shut behind them, silence enveloped the world.

Beneath the thick scent of whiskey and smoke, Rowan’s wolf caught something else—

Lylah’s scent.

That intoxicating moonflower scent wrapped around his senses instantly, sinking claws deep into instinct. It flooded through him so violently that his pulse staggered.

“Lylah…” The name left Rowan in a rough, shattered breath.

His large hand lifted instinctively, trembling as it cupped Luén’s face. His thumb dragged across her lips as though trying to convince himself she was real. Madness burned behind his eyes now, feverish and untamed, his wolf too deep inside instinct to separate memory from reality.

“You came back to me…” he whispered hoarsely.

Luén stilled.

For one fleeting second, pity brushed against the sharp edges of her heart.

Two lifetimes.

And Rowan Blackfang still looked at Lysara as though the moon itself had been carved from her soul.

Even now, after death and rebirth, after fate had twisted every path into ruin, his obsession had survived.

A strange ache coiled inside Luén’s chest.

In another life, Rowan had burned for Lysara just as fiercely as she had burned for Ezrael. Yet neither of them had been chosen in the end.

Perhaps that was why she understood him so well.

Perhaps that was why the bitterness inside her recognized his.

May

I know your love for Lysara burned bright enough to set kingdoms to ash. Luen thought as she watched him quietly. But she belongs to Ezrael now, just as my Ezrael kneels only at her altar.

The realization tasted like poison.

But Rowan…

Rowan still had value.

Strength. Influence. Ambition.

Luén would not allow a weapon like Rowan Blackfang to decay inside the graveyard of his own grief-not when they had both bled beneath the same merciless curse.

Love.

Slowly, she lifted her hand and cupped his jaw “Rowan…”

His wolf surged instantly beneath his skin at the sound of her voice.

Then Luén pushed him backward onto the satin-covered bed.

Rowan barely resisted. His gaze remained locked on her face like a starving beast staring at moonlight through chains.

She leaned over him, deep violet eyes gleaming beneath the low lights.

“I remember,” she whispered near his lips, “how deeply you once loved Lysara.”

Something flickered violently in Rowan’s expression.

Ancient.

Buried.

Like ghosts clawing upward from the depths of his soul.

Luén’s fingers slid slowly through his dark hair.

“But loving her destroyed you once already.” Her voice softened into something dangerous. “Are you truly willing to lose again?”

The air shifted.

The wolf inside Rowan growled low in his chest, restless and fraying as shattered memories clawed through him-fleeting glimpses of silver palaces beneath eternal moonlight, blood staining marble floors, and the unbearable agony of loving the Lunareth princess who had never chosen him.

Luén felt it too.

The pull.

Not love.

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Chapter 411

Never love.

But recognition.

Two fractured souls standing at the edges of the same cursed past.

“What if,” she whispered against his mouth, “this time we stop losing?”

Then she kissed him.

Not gently.

Not tenderly.

It felt like striking flint against steel.

Finished

Rowan’s hand gripped her waist instantly, his control snapping apart as instinct swallowed reason whole. The scent of whiskey, moonflowers, and restless wolves thickened around them until the room itself seemed to pulse with heat.

They did not belong to one another.

Perhaps they never would.

Yet every touch carried the violence of shared loneliness-two souls hollowed out by rejection, trying desperately to fill the emptiness with something that burned.

And somehow, in all that ruin, it felt right.

Morning arrived pale and cold beyond the curtains.

Rowan stirred slowly, pain throbbing behind his eyes.

Fragments of the previous night drifted through his mind like shattered glass. Lylah beneath his hands. Her eyes were beneath the moonlight. A kingdom he had never seen and yet somehow remembered.

It had felt like a dream.

No-

Not a dream.

A memory.

“Alpha Rowan.” The soft voice sliced through the haze.

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