Chapter 12

Claire's POV

One of the guards calls to me shortly after, reminding me that as a warrior, I’m to eat in the auxiliary hall with the rest of the Night Mountain entourage.

The auxiliary hall is tucked behind the main wing, far from the grand dining chamber where the high-ranking alphas and their heirs are gathered. It smells faintly of boiled grain and sweat—familiar, grounding, and quietly humiliating.

No music filters into this space. No laughter. Just the clatter of cutlery and the low murmur of warriors too tired or too wary to speak freely. Inside, the servants move around with quiet efficiency.

I find a spot at the edge of the room, mostly unnoticed—until I start recognizing the faces.

They were familiar once. Women who’d brought me tea during my pregnancy, who had whispered congratulations when they thought it was safe, who helped me sneak fruit from the kitchens when I couldn’t stomach anything else. They had been kind. Gentle. Protective, even in their small ways.

And now, they move like ghosts.

Avoiding eye contact. Careful not to linger.

I can see it in their eyes—the fear. The understanding that being seen as close to me, even now, carries risk.

Daphne hasn’t just taken my child. She’s erased me piece by piece.

I look away quickly, blinking hard. I can’t afford to feel sorry for myself. I take a breath, force it to steady.

Later, after the formal portion of the banquet ends, we’re all called into the courtyard for a special “surprise” Daphne has arranged for the gathered alphas and dignitaries.

The courtyard has been transformed. Silk banners ripple from every balcony. Golden lanterns float above the crowd like lazy stars. Rose petals have been scattered across the cobblestones, crushed now beneath boots and heels. It’s beautiful in the way everything Daphne touches becomes—exaggerated. Precise. Fake.

The fireworks begin with a slow whistle, then a burst of color that lights up the entire courtyard in red and gold. More follow, streaking across the night sky in cracking trails of green and silver. People cheer. Someone plays a flute nearby. Couples kiss under the canopy of light. It’s meant to be romantic.

But it makes me sick.

I stay at the edge, cloaked in the shadows, far from the warmth of the crowd. No one notices me, as it should be.

Ivan is speaking to a cluster of alphas near the stone fountain. I can see the stiffness in his shoulders, the subtle tick of his jaw.

Everyone is excited to see the bachelor Alpha Prince out of his fortress for once, but I can tell he hates it—the small talk, the attention, the women fluttering their fans at him like he’s a prize to be hunted.

It’s almost funny, the way he endures it without flinching like it's another battlefield.

But then, across the vast courtyard, I catch a glimpse of gold—of pale curls catching the light.

Leo.

I grip the edge of the stone wall beside me like it might anchor me.

He is everything I ever dreamed he would be. I can see Nova in him. Her softness in his cheeks, her light in his smile.

How I wish she were here to meet her brother. To know she’s not alone.

His small hands are cupped, catching the glittering ash as it falls like snow. His eyes are wide with wonder, his mouth shaped in awe.

My stomach tightens. He’s on the upper terrace, it’s beautifully carved, but dangerously open for a child as young and small as him.

The fireworks scream above us, one after another, each one louder than the last. Everyone’s eyes are on the sky. No one is watching the little boy.

Daphne stands a few feet away, on the same terrace, but she’s turned away from Leo, too absorbed in the screen of her phone. She lifts it over and over again, striking poses, adjusting her hair, dragging Gideon into the frame by the arm as he mutters something under his breath.

Neither of them is looking at Leo.

He inches closer to the balcony edge, tiptoeing on the wet stone to try and catch another ash flake as it flutters down. His hand stretches too far.

The iron railing with large gaps in between. If he leans too far—

Then it happens. His foot skids off the damp marble. He pitches forward through the bars.

There’s a moment of stillness—pure, breathless terror—before the scream cuts through the night. A maid, frozen at the edge of the terrace, her tray of flutes crashing to the stone as she yells.

Only two people react immediately — Gideon and I.

My feet strike the stairs, three at a time.

The world blurs. My legs carry me through the crowd like water cutting stone, but I don’t stop.

I vault over a fallen chair. My shoulder clips someone. I don’t care. I reach the terrace at the exact moment Leo’s body tips too far over. I lunge.

Almost simultaneously, Gideon rushed over. I almost felt our hands brush in the air. But because I was faster, I caught Leo first.

My arm snakes around his waist. And I fall backward, pulling him into my chest, the full weight of him crashing into me as I hit the stone.

He’s safe. He’s in my arms, panting, his tiny hands clutching at my armor.

My heart pounds against his ear.

I hold him like I’ve held him a thousand times in my dreams. One hand cradles the back of his head, the other wrapped so tightly around his small frame that I never want to let go.

“You’re safe,” I whisper. “You're okay. You're okay.”

Leo pulls back just enough to look at me.

“I slipped,” he says softly, his lower lip trembling, tears welling in those large green eyes.

Gideon drops to his knees beside us, his face pale, his eyes wide with something close to fear. His hand hovers over Leo’s back.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, voice rough.

Leo shakes his head. “She caught me.”

Gideon's POV

I watch Raven as she kneels beside Leo, her hands gentle as she checks him over. Every so often, she brushes a lock of his hair from his damp forehead or cradles his cheek, eyes sharp and full of concern.

It’s clear she’s more than just a warrior. She has an astonishingly keen sense of the potential dangers around Leo, even more so than I do. This is the superpower that only parents have.

There’s a fierce tenderness in the way she moves around him, an intensity that unsettles me more than I want to admit.

Daphne finally arrives, her entrance late and dramatic. "Leo, are you hurt? How could you be so careless?" Her face is carefully painted with concern, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

I catch Raven’s glare—icy, sharp—and then the words slip from her lips like a whip.

“Are you blaming all of this on a six-year-old boy? You were nowhere near him,” Raven snaps at Daphne. “How could you not see what was happening? The boy almost died.”

Daphne stiffens, biting back a retort. She turns her gaze to me, as if daring me to side with Raven.

I stay silent.

Then Raven’s tone shifts, her eyes burning as she turns toward me. “And you, Alpha," She spits my title with disdain.