A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 37: Uncertain Heart (+18)

[Next Day: Morning]

•Silverhowl Palace (Throne Room)•

King Raymond’s POV

The morning light streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting fractured patterns across the marble floor. I drummed my fingers against the armrest of my throne, the rhythmic tapping echoing through the empty hall. Still no word from Ace or Ray. The silence gnawed at me, a persistent itch between my shoulder blades that no amount of shifting could ease. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

The heavy oak doors burst open with a sharp crack against the stone walls. Nathaniel, my most trusted attendant, rushed in with uncharacteristic haste. His usually immaculate silver hair was disheveled, and his chest rose and fell with quick breaths.

"Your Highness." He bowed deeply, clutching a parchment in his trembling hands. "I’ve found it—the original correspondence from Thunoa Village. The seal..." He hesitated, his throat working as he swallowed. "It’s a forgery. A skilled one, but false nonetheless."

I leaned forward, the cold metal of the throne biting into my palms. A slow, humorless smile spread across my face. We’d dealt with forged seals before, but this... this was different. Ace had vouched for Thunoa’s loyalty personally. My son’s trusting nature might have blinded him to the deception.

Before I could respond, a flurry of white feathers cut through the air. Kala, Ace’s carrier pigeon, circled the vaulted ceiling before descending in a graceful arc. Nathaniel extended his arm without hesitation, and the bird landed with practiced ease, its tiny claws gripping the embroidered fabric of his sleeve.

"Your Highness," Nathaniel breathed, his voice tight with barely contained urgency. "It’s Prince Ace’s pigeon. There’s a message."

My command came out sharper than intended. "Read it."

With careful fingers, Nathaniel untied the slender scroll from Kala’s leg. The parchment crackled as he unrolled it, his eyes darting across the hastily inked words. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of the words:

"Dear Father,

We require urgent assistance. Do you have knowledge of why Crimsonheart Kingdom has deployed troops to Thunoa Village? Additionally, any intelligence regarding the bandits would be invaluable—we’ve confirmed they’re utilizing black magic chains. By the time this reaches you, we’ll have arrived in Thunoa. Do not fear for our safety.

With deepest respect,

Ray Draven."

Nathaniel’s head snapped up, his usually composed features drawn tight. "Black magic chains..." he murmured, more to himself than to me.

I rose from the throne, my boots clicking against the marble. The rumors we’d dismissed as tavern tales were proving true. But how widespread was this threat? And why had Crimsonheart mobilized without consultation?

"They’re counting on Kala’s swift return," I muttered, pacing before the throne. The bird cocked its head, beady eyes following my movements.

Nathaniel stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Your Highness, if the bandits are employing forbidden magic..."

I met his worried gaze, seeing my own concern reflected there. "Then my son and his team are walking into far greater danger than they realize." My hand clenched into a fist at my side. "Prepare my falcon, Milo. I’m going to use it to deliver a letter; it should reach Thunoa by nightfall. And summon the council—we need to determine Crimsonheart’s involvement in this."

As Nathaniel hurried to obey, I turned to the towering windows overlooking the kingdom. Somewhere beyond those rolling hills, my son was facing threats I couldn’t protect him from. The sunlight felt suddenly cold against my skin.

•Thunoa Village (Chief Gareth’s house)•

Ovelia’s POV

Ace’s arms encircle me like living chains, warm and unyielding against my back. My eyelids flutter open to the pale morning light seeping through the curtains. His bare chest fills my vision, rising and falling in steady rhythm against my shoulder blades. The heat of his skin seeps into mine where we touch.

With trembling fingers, I lift the edge of the blanket. My breath catches sharply in my throat. The cool morning air brushes against naked skin where fabric should be. My pulse stutters, then pounds like a drum against my ribs.

I twist carefully in his embrace to face him. Gray eyes already watch me, alert and amused. The corner of his mouth quirks upward.

"Why so shocked?" His morning voice rasps like gravel, thick with sleep yet laced with humor. The arm beneath me flexes, pulling me closer. "Did last night slip your mind?" His grin widens, showing a flash of sharp canines. "I took care of everything. Cleaned you up properly after."

Heat floods my face, burning down my neck.

"Lady Firera," I think desperately, "did Ace and I... last night?"

"You did," comes the immediate response in my mind. "But I gave you privacy. I don’t watch such intimate moments."

I pinch the tender skin of my inner wrist. The sharp pain confirms this isn’t some vivid dream. Memories surge forward unbidden - the scrape of his teeth along my collarbone, the way his hands mapped every curve, the overwhelming fullness when we—

My entire body flushes crimson. I clutch the blanket tighter under my chin.

Ace’s chuckle vibrates through his chest. "Still think you imagined it?" He shifts closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Should I remind you?" His voice drops to a growl that makes my toes curl. "How you arched off the bed when I touched you here—" His hand slides down my side. "The loud moan you made when I—"

"Stop!" I squeak, burying my face in his chest. The scent of sweat and musk fills my nose, undeniable proof of our shared night.

He pulls back just enough to turn, showing the red marks raked down his back. My fingernails did that. My stomach flips.

"You came three times," he murmurs, pride coloring his tone. His thumb brushes my bottom lip. "Guess you missed our first two times together, hm?"

The reminder hits like a physical blow. That first time - cold stone against my back, pain shredding through me, the way he’d looked at me afterward with such devastating regret.

"No." The word comes out strangled. Old hurt wells up, sharp as broken glass. My hand flies to my chest, pressing hard against the ache that never truly faded. Even now, the memory steals my breath.

Ace’s expression sobers instantly. He reaches for me, but I flinch without meaning to. His hand falls away, fingers curling into the sheets.

The space between us yawns wide despite our tangled limbs. Morning light exposes what darkness had hidden - the scars he gave me, inside and out.

Ace’s POV

Ovelia’s entire body tenses at my words. The warmth between us evaporates as she pulls away, the sheets rustling harshly in the sudden silence. She moves toward the bathroom with stiff, mechanical steps, her bare feet making soft sounds against the wooden floorboards. The morning light streaming through the window catches the faint tremble in her shoulders.

My chest tightens like a vice. The air feels thick, difficult to breathe. Before I realize it, my feet carry me across the cool floor. I wrap my arms around her from behind, pressing my chest against her back. Her skin is warm but unyielding beneath my touch.

"Ovelia," I murmur into her hair, inhaling the faint scent of lavender from last night’s bath. My voice comes out rougher than I intended. "I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories."

She takes a deep, shuddering breath that moves through both of us. When she turns slightly in my arms, I see the question in her raised eyebrows before she voices it. "Ace?" Her voice is barely above a whisper, tentative. "Was I... was I really that loud last night?"

A surprised laugh escapes me, the tension in my shoulders easing. Then I feel her wiggle slightly against me. "Also," she adds, her tone turning mischievous, "your... thing... is poking my butt,"

I burst into genuine laughter, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "Hahaha! I just woke up, that’s why it’s still hard! And I’m serious about what I said earlier; your moan was definitely loud." I squeezed her tighter, lifting her off her feet in a playful spin. Her small gasp of surprise sent a thrill through me.

"Ace?!" she squeals, her hands flying to grip my forearms as her feet leave the ground.

"How about we wash up together?" I suggest, already steering us toward the bathroom with a grin.

Inside the small bathroom, the tiles feel cool beneath our feet. Ovelia carefully peels away the bandage on her arm, revealing pink, healing skin beneath. The shower hisses to life, and steam quickly fills the small space, carrying with it the clean scent of soap.

"I can wash your back," I offer, picking up the bar of soap. Its familiar herbal scent fills my nose.

She turns with a small smile, water droplets catching in her eyelashes. "Then I’ll wash yours," she counters, her voice light but her eyes serious.

I turn off the shower, the sudden silence making the space between us feel more intimate. The soap slips slightly in my wet hands as I begin to work up a lather. My hands move in slow circles across her shoulders, feeling the tension there gradually ease beneath my touch. The steam clings to our skin as I massage the soap into her back, careful to avoid her healing wound. Her quiet sigh of contentment is the only sound in the small, mist-filled room.

Ovelia’s POV

Ace’s hands move in slow circles across my back, the soap creating smooth trails of warmth against my skin. Each deliberate stroke eases the knots in my shoulders, the heat from the water and his touch melting away the last remnants of tension. My eyelids grow heavy as I lean into his touch, the steam curling around us in the small bathroom.

When we switch places, the cool tiles press against my knees as I take the soap. His back is warm and damp beneath my fingers, the muscles tense despite the relaxing shower. My hands tremble slightly as I work the lather across his shoulders. The intimacy of this moment—just the two of us in this quiet, steam-filled space—makes my pulse quicken. My stomach flutters with nervous energy, my cheeks still flushed from more than just the heat of the water.

"Ace," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the patter of water. The words feel fragile, like they might break if I speak too loudly. "What does it feel like... when you know you want to spend your life with someone?"

His hands, which had been resting against the shower wall, still abruptly. The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy, broken only by the steady drum of water against tile. My fingers pause on his back, waiting.

Finally, he exhales, a slow, measured breath. "I... I don’t know anymore."

The words hit me like a physical blow, sharp and sudden. My hands drop slightly before I force myself to continue washing his back, my movements mechanical. "But you love Eliana," I say softly. The name tastes bitter on my tongue, and I hate the way my voice wavers.

A muscle in his jaw tenses beneath my fingertips. When he turns to face me, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes—it’s strained, the edges tight. The usual warmth in his gray gaze is dimmed, replaced by something guarded.

My stomach twists. "Ace?" I reach for him instinctively, then hesitate, my hand hovering between us. "Did I say something wrong?"

The air between us grows heavier, the steam suddenly suffocating. His silence is louder than any words, and the pain in his expression—brief as it is before he masks it—sends a sharp ache through my chest. I want to ask more, to understand what shadows linger behind his eyes, but the words stick in my throat.