"That’s right," she finally said.

"Please, can you just say the time already?" the newswolf pressed, leaning forward, impatience sharpening his tone as his fingers tightened around his recorder.

Elara and Emma didn’t stop walking.

Their step remained steady, measured—but Elara’s shoulders dipped ever so slightly, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. She exhaled through her nose, slow and controlled, as if holding back more than just words.

"Well..." she began at last, her voice calm but distant, eyes fixed ahead. "I don’t know. Maybe before... or after her mating ceremony with the Moon Prince."

A flicker of reaction passed across the newswolf’s face—surprise, calculation, hunger for more.

He quickened his pace to keep up, boots scraping lightly against the ground. "That means the king has accepted her already?"

Elara’s jaw tightened.

For a brief second, her steps faltered—just a fraction—before she caught herself. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, nails grazing her palm as if grounding herself.

She said nothing.

Not because she didn’t have an answer.

But because she was too tired to give it.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and deliberate, as they continued toward the great beast waiting ahead—choosing, this time, to let the quiet speak louder than any words she could offer.

"Just keep your eyes on the platforms I mentioned earlier. We will announce it through those channels," Elara said smoothly.

"Alright, princess," the pack reporter replied, switching off his camera.

"Moonheart, it’s time to go home," Brandon called, gesturing for Emma to climb up.

"I will come over... there’s something more, something you need to know!" the princess said to her.

"Alright, don’t keep me waiting," she said.

As Emma stood before the skystair, she noticed the Moon Princess was still waving at her. A soft smile touched her lips as she lifted her hand and waved back.

They all chuckled softly as the moment faded behind them.

"Come here," Brandon said, opening his arms. But Emma didn’t know whether to feel happy... or break down completely.

She wondered what Elara wanted her to know.

Brandon kissed her, but her mind drifted—lost somewhere far beyond the moment

"Moonheart, what is it?" he asked softly.

Emma hesitated, her brows knitting slightly. "Elara said there’s something I need to know... do you have any idea?"

Brandon’s gaze softened at the uncertainty in her voice, though something unreadable flashed beneath it.

He stepped closer, his fingers brushing lightly against hers before stilling—as if weighing just how much he should say.

"Moonheart..." he began quietly, then paused, his jaw tightening for a fleeting second. "If Elara told you that, then it’s... something personal."

His eyes searched hers—conflicted, protective, and far more revealing than his words.

"I have an idea," he admitted at last, his voice low. "But I’d rather you hear it from her... not twisted by my own fears."

A faint exhale escaped him as he lifted his hand to her cheek, the touch gentle, grounding—like he was anchoring both of them.

"Just promise me one thing," he added, his gaze steady now. "Whatever she tells you... you won’t hide it from me."

Emma held his gaze for a long moment, something unreadable settling quietly in her eyes.

"...I promise."

The words came soft—almost fragile.

And then, silence.

She was welcomed like a High Luna the moment she arrived home. About twenty of Brandon’s classmates , their Moonmates and mates were already in the sky lounge partying. Brooklyn pulled her into a tight embrace, her tears quickly soaking into Emma’s clothes.

"You finally got them out of your heavenly pack," she smiled with tears in her eyes.

"Yes... but you know it’s not over yet."

She may be out of my heaven, but she’s still in Santorini, breathing. "I know Lunara... she won’t back down easily," Emma said quietly.

"But at least, the king has finally accepted you," she said, searching Emma’s face for any expression that suggested otherwise.

"Yes, he has, but there’s more to it. I saw it in his eyes."

She saw Mr. Richard, standing a few centimeters away, looking at her with a half smile. She left Brooklyn and began to move towards him. He hugged her as if she was his long-lost moonpup.

Leaning on his shoulder, she recalled the day he came to her former pack house with an old wagon. She smiled and puffed out.

"Where is Thalia?" She asked, breaking away from his embrace. He smiled again.

"I don’t know where she is," he said and pointed in a direction. She quickly turned and saw Brandon staring at them.

She couldn’t believe it—he was actually jealous of Mr. Richard.

They giggled and she walked towards him.

"My moonblessed one, come here," he said, opening his arms wide.

"Mr. Richard, I will forgive you today, but next time you might not be so lucky. You know I’m jealous," Brandon said, guiding her toward one of the tables to meet his moonallies.

Mr. Richard stiffened slightly, forcing a polite smile—like a wolf who had just escaped danger by a whisker and was not eager to test fate again.

Brandon led her to a table in the sky lounge where Ken and Brooklyn were seated, both already looking far too excited—as if they were about to witness the season finale of a royal romance series in real life.

Four of them sat around a table.

The atmosphere was calm, though Brandon already looked like a wolf mentally overpacking for a journey that didn’t even start yet.

"Ken, we are embarking on a seven-day vacation next week," Brandon said, trying to sound composed, though excitement kept slipping into his tone.

Ken blinked slowly, as if trying to confirm he hadn’t just imagined what he heard.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, already thinking of how he would somehow turn a simple trip into a full expedition.

"Can we go on your honeymoon?" Brooklyn asked innocently, tilting her head like it was the most reasonable question in the pack.

Ken nearly choked, staring at her like she had just invited the entire kingdom.

Emma pressed her lips together, fighting laughter as she watched the reaction unfold.

"Our honeymoon is strictly for me and my mate," Brandon said firmly, folding his arms with exaggerated seriousness.

There was pride in his voice, though his expression softened slightly at the word mate.

It was clear he was not sharing that moment with anyone...not even jokingly.

"Pretty moonlights, say something!" Ken suddenly called out loudly, his energy shifting back to excitement like a spark catching fire.

Emma and Brooklyn exchanged glances, both equally amused and resigned.

Ken’s moods changed so fast it sometimes felt like talking to a storm with opinions.

"We are with you guys," Brooklyn and Emma said at the same time.

The agreement came easily, as resistance never lasted long around Ken’s enthusiasm.

Brandon’s grin widened instantly, satisfied like everything had gone exactly according to plan.

Shortly, their table was decorated with all kinds of drinks and meals and a small party began immediately. Brandon and Emma had their first romantic dance since they got mated. She placed her hands on his shoulders as he held her waist firmly. Their free hands interlaced and he began to sway her from side to side. Her face was filled with laughter.

The music changed to Indian music and he began to give her Indian moves, turning her seriously. She realized there were no rules to a romantic dance—only the rhythm he led and the trust she gave. She let go—and allowed her steps to flow freely.

The music flowed gently through the hall as he pulled her closer, one hand resting carefully at her waist while the other held hers.

"Relax," he whispered, a faint smile on his lips. "You’re too tense."

"I’m not tense," she murmured, avoiding his eyes. "I just... don’t want to step on your feet."

He chuckled softly. "Even if you do, I won’t complain. I’ve waited too long for this moment to care about a little pain."

She finally looked up at him, her heart skipping.

"You make it sound like this dance means everything..."

"It does," he said quietly, his voice lowering. "This is our first dance... as mates."

Her breath hitched, and her fingers tightened slightly around his. "I never imagined it would feel like this."

"Like what?"

"Like... the whole pack disappeared," she admitted. "It’s just you... and me."

His gaze softened, pulling her a little closer. "That’s because, right now, nothing else matters."

She smiled shyly. "You’re saying all the right things about this romantic dance."

"I’m not trying to say the right things," he replied. "I’m not trying to impress you... I’m just telling you the truth."

She hesitated before resting her head lightly against his chest. "Then tell me something else."

He leaned closer, his lips near her ear. "You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me."

Her cheeks warmed, and she laughed softly.

"Careful... I might get used to it."

hope you do," he murmured, voice low against her ear. "Because I plan to spend every day proving it."

For a moment, everything else fell away.

No noise. No crowd. No distant world watching them breathe.

Only the space between them—quiet, charged, inevitable—as they moved in a rhythm that didn’t feel learned, but remembered.

As if something inside them had already known this moment long before it arrived.

"Hey..." she whispered.

"Hm?"

"Don’t let go... even when the music stops."

His arms tightened around her—firm, unwavering, as though letting go was never a possibility he accepted.

"I won’t," he said, softer now, but final in a way that left no space for doubt. "Not now... not ever."

The music thinned, stretching into its last breath.

But he didn’t loosen his hold.

Not even when the final note disappeared into silence.

And for a heartbeat after the world should have returned—

he still didn’t let her go.

As if something deeper than music was still holding them together... something neither of them fully understood yet.