I find him in the training yard three nights after the coronation.

The moon is high, casting silver light across empty practice grounds. Most of the palace sleeps, but Malik is here, working through sword forms with that deadly precision I’ve come to know so well.

I watch from the shadows for a moment, remembering.

Remembering the first time he saved me from Corel in that hallway. The cold efficiency of his intervention. The way he looked at me like I mattered even when I believed I didn’t.

Remembering every training session where he pushed me harder, made me stronger, refused to let me quit.

Remembering his hands steady on my face after I learned the Queen Mother’s plans, promising protection even without the oath binding him.

Remembering every moment he chose me when no one else did.

His blade cuts through the air, movements fluid and controlled. Then he stops mid-form, going completely still.

“I know you’re there,” he says without turning around.

I step out of the shadows. “Can’t sleep?”

“Could say the same to you, my Queen.” He sheathes the sword, finally turning to face me. Even in the moonlight, I can see the heat in his eyes when he looks at me. “Shouldn’t you be resting? You have council meetings tomorrow.”

“Can’t sleep without you,” I admit.

The words hang between us, honest and raw.

He moves closer, and I see the war playing across his face. Want versus restraint. Desire versus duty.

“Kira—”

“We need to talk.” I close the remaining distance. “Really talk. About what happens now. About what we are to each other.”

“You’re my Queen.” But his voice wavers. “I’m your Commander. That’s what we are.”

“Is it?” I reach up, touching his face. “Because it feels like more than that. Feels like it’s been more than that for some time already.”

His hand covers mine, pressing it harder against his cheek. “You’re a queen now. You could have anyone. Any noble, any warrior, any Alpha from any pack—”

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Kira, I’m nobody. I rose from omega to commander, but I’m still just—”

I cut him off with a kiss.

It’s not desperate or frantic like some of our previous kisses. It’s sure. Certain. Claiming.

When I pull back, his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide.

“I don’t want the Gamma,” I say firmly. “I don’t want the protector or the oath-keeper or the Commander.” My hands frame his face. “I want you. Just you. The man who saw me when I was nothing and stayed anyway. The man who trained me, protected me, chose me without any magic forcing him to.”

“I’ve been terrified,” he admits, voice rough. “Terrified that you’d realize you could do better. That once you had power and choices, you’d see me as just another obligation. Another person who wanted something from you.”

“Someone like you?” I pull back to look at him. “You mean someone loyal, brave, honest? Someone who protected me when I had nothing to offer in return? Someone who makes me feel safe and seen and chosen?”

My hands aren’t as patient as his. Fumbling with the buckles of his leather armor, I tear at the straps like an animal, eager to feel him, to taste him. The clatter of his weapons hitting the floor is drowned out by the sound of our breathing—heavy, ragged, obscene.

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