The Messenger( Iva) novel Chapter 170

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Decissions-2

He had protected her. Without being asked. Without hesitation.

He had drawn a line in the sand and dared the entire world to cross it.

She knew that being the Messenger was not an easy role. She wanted to be proud of her gift-wanted to embrace it, to use it for good, to help the wolves who had been waiting so long for her.

But she needed time. Time to get used to the public scrutiny. Time to figure out who she was beneath the title. Time to breathe.

Caleb turned to her, and his expression softened. The hard màsk melted away, replaced by something warmer. Something that was just for her.

His hand found hers. Squeezed gently.

“I am here with you,” he said quietly.

Three words. Simple. Perfect.

Iva squeezed back, unable to speak around the lump in her throat.

Caleb glanced around, then nodded to himself.

“Let’s have a late snack and a warm drink,” he said. His eyes met hers, and something flickered in them- concern, maybe. Or worry.

“You look like you could faint.” King William added.

Iva shivered.

Not from cold. From the realization that the king-the Lycan king, the most powerful shifter in existence- was a very blunt person.

There was no softness in his observation. No gentle cushioning of words. Just the truth, plain and unadorned, dropped at her feet like a stone.

It could come across as rude.

Part of her wanted to bristle. Wanted to snap that she was fine, thank you very much, and she didn’t need a babysitter.

But she couldn’t say anything.

In the end, he was the king.

And besides.

He wasn’t wrong.

Her legs were trembling. Her head was light. The thought of food made her stomach clench with longing.

“A snack,” she repeated. Her voice came out faint. “That sounds… good.”

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Caleb’s lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.

“This way.”

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The transition from the sacred tension of the ritual to the quiet intimacy of the tea room felt almost surreal to Iva, as if she had been pulled from the center of a storm and placed gently into the eye of it.

The room itself was elegant but far more personal than the grand halls she had seen earlier-soft lighting, warm tones, a low polished table surrounded by comfortable seating, and tall windows through which the moonlight filtered in gently, no longer overwhelming, but soothing.

Just the four of them.

Caleb.

King William.

Queen Rita.

And her.

Iva sat carefully, her posture straight, her hands resting neatly in her lap, trying to control the lingering nervous energy still coursing through her veins. Every movement felt too loud, too noticeable, as if she didn’t quite belong in a space like this.

Servants moved quietly, placing dishes on the table-delicate pastries, fresh bread, warm savory bites, fruits, tea infused with herbs that released a calming aroma into the air.

Her stomach growled.

Softly.

Mortifyingly.

She froze.

Heat rushed to her cheeks instantly, her eyes dropping in embarrassment.

Before she could even attempt to recover, Caleb reached forward without a word, calmly assembling a plate-selecting a bit of everything, deliberate and unhurried-before placing it directly in front of her.

“You need to eat,” he said simply.

No teasing.

No judgment.

Just quiet certainty.

Iva blinked at him, caught off guard, then nodded slightly.

“… Thank you.”

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Her voice came out softer than intended.

As she picked up the utensils, still a bit hesitant, she felt a gaze on her and glanced up to see Queen Rita watching the interaction with a faint, amused smile playing on her lips.

There was something knowing in that look.

Something warm.

And unexpectedly… it eased Iva just a little.

The queen leaned back slightly, her posture relaxed yet elegant, as she lifted her teacup.

“Tell us about yourself,” she said gently.

And just like that-

Iva nearly choked on air.

Her hand stilled mid-motion, her mind going completely blank as the weight of the question settled over

her.

Tell us about yourself?

In front of them?

Her?

She forced a small, awkward smile, her fingers tightening slightly around the fork.

“Well… I…” she started, then paused, searching for something-anything-that didn’t sound completely ridiculous.

“I’m… a lone wolf,” she said finally, her voice careful. “From a gamma bloodline.”

The words felt small in a room like this.

Insignificant.

But she forced herself to continue sitting straight.

Queen Rita hummed softly, not dismissive, but thoughtful.

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“Caleb mentioned that you were admitted to the Lycan Academy.”

There was a slight tilt of her head, curiosity in her eyes.

“That is quite impressive.”

Iva blinked, surprised.

“Especially,” the queen continued smoothly, “for someone who is neither Elite nor Lycan by birth.”

There was no insult in her tone.

Just fact.

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And… recognition.

Iva lowered her gaze briefly, a modest smile touching her lips.

“I was… lucky to get-admitted,” she said.→

The queen’s smile deepened slightly.

“It takes more than luck.”

Simple words.

But they landed differently.

Iva felt it.

And without realizing it, something inside her relaxed just a fraction.more.

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Because despite everything-the power, the status, the overwhelming presence, Queen Rita felt… familiar.

Warm.

In a way that tugged painfully at something deep inside her.

Mom… she reminds me of my mom.

The thought came unbidden, and she quickly pushed it aside, focusing back on the present.

King William, who had remained mostly silent until now, finally leaned forward slightly, his presence immediately shifting the tone of the conversation.

Direct.

Focused.

“I assume,” he began, his voice measured, “that you are aware of the role of the Messenger.”

Iva straightened instinctively.

“Yes… Your Majesty.”

He nodded once.

“Then you are also aware that each Messenger, in time, aligns themselves with certain packs-favoring some, strengthening bonds, shaping alliances.”

His eyes locked onto hers.

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