The Wolf's Queen Vows

Chapter 27: The distance

A week had passed since Aveloria woke up from the poison. The healers said her body had fully recovered, and everyone else thought she had. She moved through the palace with her usual composure, expression calm, and steady steps. But inside, she was unraveling.

The nights were the worst. Every time she closed her eyes, she was dragged back into the same nightmare, blood soaking into the forest floor, the scent of iron thick in the air, and the echo of cruel laughter from unseen Wanderers. Her voice cried out in the dream, but she could never move or fight back. When she woke, her heart would be racing, her sheets damp with sweat. Her wolf stirred violently inside her, restless, angry, and desperate to be released.

She stopped sleeping much. Dark circles marked her eyes every morning, and the palace attendants whispered about how thin she looked. The king worried but tried not to show it. Her brother and sisters hovered protectively, and her mates watched her differently. Each one felt her tension through the bond, though she did her best to block them out.

The more she ignored it, the stronger the pull became, especially with Marek.

He had been quieter since she woke up. He stayed close but not too close, his usual confidence tempered by guilt. Sometimes she caught him staring at her from across the hall or the training grounds, but she always looked away before their eyes could meet.

That afternoon, the council had convened again to discuss the growing threat of the Wanderers. The meeting stretched for hours, with voices rising and falling as elders argued about defense lines, treaties, and resource distribution. Aveloria sat beside her father, listening and contributing when needed. Her tone was measured, her points sharp, and even those who had doubted her before had to admit she handled herself with control. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

When it ended, she felt drained. She excused herself quietly and left the grand chamber, her steps leading her through the long corridors toward the royal stables. The air outside was cool, scented with moonflowers and the distant sound of the birds.

She needed to breathe.

Inside the stables, hooves and gentle snorts filled the space. Lanterns flickered along the wooden walls, casting warm light over rows of stalls. Her horse, Lysandra, neighed softly when she approached.

"Hey, girl," Aveloria murmured, stroking her neck. "It’s been a while, hasn’t it?"

Lysandra brushed against her hand, as if sensing her mood.

Aveloria grabbed the saddle and began to prepare for a ride. She needed space far from the palace, from the watchful eyes and heavy expectations, and wanted the wind to clear her head.

But before she could mount, she heard footsteps behind her, firm, deliberate, and too familiar. Marek.

He stopped a few feet away, his presence filling the quiet space. "You’re going for a ride?"

Aveloria didn’t turn. "Yes."

"Alone?"

"I prefer it that way."

There was a pause. She heard him exhale softly, then move closer. "It’s dangerous to ride alone. Let me come with you."

"No. I want to be alone. And I can handle myself."

Marek sighed. "You’ve been avoiding me."

"I’ve been busy," she replied flatly, tightening the straps on the saddle.

"That’s not what I meant." His voice dropped lower, firmer. "You’ve been avoiding us. The bond. Me."

She turned then, meeting his gaze. He looked the same as always: tall, proud, with sharp jaws and intense eyes. But there was something else there now, guilt.

"Why would I not avoid you?" she asked quietly. You made your choice once, Marek. You turned away when I needed you. She wanted to say those words to him, but she held back.

He took a step forward. "Aveloria, please, is this about the rumors?"

"What rumors?" Her voice trembled, though her expression stayed cold. "Oh! The fact that you want this bond to benefit your ambition? Does the throne look better when you stand beside the heiress?"

His jaw tightened. "You think that’s all I care about?"

"What else should I think?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed the distance between them until she could feel the heat of his body against hers. His hand rose hesitantly, brushing her cheek. It was a gentle touch, careful, almost reverent.

She froze. Her skin tingled beneath his fingers, their bond flaring alive like a heartbeat. His scent surrounded her, something deeper, something that pulled at her chest.

"You can lie to everyone else," he said softly, "but not to me. You feel it too."

For a moment, she almost did give in. Her wolf stirred, recognizing him, wanting him. But then her mind snapped back, and she pulled away sharply.

"Stop it."

He frowned. "Aveloria—"

"Don’t," she said, stepping back. "Don’t pretend that this bond excuses what you have in mind. You don’t get to touch me like that." Not anymore.

His voice hardened. "You think I don’t hate myself for what my father said? You think I don’t wake up every night wishing you had not shown up that day? I apologize on my father’s behalf. And believe me when I say, I don’t want what he wants."

If only Marek knew she had a more profound grudge against him. So many questions she wanted to ask him. Why did he do it? Why had he left her to die when she trusted him more than anyone?

"I don’t have anything to say to you." She said, instead.

Marek swallowed, his expression raw. "Aveloria, please don’t do this to me. I see how you do things with Galen. You’re different with him." He looked at her, helpless for once. "I don’t expect too much. But don’t shut me out, Aveloria. You can’t keep running from what the moon has tied."

She stiffened. "The bond isn’t a chain. I can walk away."

He shook his head slowly. "You can try. But it won’t change what’s between us."

She didn’t answer. The air felt heavy between them, thick with the tension of everything unsaid.

After a long silence, she finally asked, "Why are you so close to Rowena?"

That caught him off guard. "What?"

"I’ve seen the way you look at her. The way she looks at you."

He frowned deeply. "It’s not what you think."

"Then tell me what it is."

He hesitated, then sighed. "She’s trying to get close. I don’t know why yet, but I can feel it. She’s dangerous, Aveloria. I don’t trust her."

Her brow furrowed. "Then why let her get close to you?"

"Because if I push her too far, she’ll suspect I’m watching her," he said. "I’m trying to understand her motives."

Aveloria stared at him, trying to read his face. "You expect me to believe that?"

"It’s the truth."

Her expression softened for just a second before the anger returned. "I can’t tell what the truth is with you anymore. Everything feels like a game."

"It’s not," he said, voice rising slightly. "Not with you. It never was."

He reached for her again, his hand gripping her arm. Not hard, but enough to make her stop.

"I don’t understand why you hate me this much," he said. "Why do you act like I’m the enemy?"

She looked down at his hand on her arm, then back at his face. "Because part of me still wants to believe you," she said quietly. "And that scares me more than anything."

His eyes softened. "Then stop fighting it."

She pulled her arm free. "You don’t get to tell me what to do."

He exhaled heavily, frustration flashing across his face. "You can’t deny what the moon has tied," he murmured again, his voice lower this time, almost pleading.

Her reply came sharp and final. "Watch me."

She turned away before he could respond. Her steps were steady, but her throat burned. She didn’t want him to see her cry.

Marek stood there for a long moment, his jaw clenched, his hands fisted at his sides. He watched her mount Lysandra and ride out of the stables, the sound of hooves echoing through the courtyard.

He punched the wooden wall beside him, echoing through the stalls when she was gone. The horse nearest him startled, whinnying softly, but he didn’t move.

He hated himself for losing control. He hated that even now, she could look at him like a stranger. But more than anything, he hated that she was right. He couldn’t stop caring about her. He couldn’t stop wanting to fix what he had broken.

Aveloria rode until the palace disappeared behind her. The wind bit at her face, and her eyes stung. She didn’t know if it was from the cold or the tears she refused to shed.

By the time she reached the forest’s edge, the sun was setting, painting the sky in dull orange and gray. She stopped there, breathing heavily, her hands tight on the reins.