Chapter 46

Raven

The horse stood, completely steady, her dark eyes blinking as if nothing had happened. I reached out tentatively, my hand brushing against her knee where the arrow had been just moments ago.

Her coat was smooth, unbroken. No blood. No wound. Not even a scar.

Nothing.

“What…” My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard, glancing up at Neil. “What the hell just happened?”

Neil stepped closer, his sword still lowered at his side. He tilted his head, his gaze darting between me and the horse. “I don’t know.” His voice was quiet, almost uncertain—an emotion I wasn’t used to hearing from the cold Lycan prince.

I looked back at the horse, running my hand over her leg again, needing to be sure. “The salve didn’t do this,” I said, more to myself than to him. “It can’t… It doesn’t work like that.”

Neil crouched beside me, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as he studied the horse. “No,” he agreed slowly, “it doesn’t.” He shifted his gaze to me, his brow furrowing. “What did you do?”

“Me?” I shook my head, laughing nervously. “Neil, I didn’t do anything. I mean, I cried, but—”

“Exactly,” he interrupted, his tone sharp. “You cried, and then her wound healed. That is not normal.”

“I know it’s not normal!” I snapped, more out of confusion than anger. I pushed to my feet, brushing dirt from my knees. There was still blood all over me, evidence of the horse’s wounds. “But it can’t have been me. Maybe…”

I hesitated, searching for an explanation that didn’t make me sound like a crazy person. “Maybe it was a miracle from the Moon Goddess. Isn’t that something Lycans believe in?”

Neil straightened, his expression unreadable. “The Moon Goddess isn’t in the habit of interfering with day-to-day injuries. She is more about guiding fate.”

“Then what could it be?” I gestured wildly at the horse, who was now lazily nibbling at a patch of grass as if she hadn’t just been on the verge of dying mere minutes ago. “Are you saying I… healed her? With my tears?”

Neil didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on me, intense and searching, like he was trying to sense if I knew something I wasn’t letting on. Finally, finding nothing in my expression other than bewilderment, he shook his head.

“I do not know. But we can’t stay out here all day speculating. Let’s get back to the castle.”

I glanced at the horse, who was clearly ready to walk, then nodded reluctantly. “Fine.”

We mounted our horses in silence, Neil taking the lead as we started back along the forest trail. I tried to keep my focus on the ride, but my mind kept circling back to what had just happened. Every explanation felt ridiculous. It couldn’t have been me. It had to be something else. Anything else.

Halfway back to the castle, Neil broke the silence. “Raven.”

“Yeah?” I replied, looking up from the reins.

He didn’t turn around, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. “I need to apologize.”

That caught me off guard. “For what?”

“For how I’ve treated you lately,” he said, his voice unusually soft. “I’ve been cruel, and you didn’t deserve it.”

I stared at the back of his head, unsure how to respond. “Why… Why were you being cruel?” I asked cautiously.

He slowed his horse until we were side by side. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small brooch—a delicate silver pin inlaid with tiny sapphires. “This belonged to Serena,” he said, tossing it to me. “It was a gift from me.”

I caught it with one hand. I recognized it immediately—I had seen it that day I had washed Neil. I knew there was something special about it then, and it seemed I was correct.

“Oh.” The word felt heavy on my tongue. “I… I didn’t realize you found something of hers.”

He nodded, his jaw tight. “I found it that day when I searched the remains of her caravan. I’ve been… worried about her. About where she might be. If she is even alive.”

I hesitated, then said softly, “You must love her a lot.”

Neil let out a low, humorless laugh. “I don’t.”

“What?” I blinked, confused.

“She is… a good friend,” he explained, tucking the brooch back into his pocket. “We have written letters back and forth for years, and she is someone I trust dearly. But love?” He shook his head. “No. We agreed to marry because neither of us had found anyone else, and our families were pressuring us.”

I processed that in silence for a moment, saying nothing.

“I care about her as my friend, my equal, my confidante,” he said simply, glancing at me over his shoulder. “And last night…” His voice trailed off, and he shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.

My cheeks flushed a little as memories of our almost-sex last night flashed through my mind. It wasn’t even almost sex. We had started to do it. I could still feel the warm head of his member pushing into me, even now. We had only stopped because we almost got caught.

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. It had come loose from its usual bun during everything that just happened in the forest, silky raven locks cascading over his shoulders and mingling with that dark fur cloak of his.

“Last night made me realize how selfish I have been,” he admitted. “I am here, drinking and… and acting recklessly, while Serena might be hurt somewhere. Or worse.”

I reined my horse in. “But that’s not your fault,” I said quickly. “You didn’t cause whatever happened to her.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I have been taking it out on you, and that was wrong. And for that, I am sorry.”

I glanced down at the reins, feeling a lump rise in my throat. I hadn’t expected Neil to be so… open about this. Or about anything, for that matter. I wasn’t even sure how to respond.

“Thank you,” I finally said quietly. After a pause, I added, “I want to help you find her.”

Neil turned to look at me, his expression unreadable. “You do?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “If she’s your friend, then she’s important to you. And that means she’s important to me too.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His gaze dropped to where my hand rested on his, and I realized belatedly that I had reached out to him without thinking. His fingers twitched beneath mine, but he didn’t pull away.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, but it wasn’t the tense, uncomfortable kind. It felt… peaceful. Like something unspoken had shifted between us.

A week passed without incident. I threw myself into training, determined to master every skill I would need for the succession battle. My swordplay improved under Ember’s relentless guidance, and my riding skills went from barely passable to confident. Even my archery was getting better, although hitting targets from horseback was still a challenge.

The strange healing power, however, didn’t resurface.

I tried everything—forcing myself to cry over small cuts and bruises from training, even pricking my finger deliberately once—but nothing happened.

It seemed that whatever had healed my horse, assuming it actually came from me, required genuine, overwhelming emotion. Fear. Grief. Desperation. And that wasn’t something that I could manufacture.

Despite the mystery surrounding what had happened, I found myself settling into life in the Lycan world. The customs, the routines, even the people—all of it felt less alien with each passing day.

I wasn’t sure when it had happened, but the thought of returning to the Werewolf world no longer held the same appeal. Here, I felt… free. In a strange, chaotic way, this place had started to feel like home.

One afternoon, Neil and I rode through the forest, practicing my horseback archery. The targets Neil had set up swung from branches, swaying gently in the breeze. My first few attempts missed wildly, but as the hours passed, I started hitting more than I missed. And this time, I didn’t fucking impale my poor horse.

“Good,” Neil said as I landed another arrow squarely in the center of a target. “Again.”

I smiled as I drew another arrow from my quiver. “I’m starting to think you just like bossing me around.”

“You are not wrong,” he replied, smirking.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the grin that tugged at my lips. For once, the tension between us felt lighthearted instead of suffocating. It was nice. Comfortable, even.

Suddenly, the sound of pounding footsteps broke through the calm. I turned in my saddle to see Castor’s large frame sprinting toward us, his face flushed. In his hand, he held a small, familiar object.

The flip phone I had used to call my father all those weeks ago.

“Neil!” he called out, breathless. “This phone has been ringing all morning.”