Rowan hadn’t woken up that morning expecting to become the Alpha King’s personal pillow, but here she was. His weight pressed into her shoulder, his breath slow and deep against her neck. The king of the realm, the man who had ended the mountain war through sheer brutality and tactical brilliance, was asleep on her. The entire council chamber had gone silent.
Fifteen men sat frozen in their seats, staring. Councilor Brannon’s mouth hung open mid-sentence. A servant clutched a water pitcher like it was the only solid thing left in the world. Rowan did not dare breathe.
This was not how the afternoon was supposed to go. Councilor Brannon’s knee had been swelling again. The stubborn old fool refused to come down to the infirmary, so Mistress Silvara had sent Rowan up with a poultice and strict instructions to make sure he actually applied it. Simple.
But then the council’s discussion had shifted to contaminated grain stores, and someone who recognized her as the infirmary herbalist had asked her opinion on treatment. Before she could process what was happening, she’d been waved forward to sit beside the king himself and explain proper fumigation techniques for moldy grain. Walking toward him had been the most terrifying thirty seconds of her life. King Leander Martell was absurdly tall, broad-shouldered in a way that suggested he could snap a man’s spine without breaking a sweat.
The sheer physical presence of him was crushing. His dark gray eyes locked onto her as she approached, and she forgot how to make her legs work properly. She lowered herself onto the bench beside him and gripped her hands together in her lap to keep them from shaking. And then she saw it.
The deep, bruised shadows beneath his eyes. The hollow carved into his cheeks that shouldn’t have been there on a man his age. The rumor said His Majesty never slept. Looking at him up close, Rowan believed every word.
But she had not expected his breathing to deepen as she spoke. Or for his head to tip slowly until his temple came to rest against her shoulder. The moment his weight settled against her, the world narrowed to the warmth of him soaking through her sleeve. The impossible reality that the Alpha King had just passed out on a nobody herbalist in front of his entire council.
Panic arrived a beat later. What was she supposed to do? The silence spread like spilled water, and every single person in the room was staring at her with varying degrees of shock. Corbin, the king’s beta, rose slowly from his seat and mouthed very clearly: “Whatever you do, do not move.
”
Rowan’s eyes went wide. Easy for him to say. He didn’t have a mountain of a warlord pinning him to a wooden bench while needing to sneeze. She held her breath.
The urge retreated. Barely. Twenty minutes crawled by like twenty years. Her shoulder ached.
Her spine had gone stiff. She stared straight ahead at the moth-eaten banner on the opposite wall and tried to think about anything other than the fact that the king’s hair was softer than she’d expected. His weight only grew heavier as he sank deeper into sleep, and she sent Corbin a desperate, imploring look. The beta leaned forward, his voice pitched low.
“The Alpha never sleeps. Certainly not for so long. ”
Rowan blinked at him. “So long?
It’s been twenty minutes. ”
She glanced down at the king, at the way sleep had softened the hard line of his mouth into something almost gentle. Something in her chest did an odd, uncomfortable twist. Fine.
She could sit a little longer. Eventually, Corbin rose and gestured. A guard approached, moving with the exaggerated caution of a man trying not to wake a sleeping wolf, and together they eased the king back against his chair. The moment his weight lifted, Rowan nearly sobbed with relief.
Corbin waved her toward the door. She stood on shaking legs and fled. She made it maybe two minutes down the corridor before the beta caught up with her. “The king is already waking,” Corbin said, low and urgent.
Rowan stared at him. “My condolences? ” she offered. The look Corbin gave her suggested that was not the right thing to say.
“What did you do? How did you manage it? ”
“Manage what? ”
“How did you make him sleep?
”
Rowan gaped at him. “I didn’t do anything. I just sat there. ”
The beta’s expression didn’t shift, but the silence that followed felt far too heavy.
“People fall asleep sometimes,” Rowan added, suddenly nervous. “Not him,” Corbin muttered. A chill crawled down her spine. “Are the rumors true then?
”
Corbin ignored the question. “Stay in the castle. Don’t leave the grounds. I’ll be in touch shortly.
”
“Wait. Do you think… will he be angry? ”
“I don’t know how the king will react,” Corbin said quietly.
“So don’t tell anyone what happened here. Understood? ” He left before she could respond. Rowan stood alone in the empty corridor, her pulse still racing, and felt the first cold flicker of genuine fear.
It wasn’t her fault he’d fallen asleep. But if he was embarrassed and looking for someone to blame… her stomach twisted. That night, she dreamed of being dragged to the executioner’s block for crimes against the crown.
Specifically, being the king’s pillow. “And not a very comfortable one either,” the king said in her dream, right before the axe fell. She woke with her heart pounding and her sheets twisted around her legs like a noose. The next morning, a guard knocked on her door.
“You’re being summoned,” he said. “By the king himself. ”
The waiting room was small, windowless, and smelled faintly of old wood and anxiety. When Corbin stepped inside, Rowan’s heart lurched into her throat.
“Miss Rowan. Thank you for waiting. ”
“Is it true I’m being summoned by the king? ” Rowan gulped.
“Almost,” the beta replied. “I’ve summoned you in his name. Would you be willing to sit with the king during a private meeting? ” He paused.
“An experiment, if you will. ”
She stared at him. “Why? ” It came out as a squeak.
Corbin didn’t answer. The walk to the king’s office felt like a funeral march. Corbin stopped at a heavy oak door and pushed it open. Behind the desk, head bent over a report, sat King Leander Martell.
He didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge the door opening. Didn’t so much as twitch when Rowan stepped inside. Corbin gestured to a chair along the wall.
The wood creaked beneath her weight as she sat, but the king kept reading. His face was a mask of controlled focus. He paid her no attention. Two advisers entered, followed by a third.
They spoke in low voices, and the king listened without looking up, asked questions in a low voice, made notes in the margins of his reports. Rowan watched the clock. Counted the seconds. Ten minutes passed.
Then ten more. The king’s pen stilled on the page. Just for a moment. A brief hesitation, like he’d lost his train of thought.
Then he shook his head slightly and kept writing. Oh, no. Five more minutes, and Leander’s head dipped. It was subtle, just a slight forward tilt that he caught immediately.
He blinked hard, pressed his fingers to his temple, and forced his attention back to the document in front of him. One of the advisers was speaking. The king nodded at something, but his eyes had gone slightly unfocused. Rowan’s pulse roared in her ears.
She couldn’t look away. His head dipped again, slower this time, and he didn’t catch it as quickly. His hand went slack around the pen. The adviser finished his sentence and waited for a response.
The king’s eyes closed. His head tipped forward, came to rest on his folded arms atop the desk, and his breathing deepened into something slow and steady and utterly, impossibly peaceful. The room went silent. The advisers stared.
One of them opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then thought better of it. Another turned to look at Corbin with wide eyes. “What do we… ” one of the advisers whispered.
“We wait,” Corbin said quietly. Minutes crawled by, then an hour, then two. The advisers filtered out one by one, and the office fell into heavy silence. Just Rowan, the beta, and the king.
She didn’t dare move. Finally, Corbin turned to her. “You can go. ”
Rowan stumbled back to the infirmary, her mind a chaotic mess.
He fell asleep. Twice. During meetings. And I was there both times.
What if falling asleep in front of his council was some kind of weakness he couldn’t afford to have witnessed? Kings didn’t just pass out at their desks. And she’d been there. She’d seen it.
Mistress Silvara was grinding something at the workbench when Rowan pushed through the door. “What happened? ” she asked. “The king fell asleep,” Rowan managed.
“The beta brought me to his office and told me to sit there, and I just… I sat in a chair and didn’t move, and the king was working, and then he just… he passed out. It happened yesterday, too.
He fell asleep on my shoulder. ” Her voice cracked. “What if he’s angry I saw that? ”
Silvara crossed to the door, glanced into the corridor, then shut it firmly.
“What I’m about to tell you does not leave this room. ”
Rowan’s stomach dropped. “The rumors are true,” Silvara continued. “The king doesn’t sleep.
Not properly. Not for more than a few minutes at a time. It’s been this way since he returned from the mountain war. Over a year now.
We’ve tried everything. Every herb in my stores. Every potion. Every remedy I know.
” Her mouth thinned into a hard line. “Nothing works. ”
“A year? That’s not possible.
A year without sleep would kill… ”
“A normal man, yes. He’s an alpha. A shifter.
That’s kept him alive this long. But even he has limits. The beta fears he won’t survive another six months. ”
“But he slept yesterday,” Rowan whispered.
“For almost an hour. ”
“And today? ”
“Two hours. ”
Silvara’s silence felt heavy enough to crush her.
“What herbs were you working with yesterday? What were you carrying on your person? ”
“Willow bark. The poultice for Counselor Brannon’s knee.
Some dried lavender I’d been sorting earlier in the day. Nothing unusual. ”
Silvara moved to her shelves. “Scent-based sedatives are rare, but they exist.
If something in your natural scent, or perhaps a residue from the herbs you handle regularly… ”
“Wait,” Rowan said, her voice strangled. “So you think he fell asleep because of me? ”
Silvara turned to look at her.
“Don’t you? ”
A knock sounded. Corbin stood in the corridor. “Miss Rowan.
A word, please. ”
“The king woke less than a minute after you left his office,” the beta announced. “Like yesterday. ”
Corbin’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his eyes.
“Does the king know? ” she asked. “Oh, yes,” Corbin said calmly. “He knows.
And he’s requiring your presence. Tonight. At sunset. In his private chambers.
”
Rowan’s heart stopped. That evening, a guard led Rowan through corridors she’d never walked before. The upper levels of the palace, where nobles kept their chambers and servants knew better than to linger. Why am I being summoned to his rooms?
The possibilities spiraled through her mind, taking a sharp, mortifying turn. What if he wanted her in his bed? No. Absolutely not.
Kings didn’t summon random herbalists for that. The guard stopped at a set of carved wooden doors and knocked once. “Enter,” came the king’s voice from inside. The king’s chambers were the largest room she had ever stood in.
Weapons hung on the walls, swords, a bow, a shield bearing the Martell crest. And in the center of it all, impossible to ignore, the bed. It was enormous, and the sight of it made Rowan’s stomach drop, because it was his bed. And she was standing five feet away from it.
And she had no idea why. He was standing by the window, but hearing her arrive, he turned. “Your Majesty, I’m so sorry,” Rowan exclaimed. “I promise I won’t tell anyone you fell asleep on my shoulder.
”
The king frowned. “What? ”
“I mean… I did tell Silvara, but she already knew you had trouble sleeping because she’s a healer.
And I did not tell her you sort of drooled. ”
There was a beat of absolute silence. Then the king cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
It was the first time he’d addressed her directly. His voice was lower than she’d expected. Quieter. It sent a shiver down her spine.
Another beat of silence. He crossed his arms. “This is a practical arrangement,” he said, his tone clipped. “No one speaks of this outside these rooms.
Is that understood? ”
Rowan nodded mutely, wondering what exactly the arrangement was. “Sire, I’m not… ” She flushed, heat crawling up her neck.
He frowned. “You’re not what? ”
“I’m saving myself for marriage,” Rowan blurted out. The king blinked at her.
Slowly. “What do you think is going to happen here? ”
Rowan opened her mouth, closed it, had absolutely no idea what to say. And it must have shown on her face, because he added, sounding almost startled: “You’ll sleep here.
I’ll sleep here. That’s all. ”
Rowan’s gaze dropped. At the foot of the massive bed, someone had set up a narrow pallet with a thin pillow and a blanket that looked borrowed from the servants’ quarters.
“Oh,” she said, her voice small. Of course. He’s the king. He could have anyone.
Someone beautiful. Someone appropriate. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Rowan moved to the pallet and knelt down, smoothing the blanket with quick, practiced movements.
“What time do you retire, Your Majesty? ”
“When I can no longer avoid it,” he replied. He lay back on the bed, boots and all, and stared at the ceiling. Rowan stood and moved to the candles, her hands shaking as she pinched out the flames one by one.
The room dimmed. She lay down on the pallet, her back rigid, her hands folded on her stomach, and tried not to think about the fact that she could hear him breathing. Deep, controlled breaths. In and out.
Steady and deliberate. Minutes passed. The king’s breathing changed. A slight deepening, a loosening in the rhythm.
Rowan turned her head carefully and looked toward the bed. His hand had gone slack against the mattress. The rigid tension in his shoulders had eased. He was asleep.
Twenty minutes. That’s all it had taken. The fire burned lower, and Rowan watched the rise and fall of his chest, feeling something settle in her own. A strange sort of wonder.
She was still watching when his breathing changed again. Not deeper. Rougher. Rowan sat up, her pulse spiking.
The king’s head turned sharply to one side. His hands clenched into fists against the sheets. A low sound escaped his throat, and his entire body went rigid. He was having a nightmare.
Rowan scrambled to her feet and reached for his shoulder without thinking. “Your Majesty. ”
She blinked, and when her eyes opened, she was somewhere else. Somewhere cold, surrounded by fog, thick and gray and utterly still, pressing in from all sides.
The air smelled of damp stone and ash. Trees surrounded her, but they weren’t right. Too tall, too skeletal, their branches reaching like fingers against the white sky. “Where am I?
”
The silence was suffocating. No wind, no birdsong, nothing. Except something moved in the fog. A presence, patient, hungry, aware.
“Hello? ” Rowan called out. Her voice disappeared into the fog like it had been swallowed. She turned.
The king stood ten feet away, staring into the fog, at the thing she couldn’t see. His face was expressionless, but his hands were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. “Your Majesty? ” Rowan called out.
He didn’t move. She took a step toward him, panic rising in her throat. The thing in the fog was closer now. She could hear it.
Footsteps, slow, deliberate, coming through the trees. The king didn’t react. Rowan grabbed his hand and pulled. She blinked, and they were back.
The king’s chambers, the dying fire, the warm amber light. Rowan was standing beside the bed, her hand still on the king’s arm. He was asleep beside her, his breathing steady again, his face peaceful, like nothing had happened. She pulled her hand back slowly, her heart racing, and stared down at him.
What just happened? Rowan woke to the dim gray light of early morning. The king was staring at her. He stood by the window, fully dressed, silhouetted against the pale dawn light.
She sat up quickly. “Your Majesty, is something wrong? ”
He seemed to startle slightly, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Not at all.
This arrangement continues until further notice. The infirmary will manage your absence during the evenings. ”
Rowan blinked at him, still half asleep. He’d slept through the night.
No more thrashing. No more nightmares. Or had there been a nightmare? Had she imagined the whole thing?
That strange, foggy place? “So you’ve slept well, then? ” she asked carefully. The king’s flush deepened, and he looked away toward the window.
“I… Yes, thank you. ” He cleared his throat. “Thank you for your services.
”
His discomfort was so palpable she could feel it across the room. “My pleasure, Your Majesty,” Rowan said, then caught herself. “I mean, not pleasure. That came out wrong.
What I meant to say is… ” she gestured vaguely at the pallet. “I’m going to need a better pillow. That one is an insult to the concept of pillows.
”
The corner of his mouth twitched. She returned to the infirmary in a daze and told Silvara everything. Well, almost everything. She left out the strange vision of fog and black water.
That was clearly an anxiety-induced fever dream. Before she’d finished, Corbin appeared in the doorway. “The king is quite pleased,” the beta said to Silvara. “We need to understand why this is working.
If there’s a way to replicate it, to create a cure. ”
Silvara nodded. “I’ll look into it. ”
Corbin’s gaze shifted to Rowan.
“In the meantime, you’ll continue. Same arrangement every evening. ”
A rhythm formed. In the mornings, Rowan woke before Leander, or at least she tried to, but she found herself lingering longer each day, watching him sleep in the gray dawn light.
She’d slip out before he woke, dress quietly, and return to the infirmary before the palace stirred. During the days, she did not see him. In the evenings, she arrived at his chambers after the palace had settled, set up her things on the narrow bed that had replaced the pallet, and tried to make conversation. He mostly ignored her or replied in grunts.
Then, they slept. No more nightmares. No more strange dreams. Though, a candle did appear on the table nearest her bed, and now the fire was always stoked before she got there.
“Thank you for the candle,” she said one evening as she unpinned her hair. The king glanced up from the report he was reading. “What candle? ”
“The one you leave burning for me.
”
His ears went slightly pink, and Rowan bit back a smile. Later, she could hear him awake in the dark, making the sound of someone whose body refused to cooperate, no matter how desperately it needed rest. So without really deciding to, Rowan started talking. Not about anything important.
She told him about the apprentice who’d mixed up the yarrow and the feverfew last year and given a guardsman a poultice that turned his arm temporarily purple. She didn’t know when he stopped shifting and fell asleep. But in the morning, he asked: “The apprentice, the one with the purple arm, did the color fade? ”
Rowan stared at him.
He’d been listening. He remembered. “Three days. But the apprentice got in so much trouble.
”
Leander was quiet for a moment. “The apprentice was you, wasn’t it? ”
Rowan froze. “What?
No, I would never. ”
He just looked at her, one eyebrow raised slightly. “Yes,” she admitted. “Yes, it was me.
But in my defense… ”
The king began to laugh. Rowan stared at him, startled and transfixed. Then she smiled.
“We believe it’s the scent,” Silvara told her after a few weeks. “The court healers have consulted the old records. There are precedents, rare but documented, of wolves whose natural pheromonal signature carries a sedative property. An omega-adjacent calming effect.
Combined with the herbal residue you carry, lavender, chamomile, it seems to create something the curse cannot override at close range. ” She paused. “The data suggests that maintaining physical contact through the night would give him the deepest, most sustained sleep. ”
The implication hung in the air.
“Are you saying I should cuddle the king? ” Rowan asked. Silvara’s expression didn’t flicker. “I’m saying if you want to help him, you need to start sleeping closer to him.
”
Leander resisted the suggestion, predictably. He was not going to be cuddled. He was not an infant who needed holding. The refusal lasted two days.
On the second night, he had a bad nightmare, and Rowan took his hand. His fingers closed around hers, desperate, tight, and within minutes, the nightmare released him. In the morning, he said, “Fine. ” Just that.
That evening, Rowan stood in his chambers, staring at the massive bed like it might swallow her whole. “You have four pillows,” she said, “arranged in a fortress-like configuration. ”
“Is that a problem? ” Leander asked.
Rowan opened her mouth to respond and then stopped, because he’d started removing his shirt. She’d been carefully not looking for weeks now, but now she was going to be in his bed, and there was nowhere else to look, and he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, and it pooled on the floor. Rowan gaped. His shoulders were broader than she’d realized, tapering down to a narrow waist, and when he moved, she could see the play of muscle beneath his skin.
He caught her staring, paused. “I can put it back on if you’d prefer. ”
“No,” she exclaimed. “Not at all.
I mean, you don’t have to. I mean, whatever you’d like. ”
She grimaced, feeling heat flood her entire body. Leander sat on the edge of the bed slowly, his expression softer than she’d ever seen it.
“Thank you for being here. And I’m sorry you have to do this. ”
“It’s my job. Healer and all.
”
He gave her a kind look. “I doubt your job description includes getting into bed with a man who isn’t your lover. ” She became all flustered at the word lover. “Or getting accused of being the king’s mistress when you are not,” Leander added, his voice low and rough.
“That I am not, indeed,” Rowan replied far too loudly. He stared at her. She stared back. The bed was huge, but it was one bed, and they were both about to be in it, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“We should sleep,” he said, still looking at her. “Absolutely. It’s what we’re here for. ”
The problem was the size of him.
She could feel the heat of him from two feet away. Could smell his scent stronger here, surrounding her, soaking into her lungs with every inhale. “You are very rigid,” he said into the dark. “I am trying not to touch you.
”
“I appreciate the effort. ”
Another silence, heavy and charged. Then she felt the mattress shift, felt the air move. His hand found hers in the dark, warm and calloused and solid, and the contact sent a shock up her arm that settled somewhere in her chest.
She squeezed back, her heart pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it. He fell asleep, her hand in his, his breathing evening out into something deep and peaceful. At some point during the night, her fingers relaxed in sleep and slipped free. He jolted awake within minutes, his breathing sharpened, panicked, his body going rigid beside her.
“I’m here,” Rowan whispered, reaching for his hand again in the dark. But instead of taking her hand, he moved. She felt him shift, felt the mattress dip, felt strong arms wrap around her and pull her against his chest. He did it half asleep, not fully conscious, just a reflexive movement that settled her against him like she belonged there.
Rowan didn’t go back to sleep for a very long time. A week later, Rowan woke in the Alpha King’s arms, and for a few blissful, half-conscious seconds, it was heaven. His chest was warm against her back. His arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her close.
Her body fit against his like it had been designed for exactly this purpose. Then her brain caught up with her body, and panic flooded in. She tried to shift away carefully, but the moment she moved, his arm tightened around her. He made a low sound in his sleep and pulled her closer, tucking her more firmly against his chest.
Rowan bit back a moan. She could feel everything. The warmth of his bare skin where her nightgown had ridden up slightly, the steady thump of his heartbeat against her shoulder blade, the way his hand had spread possessively across her stomach. And beneath the panic, there was a pull, deep and aching and impossible to ignore, like she needed to be closer still.
At the sound of her movement, Leander’s breathing changed. She felt him wake, felt his body go rigid. When he realized the position they were in, he froze. But then, instead of pulling away, he pulled her closer, drew her in until there was no space left between them at all.
He buried his face in her neck and inhaled deeply, like he couldn’t help himself. A low groan rumbled through his chest. Then he was gone, pulling away so abruptly she nearly fell backward into the empty space he left behind. She heard him move across the room, and then the door to his dressing room slammed shut.
Rowan lay there in the tangled sheets, her heart racing. What just happened? Every shifter knew about fated bonds. The pull, the recognition, the bone-deep certainty that this person was yours.
But those bonds were for people with names and bloodlines and rank, not for foundlings, not for women like her. Nameless, rankless, invisible. Which was why her growing need to be near the king, to smell him, to touch him, couldn’t possibly be that. And yet, her wolf, quiet her entire life, was suddenly restless.
That night, as they settled into bed, Leander asked, “Are you all right? ”
“Yes. Why? ”
He hesitated.
“You’re not usually so quiet. You tend to talk a lot. An excessive amount, in fact. ”
Rowan’s stomach sank.
“Oh. Well, sorry. ”
“No, that’s not what I… ” He cleared his throat, and even in the dim firelight, she could see the flush creeping up his neck.
“I like it. ”
Their eyes met. She felt very exposed. “Good night,” he said, his voice rough.
“Yes, thank you. ”
He frowned. “What? ”
“I mean, thanks, you too.
”
He hesitated. Then reached for her hand. “Thank you,” he said, his voice dropping to something softer. He’d never sounded so genuine.
Rowan’s heart did something complicated in her chest. She had trouble falling asleep. When she opened her eyes, there was fog all around her. Thick and gray and utterly still.
The air smelled of damp stone and ash. Familiar in a way that made her stomach drop. She walked forward, her bare feet silent on ground she couldn’t see. Then she saw him.
Leander stood ahead of her, unmoving. Staring at something. She followed his gaze and froze. A lake.
Or a pond. Black water, smooth as glass, stretching out into the fog. And in it, something was moving. She squinted and gasped.
It was a wolf. Sinking into the dark water, struggling. Its movements growing weaker. Not just one.
Two. Three. More. One of the wolves shifted, the terrible, agonizing transformation from beast to human, and a hand broke the surface, reaching toward the king.
“Please,” the voice said, distorted and desperate. Shocked, Rowan grabbed Leander’s hand and pulled. She woke gasping, wrenching upright in the dark. Beside her, Leander was awake, sitting up, looking at her.
And there was something in his expression, something sad and resigned, that made her chest tighten. “Bad dream? ” he asked quietly. Rowan pushed her hair from her face.
“Fog. Black water. Trees that were wrong. Something in the dark.
” She swallowed hard. “Did you see it, too? ”
He froze, frowned. Shook his head.
“What? ”
“You were there. In my dream. It felt…
not like a dream. Like a place. An actual place. And you were there.
And it’s not the first time. ”
Leander’s face went pale. “You’ve been there before? ”
“Yes.
I… You’ve been there, too. It’s where you go, isn’t it? It’s why you don’t sleep.
”
He moved away, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and put his head in his hands. She knew she was right. “Why didn’t you say anything? ” Rowan demanded, her voice rising.
“The healers, the council, Corbin. They’ve all been trying to help. You should have said. ”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” he interrupted, his voice flat.
“You don’t know that. I’ve been able to follow you there. With this information, we can… ”
He flinched.
“You should go,” he said. Rowan stared at him. “You want me to go? ”
“Go,” Leander said again, still not looking at her.
“I don’t want you getting stuck in that place, too. ”
“I wasn’t stuck. ”
“What if you are? What if instead of helping me, you’re being contaminated by me?
What if I pull you in and you can’t get out? ”
She shook her head, reaching for him. “Your Majesty, you don’t know that… ”
“Go.
” His hand shot out, catching her wrist. “It’s an order. ” He met her eyes. “Leave.
”
The word came out as a roar, echoing off the stone walls. Rowan flinched back like she’d been struck. For a moment they stared at each other across the bed. Then she fled.
She grabbed her robe with shaking hands and ran from the room, his rejection ringing in her ears. In the empty corridor, she pressed her back against the cold stone wall and tried to breathe through the ache in her chest. He’d sent her away. To protect her, maybe.
But he’d sent her away all the same. It had been a week since Leander had ordered her out of his chambers. Seven nights since she’d slept in his bed. Seven days of nothing.
She hadn’t been let inside his rooms again. Hadn’t seen him anywhere. It was like he’d vanished entirely. And the palace felt colder for his absence.
Rowan was worried. Because if he wasn’t sleeping, if he was back in that terrible place every night with no one to pull him out… she couldn’t finish the thought. Rowan found Silvara in the infirmary’s back room.
“There’s something you should know. About the king. ”
Silvara looked up. “Go on.
”
“He goes somewhere at night. A place. A strange, foggy place. I’ve been there, too.
Twice now. The air smells like damp stone, and there’s this oppressive silence, and the fog swallows everything. ” She took a breath. “It feels like death, Silvara.
That place feels like death. ”
Silvara was quiet for a long moment. “It sounds like a curse, mostly. It takes his mind, not him.
A mind prison. And that sounds like magic to me. ” She paused, studying Rowan. “What’s strange is that you’ve traveled there, too.
Any idea why that is? ”
“No,” Rowan said too quickly. She didn’t want to talk about the pull she felt for him. The ache of his absence in her chest, or the way he’d scented her that morning.
The desperate hunger in it. She didn’t want to be told she was imagining things that weren’t there. So Rowan didn’t talk about it. But her body betrayed her anyway.
She became restless in his absence. Her wolf, quiet and docile her entire life, was suddenly agitated. She couldn’t settle, couldn’t focus, couldn’t breathe properly. The migraines started.
Then came a crushing heaviness in her chest. And beneath it all, a constant, gnawing anxiety that had no name and no cure. She caught glimpses of him occasionally. A flash of dark hair across the courtyard.
But he never looked at her. Never made eye contact. Never acknowledged her presence at all. And so the ache got worse.
By the seventh day, she could barely stand upright. Counselor Brannon sent for her that afternoon. His knee again, swelling and painful. Rowan gathered the necessary supplies.
The corridor seemed to stretch longer than usual as she made her way to the council chambers. The door was open. She could hear voices inside. And beneath them, a voice that made her heart lurch with desperate relief.
Leander. Rowan paused in the doorway. He was there, at the head of the long table, surrounded by maps and correspondence. She took a breath and stepped inside.
“Your medicine, counselor. ” She crossed toward Brannon, acutely aware of Leander’s presence to her left. She glanced at him as she passed. He didn’t look up.
His gaze stayed fixed on the document in front of him. His jaw tight, his posture rigid, like she wasn’t there at all. The ache in her chest intensified. Rowan reached Brannon’s side and set down her supplies.
Her hands trembled slightly as she prepared the compress. She could feel Leander across the room, could sense every breath he took, but he wouldn’t look at her. She lifted her gaze, willing him to meet her eyes. Nothing.
The weight in her chest grew heavier. Her vision swam slightly at the edges, gray creeping in. The room felt too warm, the air too thick. “Counselor, if you’ll just…
” she started, reaching for his knee. The world tilted. Her vision went white at the edges, then gray, then black. She heard the tincture bottle hit the floor.
She heard her name. “Rowan. ” Sharp and alarmed and utterly devastated in a voice she would know anywhere. Then she was falling, and the world was disappearing, and strong arms caught her before she hit the ground.
She woke to the smell of dried herbs and linen. The infirmary. She blinked, trying to orient herself, and froze. Leander sat beside her bed, his head in his hands.
When he heard her stir, he looked up, and the relief that flooded his face was so profound it stole her breath. “You’re awake,” he said, his hands hovering like he wanted to touch her but didn’t dare. “Your Majesty, I… ”
He was on his feet immediately, leaning over her.
“What’s wrong? Have you not been eating? Are you ill? ” His gray eyes swept over her face, searching.
Then he turned to glare at Silvara, who stood near the doorway. “The head healer wouldn’t say anything,” he said tersely. “Doctor-patient confidentiality,” Silvara confirmed. Leander’s growl was low and dangerous.
“I deserve to know what’s wrong with my… ” He stopped himself, his jaw clenching. “With Rowan. ” He turned back to her.
“Have you woken up there again? In the hollow? ”
“In the what? ”
“It’s what I call the…
the place. ”
“The foggy place? Well, I suppose the hollow sounds better. ”
Leander snorted, but he still looked worried.
“Have you woken up there? ” he insisted. Rowan didn’t want to lie, but he wouldn’t let them help. He’d been keeping this secret, and look where it had gotten them.
Her passed out on a council room floor, him looking like he hadn’t slept in days. “I mean, maybe. I’m not sure. It’s all a blur,” she said, adding the saddest pout she could manage.
Leander’s face fell. Behind them, Silvara, who wasn’t buying it, mouthed “Sneaky” to Rowan. “I knew it,” the king said. “This is all my fault.
”
Silvara jumped in smoothly. “Your Majesty, perhaps now would be a good time to finally tell us, the healers who’ve been looking for a way to help you, about this hollow. For poor Rowan’s sake, if anything. ”
Leander sank back, his shoulders dropping, the fight going out of him.
“The Steelclaw Pack. A rogue settlement on our borders, led by an alpha named Ragnar, who believed the throne had abandoned the borderlands. He and his people kept attacking, raiding villages, killing innocents. I tried to negotiate a treaty.
It failed. Ragnar wanted blood. ” He paused, swallowing hard. “So there was blood.
There was war. I ordered a march on the settlement because every other option had been exhausted. There was a battle. ” Another pause, heavier this time.
“There was so much blood. ”
“Is that where Ragnar lost his life? ” Silvara asked. “Yes.
I offered him surrender. He wouldn’t hear it. There was a witch. Vael, Ragnar’s mother.
She cursed me. Spat it through blood and broken teeth. ‘Every night the dead will find you. ’”
Rowan gaped at him.
“Wait. So you knew? You knew you couldn’t sleep because of some curse? Why didn’t you tell us?
”
“Because it wouldn’t have changed anything,” Leander said, his voice rough. Rowan reached out and took his hand, wrapping her fingers around his. Silvara stepped forward, her expression thoughtful. “I know of this witch.
I know of these types of curses. The magic isn’t that strong, or shouldn’t be. It should have broken by now. Or at least, it shouldn’t make you so sick that you can’t sleep at all.
Strange that it’s still going. ”
Rowan squeezed his hand. “Let me help, please. Let us help.
”
Leander shook his head, pulling his hand gently from hers. “I’ll do my best to fight the curse, but I won’t have you sleep near me. I won’t risk pulling you into that place again. ”
“But…
”
“No,” he said, his voice firm. He stood, putting distance between them, his expression shuttering closed. “I won’t argue about this. ” He turned and left the infirmary without looking back.
Silvara waited until his footsteps faded before turning to Rowan with a knowing look. “Lying about having nightmares. Crafty. ”
Rowan had the grace to look guilty.
“He wouldn’t let us help otherwise. ”
“You’re much the same, he and you. You’ve been sick, too, child. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.
”
“I’m not sick, just slightly… ”
“You passed out,” Silvara interrupted flatly. “Into the arms of your king, no less. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on here.
”
Rowan’s heart beat faster. “And what would you say is going on, Mistress Silvara? ”
“You share a bond. You and him.
An incomplete one, pulling you together. The harder you resist, the harder it will pull. ”
Rowan’s face burned. “No, but…
he doesn’t want me. He doesn’t want me sleeping beside him. ”
“Because he seeks to protect you from his curse, uselessly, might I add. The bond is forming whether either of you accepts it or not.
But if his curse isn’t stopped, he’ll die. ” She paused, letting the words sink in. “And because of the growing bond you share with him, you’ll die, too. ”
Rowan stared at her.
“We don’t share a bond. That’s… that’s not possible. ”
Silvara gave her a look that said she wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Kid, ever since you were dropped on the castle steps as a babe, you’ve been doing all you can not to take up room, not to cause trouble. You’ve been trying to be useful all your life because you think you don’t deserve anything otherwise. But you are more than what you can give others. You deserve a life for you.
Leave. Protect yourself. ”
Rowan stared at her, scandalized. “I won’t abandon His Majesty.
If we do share a bond, then me leaving would hurt him on top of his curse. I can’t leave him to die. ”
“You love him,” Silvara sighed. Rowan didn’t deny it.
The words hung in the air, true and terrifying and undeniable. “He will not let you help him,” Silvara said. “You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. ”
Rowan’s jaw set.
“Watch me. ”
She found Corbin in his office, a small room off the main corridor lined with maps. “My lord, I’m sorry to come unannounced. I know I’m just a nobody herbalist…
”
“Well, true,” Corbin said, leaning back in his chair. “But you are the king’s mate. ”
Rowan ignored him and went on. “…
but His Majesty is being a stubborn ass and… ” She stopped, blinked. “Wait. What did you just say?
”
“You and the king share a bond. It’s probably why you’ve been able to help him. ”
Rowan felt exposed. “Do you think the king knows about the bond?
”
“Knowing him, he’ll probably try to ignore it for your sake,” Corbin said dryly. “Sounds about right. ” Rowan muttered. Corbin’s mouth twitched.
“You want my help reaching him? ”
“Yes, please. ”
“All right. But then it’s up to you to convince him to let you stay.
”
Later that night, a guard escorted her through the dark corridors at Corbin’s command. The palace was quiet. The guard opened the door to the king’s chambers without a word and left her there, alone. Rowan stood in the middle of the floor, her hands twisting together.
She’d been wanting to get back inside this room for days, had ached for it. But now that she was here, she felt less sure. What if he sent her away again? She moved to the bed and sat on the edge, smoothing her hands over the dark coverlet.
The room smelled like him. When Leander stepped inside and froze, he stared at her like she was an apparition. “Rowan? ”
She rose quickly.
“Your Majesty. ”
His hands clenched into fists at his sides like he wanted to reach for her but was physically restraining himself. “Rowan, it isn’t safe for you to be here. ”
“It isn’t safe for me to stay away, Your Majesty,” she replied, holding his gaze.
Leander looked torn. “How do you know you’ll be fine? ”
“The less time we spend together, the better. It’s safer,” he said, almost pleading.
“That’s not true. ” She stopped directly in front of him, saw the way his throat worked when he swallowed. She reached for him slowly, giving him time to pull away. He didn’t.
His eyes closed when her palm touched his cheek. “We share a bond, you and I. ”
“Which is precisely why you shouldn’t be here. Why you should run.
”
Rowan studied his face. “So you knew. About the bond? ”
He snorted, a bitter sound, but his hand came up to cover hers.
“Of course I knew. How could I not? It’s been days of your scent haunting me. I smell you everywhere, in the council chambers, on my sheets even though you haven’t been here.
I wake up reaching for you and you’re not there, and it feels like I’m dying. I can’t think, can’t focus, can’t… ”
Rowan kissed him. She surged up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his, swallowing the rest of his words, and he responded immediately, his hands coming up to cradle her face.
“We shouldn’t,” he paused against her lips even as he walked her backward until her back hit the wall. “Do you not want to? ” she asked breathlessly. Leander chuckled, low and rough.
“Can you not feel how much I want to? But I also want you safe. ”
“I’ll be safe if we stay together. Being away from you, it…
it hurts me. It’s why I fainted. ”
“Rowan. ” Her name was a groan, agonized and longing.
She kissed him again, pouring everything she felt into it, and he responded with equal fervor, his hands sliding into her hair. “If you don’t leave right now,” he said, “I won’t be able to stop. ”
Rowan looked up at him, at the conflict warring in his gray eyes. “If you want me to go, then make me go.
”
He stared at her for one long, suspended moment. Then his mouth crashed against hers with renewed hunger, and this time there was no hesitation. He lifted her, just picked her up like she weighed nothing, and she wrapped her legs around his waist on instinct. He carried her across the room and laid her down on the bed, settling between her legs, his weight a welcome pressure.
What followed was overwhelming in the best way, new and tender and passionate all at once. When release finally came, it crashed over her in waves, and she cried out his name. Leander followed with a groan and bit down on her neck, the mating bite, instinctive and claiming. The bond snapped into place like a lock clicking home.
Rowan felt it settle in her chest, warm and golden and right, connecting her to him in a way that went deeper than flesh. She bit him back on instinct, marking him as hers, and felt his answering groan vibrate against her teeth. They made love again and again, learning each other, claiming each other, until they were both exhausted and sated and utterly wrung out. Finally, Leander rolled onto his back and pulled her against his chest.
She felt him surrender to sleep, his breathing evening out, his body going heavy and relaxed. Joy swelled in her chest. Rowan closed her eyes and let sleep pull her under. She woke up surrounded by fog.
The fog was alive. It moved with intention, pressing against Rowan’s skin like hands in the dark, cold and invasive and wrong. The air smelled of ash and grief and the absence of hope. “Leander,” she called out, her voice swallowed almost immediately by the oppressive silence.
This was never a nightmare, she realized with creeping horror. This was a prison, a cage built specifically to hold him, to break him, night after night after night. She found him on his knees in a clearing, a space where the fog thinned just enough to see. He was diminished in a way that made her heart stop.
The man she knew, the king who commanded a room simply by entering it, was stripped away here. What remained was so utterly defeated it made her chest ache. She dropped to her knees beside him, reaching for his face. “Leander, look at me.
Please. ”
His eyes were fixed ahead, staring at something in the fog. Rowan followed his gaze and her breath caught. Figures moved at the edge of the clearing.
Soldiers in torn uniforms. Civilians with wounds that would never heal. Wolves in human form with eyes that reflected nothing but death. The dead won’t leave you alone, she murmured, understanding settling over her like ice water.
So much death. He was being haunted by thousands. They stood silent at first, then began to murmur. Their voices overlapped, creating a terrible chorus of accusation and sorrow that echoed through the fog.
Some wept. Some screamed. And Leander just watched, like he couldn’t bear to close his eyes. “Come,” Rowan said, pulling at his hand.
“We have to get out of here. ”
He didn’t move. She felt his pain through the bond, a crushing wave of sorrow and guilt so profound it nearly dragged her under with him. Then the sorrow intensified, crystallized, focused.
One figure stepped forward from the mass of dead. A young woman, small, with gentle eyes and a wound in her chest that would never close. Blood stained the white cloth she clutched in her hands. “Ada,” Leander murmured, and the name came out broken.
Through the bond, Rowan saw it. The young woman running toward their line, white cloth raised high, her face desperate and hopeful, trying to broker peace for her people. Someone shouting. Chaos.
The terrible moment of hesitation that lasted too long. And then she was falling, the cloth still clutched in her hands, surprise and betrayal written across her face. Leander holding her body afterward. Horror seizing him as he realized what he’d failed to prevent.
The ghost, Ada, spoke. Her voice was soft, patient, almost kind, which made it so much worse. “You could have stopped it. You should have seen me.
A better king would have. This blood is on your hands. ”
“No,” Rowan interrupted, shaking Leander’s arm. “It wasn’t your fault.
You went to war to protect your people. You did your best in a terrible situation. ”
But even as she said it, she realized the horrible truth. These weren’t the ghosts’ words.
They were his. The curse had taken his guilt and given it a mouth. And every night, it fed him the poison he already believed. You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved, Silvara had told her.
Rowan watched Leander’s head dropping. She could feel him through the bond, and what she felt wasn’t fear. It was agreement. He wasn’t fighting the hollow.
He was agreeing with it. “You think you deserve this,” she whispered, horrified. “That’s why the curse is growing. That’s why you won’t fight it.
Because you think you deserve it. ”
He did. She felt it now, clear and undeniable through their bond. He believed Ada’s death, all their deaths, was a debt he hadn’t finished paying.
Rowan knelt beside him in the soft, wrong ground. “What happened to them? To you? It was awful.
It was awful, and you can’t just forget. I get that. I’m sorry. ”
Leander’s head lifted slightly.
His eyes found hers, raw, stripped of every defense. “She ran toward the line,” he said. “She was carrying a white cloth. She was trying to surrender.
And I did not see her in time. ”
Rowan’s eyes filled with tears. “You were not enough to stop it,” she said to Leander, forcing the words out past the lump in her throat. “But no one could have been.
That is not a failing. That is the truth of war. It doesn’t say anything about you. ” She paused, then continued, her voice softer.
“My parents abandoned me. And for so long I thought I deserved it. That if I’d been better somehow, they would have kept me. But that’s not how it works.
I deserve to move on from the past, to heal. And so do you. And so do they. ”
Her gaze swept over the crowd of dead.
“You’re all trapped here. But you can let them go. ” She reached out and took Leander’s hand, gripping it tightly. “Let her go.
Let them rest. You are allowed to put this down. ”
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then Leander’s fingers tightened around hers.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry for all of it. ”
The fog began to thin.
The dead, one by one, turned away and dissolved into the gray like breath into cold air. Their voices faded. Ada’s ghost looked at Leander one last time. She closed her eyes.
She was gone. The fog dissipated. Leander fell forward into Rowan’s arms. She caught him, holding him tightly as he shook, as the year of grief and guilt finally broke open and poured out of him.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered against his hair. “I’ve got you. ”
Rowan woke in his arms, in his bed, in the warm, familiar darkness of his chambers. Leander was awake beside her, looking down at her with eyes filled with tears.
But he was smiling. A small, fragile, genuine smile. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears on her face that she hadn’t realized were there. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Rowan smiled back, fresh tears spilling over. They held each other in the dark, the bond humming warmly between them. The curse didn’t break all at once. Leander still had nightmares.
The guilt didn’t disappear just because he’d chosen to let it go. Grief didn’t work that way, and neither did healing. But Rowan was there. Every time he woke in the dark, she was there.
She just held him and listened when he needed to talk. And slowly, painfully slowly, he learned to speak about the war. “You’re allowed to remember them,” she told him one night. “You’re allowed to grieve.
But you’re also allowed to live. ”
It took months, but the nightmares grew less frequent. And night by night, he learned to sleep peacefully beside his mate. Their mating was wonderful, even if the court’s reaction was complicated.
A foundling herbalist as the Alpha King’s mate was not what anyone had envisioned. The whispers followed Rowan everywhere. She felt the weight of every gaze when they announced the bond officially. Felt it even more acutely on their wedding day, when she stood before the entire court in borrowed finery and promised herself to a king.
But Leander’s hand had been steady in hers. His voice had been sure when he spoke his vows. “They’ll get used to it,” he’d murmured against her temple afterward, holding her close. “If not, they can take it up with their king, who happens to be unreasonably fond of his mate.
”
Months later, Rowan woke slowly to pale morning light filtering through the curtains. Leander was still asleep beside her, his face peaceful, his breathing deep and even. One arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her close even in sleep. No nightmares, no fog waiting to pull him under.
Rowan watched him for a moment, warmth blooming in her chest. Then she settled back against his shoulder, letting her eyes drift closed. And they slept.
