Rowan hadn’t expected to become the Alpha King’s personal pillow, but there she was. His weight pressed into her shoulder, his breath slow and deep against her neck, his lashes unfairly long. The entire council chamber had gone silent. Councilor Brannon’s mouth hung open mid-sentence, and a servant in the corner clutched a water pitcher like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
She had only been sent up to deliver a poultice for Brannon’s swollen knee. But the council’s discussion had shifted to contaminated grain stores, someone had recognized her as the infirmary herbalist, and before she knew it, she was being waved forward to sit beside the king himself. Walking toward him had been the most terrifying thirty seconds of her life. King Leander Martel was absurdly tall, broad-shouldered, and his dark gray gaze was a physical weight.
She had lowered herself onto the bench beside him, gripping her hands together to keep them from shaking. Then she saw it—the deep, bruised shadows beneath his eyes, the hollow carved into his cheeks. The rumors said His Majesty never slept. Looking at him up close, Rowan believed every word.
She had not expected his breathing to deepen as she spoke. Or for his head to tip slowly until his temple rested against her shoulder. The moment his weight settled against her, the world narrowed to the warmth of him soaking through her sleeve. The Alpha King had just passed out on a nobody herbalist in front of his entire council.
Panic arrived a beat later. Silence spread like spilled water. Corbin, the king’s beta, rose slowly and mouthed very clearly, “Whatever you do, do not move. ”
Rowan’s eyes went wide.
Easy for him to say. She stared straight ahead at the moth-eaten banner on the opposite wall, trying not to think about the fact that the king’s hair was softer than she’d expected. Twenty minutes crawled by like twenty years. His weight only grew heavier as he sank deeper into sleep.
She sent Corbin a desperate look. The beta leaned forward, his voice pitched low. “The Alpha never sleeps. Certainly not for so long.
”
Eventually, after what genuinely felt like an hour, Corbin rose and gestured. A guard approached with exaggerated caution, and together they eased the king back against his chair. The moment his weight lifted, Rowan nearly sobbed with relief. She stood on shaking legs and fled.
She made it maybe two minutes down the corridor before Corbin caught up with her. “The king is already waking,” he said, low and urgent. Rowan stared at him. “My condolences?
” she offered. The look he gave her suggested that was not the right thing to say. “What did you do? How did you make him sleep?
”
“I didn’t do anything. I just sat there. ”
“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. Is he going to 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.
That night, she dreamed of being dragged to the executioner’s block for crimes against the crown—specifically, being the king’s pillow. When morning came, a guard knocked on her door. “You’re being summoned. 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. “Is it true I’m being summoned by the king? ”
“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.
”
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 Martel. He didn’t look up.
Didn’t acknowledge her. Rowan pressed her hands together in her lap, counting the seconds. Ten minutes passed. Then ten more.
The king’s pen stilled on the page, just for a moment, like he’d lost his train of thought. Five minutes later, his head dipped. He caught it, blinked hard, pressed his fingers to his temple. Then his head dipped again, slower, and he didn’t catch it as quickly.
His hand went slack around the pen. His eyes closed. His head came to rest on his folded arms atop the desk, and his breathing deepened into something slow and steady and impossibly peaceful. The room went silent.
The advisers stared. Corbin stood motionless by the door. “What? ” one of the advisers whispered.
“What do we—? ”
“We wait,” Corbin said quietly. Two hours crawled by. The advisers filtered out one by one.
Finally, Corbin turned to her. “You can go. ”
Rowan fled back to the infirmary, her mind a chaotic mess. He fell asleep.
Twice. During meetings. And I was there both times. Mistress Silvara was grinding something at the workbench when she pushed through the door.
“What happened? ”
“The king fell asleep,” Rowan managed. She told her everything. “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. ”
“A year? ”
“We’ve tried everything. Every herb in my stores.
Every potion. Every remedy I know. Nothing works. ” Her mouth thinned into a hard line.
“The beta fears he won’t survive another six months. ”
“But he slept yesterday,” Rowan whispered. “For almost an hour. ”
“And today?
”
“Two hours. ”
The silence that followed felt heavy enough to crush her. Silvara began asking about the herbs she’d been carrying, the ones that had left a residue on her skin. “Scent-based sedatives are rare, but they exist.
”
“So you think he fell asleep because of me? ”
“Don’t you? ” Silvara asked. A knock sounded at the door.
Silvara opened it to reveal Corbin. “Miss Rowan,” he said politely. “A word, please. ”
“The king woke less than a minute after you left his office,” Corbin announced.
The implication settled over her like a physical weight. “Does the king know? ” she asked. “Oh, yes.
He knows. And he’s requiring your presence. Tonight. At sunset.
In his private chambers. ”
Rowan’s heart stopped. That evening, a guard led her through corridors she’d never walked before. The king’s chambers were the largest room she had ever stood in.
Weapons hung on the walls. And in the center of it all, impossible to ignore, the bed. He was standing by the window, and when he turned, Rowan blurted out, “Your Majesty, I’m so sorry. I promise I won’t tell anyone you fell asleep on my shoulder.
I did tell Silvara, but she already knew you had trouble sleeping. And I did not tell her you sort of drooled. ”
The king blinked at her. Slowly.
“Thank you,” he said, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Then his tone turned clipped. “This is a practical arrangement. No one speaks of this outside these rooms.
Is that understood? ”
“Sire, I’m not—” Rowan flushed, heat crawling up her neck. “I’m saving myself for marriage. ”
The king blinked at her again.
“What do you think is going to happen here? ” He gestured to the foot of the massive bed, where someone had set up a narrow pallet with a thin pillow and a blanket. “You’ll sleep here. I’ll sleep here.
That’s all. ”
“Oh,” she said, her voice small. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. That night, she lay on the pallet while he lay on the bed, boots and all.
Within twenty minutes, his breathing deepened. His rigid shoulders eased. He was asleep. The fire burned lower, casting shifting light across his face, and Rowan couldn’t look away.
Then his breathing changed—rougher, faster. His head turned sharply. His hands clenched into fists. 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. And blinked. She was somewhere else.
Cold. Surrounded by fog, thick and gray and utterly still. The air smelled of damp stone and ash. Trees surrounded her—too tall, too skeletal, their branches reaching like fingers against the white sky.
Something moved in the fog. A presence, patient, hungry, aware. The king stood ten feet away, staring at the thing she couldn’t see. His face was expressionless, but his knuckles were white.
Rowan grabbed his hand and pulled. She blinked, and they were back. The king’s chambers, the dying fire. He was asleep beside her, his breathing steady again, his face peaceful, like nothing had happened.
Rowan stared down at him, her heart racing. What just happened? In the morning, the king stood by the window, fully dressed. “This arrangement continues until further notice,” he said.
He’d slept through the night. No thrashing. No nightmares. And a routine formed.
Each evening, Rowan arrived at his chambers after the palace had settled. She set up her things on the narrow bed that had replaced the pallet. He mostly ignored her, replying in grunts. But a candle appeared on the table nearest her bed, and the fire was always stoked before she got there.
She started talking to him as he struggled to fall asleep. She told him about the apprentice who’d mixed up the yarrow and the feverfew and given a guardsman a poultice that turned his arm purple. In the morning, he asked, “The apprentice, the one with the purple arm, did the color fade? ”
He’d been listening.
He remembered. “Three days,” she said. “But the apprentice got in so much trouble. ”
Leander was quiet for a moment.
Then, “The apprentice was you, wasn’t it? ”
Rowan froze. “What? No, I would never.
”
He just looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “Yes,” she admitted. “Yes, it was me. But in my defense—”
The king began to laugh.
Rowan stared at him, startled and transfixed. Weeks passed, and Silvara shared her findings. “We believe it’s the scent,” she told Rowan. “Your natural pheromonal signature carries a sedative property.
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. ”
“Are you saying I should cuddle the king?
” Rowan asked. “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.
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 and tight, and within minutes, the nightmare released him. In the morning he said one word: “Fine.
”
That evening, Rowan stood in his chambers, staring at the massive bed. As she prepared to join him, he started removing his shirt. Rowan gaped. His shoulders were broader than she’d realized, tapering 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, whatever you’d like. ”
They lay down together. “You are very rigid,” he said into the dark. “I am trying not to touch you,” she replied.
His hand found hers in the dark, warm and calloused and solid. He fell asleep with her hand in his. At some point during the night, her fingers slipped free. He jolted awake within minutes, his breathing sharp and panicked.
“I’m here,” Rowan whispered, reaching for his hand again. But instead of taking her hand, he moved. Strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her against his chest. He did it half asleep, 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. His chest was warm against her back, his arm wrapped around her waist. She tried to shift away carefully, but the moment she moved, his arm tightened, pulling her closer.
Then his breathing changed. He woke. He froze when he realized their position. But then he pulled her closer still, 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. The door to his dressing room slammed shut. Rowan lay in the tangled sheets, her heart racing.
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 who mattered, people with names and bloodlines and rank. Not for foundlings. Not for women like her.
And yet, her wolf—quiet her entire life—was suddenly restless. The pull grew stronger. Being away from Leander for even a day left her hollow and aching. That night, as they settled into bed, he asked if she was all right.
She was too quiet, he said. She took it as a complaint, but he shook his head. “I like it,” he confessed. “I like you.
”
Her heart did something complicated in her chest. That night, the fog came for her again. Thick and gray and utterly still. She saw Leander standing ahead of her, staring at a lake of black water, smooth as glass.
And in it, wolves were sinking into the dark, struggling, their movements growing weaker. One shifted into human form, and a hand broke the surface, reaching toward the king. Please. The voice was distorted, desperate.
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 with something sad and resigned. “Did you see it, too?
” she asked. He went pale. “You’ve been there before? ”
“Yes.
It’s not the first time. ”
It was where he went, she realized. It’s why he didn’t sleep. When she confronted him, asked why he never told anyone, his voice went flat.
“It wouldn’t have changed anything. ”
“You should have said. I’ve been able to follow you there. With this information, we can—“
“You should go,” he said, the words cutting through the air like a blade.
“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 tried to argue, but his hand shot out, catching her wrist. “It’s an order.
Leave. ”
The word came out as a roar. Rowan flinched back like she’d been struck. She grabbed her robe with shaking hands and ran, his rejection ringing in her ears.
A week passed. Seven nights since she’d slept in his bed. Seven days of nothing. He vanished entirely, and the palace felt colder for his absence.
Rowan grew restless. Her wolf was agitated. She couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe.
The migraines started. Then came the crushing heaviness in her chest, a gnawing anxiety that had no name and no cure. By the seventh day, she could barely stand upright. When Councilor Brannon sent for her that afternoon, she gathered her supplies, each movement taking more effort than it should.
She stepped into the council chamber, acutely aware of Leander’s presence. 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 weight in her chest grew heavier.
The room felt too warm, the air too thick. The world tilted. Her vision went white, then gray, then black. She heard the tincture bottle hit the floor.
She heard her name—sharp, alarmed, devastated, in a voice she would know anywhere. And then strong arms caught her before she hit the ground. She woke in the infirmary. Leander sat beside her, his head in his hands.
When he heard her stir, the relief that flooded his face stole her breath. He hovered over her, demanding to know what was wrong, glaring at Silvara. “I’m fine,” Rowan said. Leander turned back to her.
“Have you woken up there again? In the hollow? ”
“In the what? ”
“It’s what I call the—the place,” he said.
Rowan didn’t want to lie, but he wouldn’t tell them anything, wouldn’t let them help. So she added the saddest pout she could manage. “I mean, maybe. I’m not sure.
It’s all a blur. ”
Silvara, who wasn’t buying it, mouthed “Sneaky” behind his back. Under pressure, Leander finally told them everything. The Steelclaw Pack, rogue settlements on the borders.
The alpha, Ragnar, who believed the throne had abandoned the borderlands. The raids, the killings. Leander had tried to negotiate a treaty, but Ragnar wanted blood. So there was war.
“Is that where Ragnar lost his life? ” Silvara asked. “Yes. I offered him surrender.
He wouldn’t hear it. ”
“There was a witch,” he continued. “Vael, Ragnar’s mother. She cursed me.
Spat it through blood and broken teeth. ‘Every night the dead will find you. ’”
Rowan gaped. “So you knew?
Why didn’t you tell us? ”
“Because it wouldn’t have changed anything. ”
Silvara stepped forward, her expression thoughtful. “I know of this witch.
The magic isn’t that strong, or shouldn’t be. It should have broken by now. Strange that it’s still going. ”
Rowan squeezed his hand.
“Let me help. Please. ”
Leander shook his head, pulling his hand gently from hers. “I won’t have you sleep near me.
I won’t risk pulling you into that place again. ” He stood, putting distance between them. “I won’t argue about this. ” He turned and left without looking back.
Silvara waited until his footsteps faded before turning to Rowan. “You’re much the same, he and you. ”
“What do you mean? ”
“You’ve been sick too, child.
Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You passed out into the arms of your king. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on here. ”
“And what would you say is going on?
”
“You share a bond,” Silvara replied. “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. ”
“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. And because of the growing bond you share with him, you’ll die, too. ”
Rowan stared at her. “Since you were dropped on the castle steps as a babe,” Silvara continued, “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 deserve a life for you. ” She squeezed Rowan’s hand. “Leave.
Protect yourself. ”
Rowan shook her head, her voice fierce. “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. “He will not let you help him.
You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. ”
Rowan’s jaw set. “Watch me. ”
She found Corbin in his office, ready to launch into an argument.
But Corbin interrupted her. “Actually, I was going to call for you. ”
Rowan barreled on. “I know I’m just a nobody herbalist.
But His Majesty is being a stubborn—“
“Well, true,” Corbin said, leaning back in his chair. “But you are the king’s mate. ”
Rowan 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.
”
So he knew. And she suspected Leander knew too. Corbin agreed to help her reach him. “But then it’s up to you to convince him to let you stay.
”
Later that night, a guard escorted her to the king’s chambers. Rowan sat on the edge of the bed, waiting. When Leander stepped inside and froze, he stared at her like she was an apparition. “Rowan?
It isn’t safe for you to be here. ”
“It isn’t safe for me to stay away. ”
He looked torn, his body rigid with tension. “The less time we spend together, the better.
It’s safer. ”
She stopped directly in front of him. “That’s not true. ” 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,” he said.
“Why you should run. ”
“So you knew. ”
“Of course I knew. How could I not?
It’s been days of your scent haunting me. I smell you everywhere. I wake up reaching for you, and you’re not there, and it feels like I’m dying. ”
Rowan kissed him.
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? ”
“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. “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. He lifted her like she weighed nothing. He laid her down on the bed, and what followed was overwhelming in the best way—new and tender and passionate all at once. When release finally came, he bit down on her neck—the mating bite, instinctive and claiming.
The bond snapped into place like a lock clicking home. She bit him back on instinct, marking him as hers. They made love again and again, learning each other, claiming each other, until they were both exhausted and sated. 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. She’d done this. She’d given him this.
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 her skin like hands in the dark, cold and invasive and wrong.
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. He was diminished in a way that made her heart stop.
The king who commanded a room simply by entering it was stripped away here. What remained was utterly defeated. Figures moved at the edge of the clearing. Soldiers in torn uniforms.
Civilians with wounds that would never heal. The dead. They began to murmur, their voices overlapping into a terrible chorus of accusation and sorrow. Some wept.
Some screamed. And Leander just watched, like he couldn’t bear to close his eyes. One figure stepped forward. 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, the name coming out broken. Through the bond, Rowan saw it—the young woman running toward their line, white cloth raised high, trying to broker peace for her people. Chaos.
A terrible moment of hesitation that lasted too long. And then she was falling, surprise and betrayal written across her face. Leander holding her body afterward. Horror seizing him.
“You could have stopped it,” the ghost said, her voice soft and patient. “You should have seen me. A better king would have. This blood is on your hands.
”
“No, it wasn’t your fault,” Rowan interrupted, shaking his arm. “You went to war to protect your people. ”
But even as she said it, she understood the horrible truth. These weren’t the ghosts’ words.
They were his. The curse had taken his guilt and given it a mouth. She looked at Leander, felt the agreement radiating from him. 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. Because you think you deserve it.
”
She knelt beside him. “It was awful, and you can’t just forget. I get that. But you were not enough to stop it.
No one could have been. That is not a failing. That is the truth of war. ”
She told him about her own parents, who had abandoned her.
For so long she’d thought she deserved it, that if she’d been better, they would have kept her. “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. ”
She took his hand. “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.
I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry for all of it. ”
The fog began to thin. The dead turned away, one by one, dissolving into the gray like breath into cold air.
Ada looked at Leander one last time. Closed her eyes. Was gone. Leander fell forward into Rowan’s arms.
She caught him, holding him tightly as the year of grief and guilt finally broke open and poured out of him. “I’ve got you,” she whispered. “I’ve got you. ”
Rowan woke in his arms, in his bed.
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, brushing away the tears on her face she hadn’t realized were there. “Thank you,” he whispered.
The curse didn’t break all at once. Leander still had nightmares. Grief didn’t disappear just because he’d chosen to let it go. But Rowan was there.
Every time he woke in the dark, she was there. She held him and listened. 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. 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. But Leander’s hand was steady in hers on their wedding day, his voice sure when he spoke his vows.
“They’ll get used to it,” he murmured against her temple afterward. “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. Leander was still asleep beside her, his face peaceful, his breathing deep and even.
One arm 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.
