The second letter was shorter than the first.
It arrived not with ceremony, but with intention. Folded in black wax, sealed with Kael’s personal crest—his clawed sigil pressed deep into the surface like a warning or a plea.
Zara held it in two fingers like it might bite.
“Are you sure you want to read this?”
Aria didn’t answer.
She already knew what it would say.
She took the letter, broke the seal, and read:
Aria,
Don’t go to StoneRidge.
You don’t owe me anything. But you owe yourself more than a kingdom offered out of strategy. I’ve made choices I can’t undo—but so have they.
You know what it means to be a pawn. Don’t become someone else’s queen just to spite a king who failed you.
If you need me to say it plainly: I want you here. I want the child safe. I want us to begin again, whatever that means.
I won’t come to SilverCrest again without your call. But if you leave, I will follow. That’s not a threat. It’s a promise.
—Kael
The parchment trembled slightly in her hand as the words sank in.
He knew.
He’d felt her weighing it.
And like always, Kael had waited until the last moment—until her foot hovered over the line—to say the words that might’ve mattered sooner.
She let the letter fall to the hearth.
Didn’t burn it.
Didn’t treasure it.
Just… left it there.
Unanswered.
“I’m saying no,” Aria told Zara an hour later, pacing in front of the cabin window. “To both.”
Zara blinked. “To both?”
“No to StoneRidge. No to Kael.”
“You’re just… staying here? In SilverCrest? Where you’re not fully trusted, and the council keeps their distance, and Kael haunts every breath?”
“Yes.”
Zara crossed her arms. “You know that’s the harder path, right?”
Aria turned. “That’s why I’m choosing it.”
The next morning, she sent her own letter—short, blunt, final.
To Alpha Myra,
I thank you for your offer. But my fight is not one I will finish on borrowed ground.
I will not be claimed by another kingdom. Not even a well-meaning one.
My child will be born where I was cast aside. And from here, we rise.
—Aria Vale
She signed it with her own sigil—a crude rendering of a crescent moon cleaved in two. It wasn’t official.
Yet.
But it was hers.
By midday, the response from StoneRidge arrived by raven, carried high over the cliffs and dropping into the snow like an omen.
Aria opened it with steady fingers.
You will always have a place among wolves who walk alone. Strength recognizes strength.
—Myra
She folded the letter carefully, pressed it into the back of her journal, and closed it with finality.
The decision had been made.
She wasn’t running.
Not to Kael.
Not to StoneRidge.
Not even to freedom.
She was staying.
And in that staying, she would transform the place that once tried to bury her.
News of her refusal spread like wind.
Some whispered that she was foolish. Others called her brave. A few wondered if the child had already begun to shape her mind—if pregnancy had made her territorial, possessive, irrational.
But Zara heard what the pack didn’t say out loud.
They were beginning to respect her.
Not because she’d claimed power.
But because she hadn’t.
Because she’d looked at two wolves—one crowned, one promising—and said no to both.
Aria was no longer a story of rejection.
She was becoming one of defiance.
That night, she stood on the ridge again.
Not to brood.
To anchor.
The wind howled, colder than usual, and the stars shimmered like frost scattered across the heavens.
She spoke aloud, though no one was near.
“I’m not afraid of being alone.”
Silence answered her.
And then, faintly—not from the tether, but from the earth beneath her feet—she felt a thrum. A soft beat.
Like the land itself had heard.
Like something old had taken notice.
Zara appeared behind her a moment later, cloak dragging through the snow.
“I should get you inside.”
“Just a minute.”
“You’ve had a lot of minutes.”
Aria smiled. “One more.”
Zara joined her in silence, the two women watching the sky.
Then Zara said, “You didn’t choose the easier path.”
“No.”
“Then you better be ready for what comes next.”
Aria’s voice was calm. “I am.”
Down in the valley, at the farthest outpost of SilverCrest, Kael received word of Aria’s refusal through a neutral courier.
He didn’t speak for a long time after reading it.
He dismissed the guard. Sat alone. Stared at the fire.
Then, without a word, he reached into his coat and pulled out something small—a ring.
Plain. Silver. Untouched since the day he’d severed the bond.
He closed his fist around it and whispered, “Good.”
Not because he was glad.
But because it meant she was no longer waiting for him.
And now, if he wanted her back—
He’d have to earn it.
