CHAPTER 212: _I WANT HIM BACK

Lucian’s POV

*****

The chandeliers above shimmered like captured stars, swaying faintly from the tremor of the orchestra’s final note.

A roar of applause followed after the first dance.

But Lucian wasn’t feeling excited. Not one bit.

Because while the rest of the royal court twirled and laughed beneath Lunaria’s golden banners, his mate was burning alive in his arms.

Elian’s scent—sweet, sharp, and maddening—poured from him in shimmering waves. The heat rolling off his skin was enough to fog Lucian’s senses, his instincts straining to the edge of control.

He swallowed hard.

"Focus, Lucian," he muttered to himself, one arm still looped protectively around Elian’s waist.

Kyren and Axel lingered by the pillars near the ballroom’s edge, their eyes alert and glowing faintly in the refracted light. Their postures looked casual to the crowd, but Lucian could feel their tension.

They were all suppressing their pheromones—layering aura upon aura—to keep Elian’s scent from spreading across the hall and driving every unmated Alpha within fifty feet feral.

Elian shifted in his hold, the motion innocent but murderous.

His breath ghosted against Lucian’s neck. "You sure I’m going to be okay?" he murmured, voice heavy with the tremor of the heat.

Lucian forced a calm smile. "You’ll be fine. Aurora will bring the suppressant soon."

Soon.

He repeated it to himself, even though Aurora had been gone for almost an hour now.

The music resumed.

The dance floor filled again, couples moving in perfect rhythm.

Lucian tightened his hold on Elian’s waist and guided him through the steps, letting motion anchor them both. He could feel every tremor in his body—the way Elian tried to steady his breathing, how his pulse fluttered wildly at every beat.

But then his sweet scent spiked and Lucian nearly lost the grip on his sanity.

He inhaled sharply, eyes flicking toward Kyren.

The Rogue king’s crimson gaze flared in warning before he released a pulse of magic—a silken wave that pressed over the ballroom like cool mist.

Within seconds, murmurs and whispers in the crowd softened; guests blinked as if drowsy. The air shimmered faintly with Kyren’s magic, masking Elian’s heat pheromones beneath a scent of cold wine and rosewood.

The tension in Lucian’s jaw eased slightly when Elian’s scent was masked.

Still, the heat lingered between him and Elian like lightning waiting to strike.

"Are you... telling me I hated this scent?" Lucian heard himself whisper before he even realized the words had left his mouth.

Elian’s violet eyes lifted to meet his, wide and glimmering under the lights.

Lucian felt his chest ache with a half-formed memory—one that flashed and vanished too quickly to hold:

A dim image of a hand clutching his collar, a voice whispering his name against his throat—then darkness.

He wanted it back.

Gods, he wanted him back.

The ballroom emptied slowly after the second dance, laughter and murmurs fading into the marble corridors. The hum of the orchestra turned to idle tuning, then silence.

Lucian exhaled, guiding Elian toward one of the quieter balconies—only for a firm hand to intercept his arm.

"Alpha Prince."

The voice belonged to Elder Halvyr, the eldest of the Northern Wolves.

His gray fur-lined robe brushed the floor as he bowed, the glint of his family insignia catching the candlelight.

Behind him, two other councilors—Lady Veyra and Elder Orin—stood watchfully, their gazes flicking between Lucian and Elian.

Lucian immediately straightened. "Elder Halvyr. I didn’t expect—"

"... to see us away from the Northern Territory? Yes," Halvyr finished with a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "But Lunaria is... different now. We thought it best to speak with our future Alpha King privately."

Lucian froze. Elian blinked in confusion beside him.

Halvyr’s voice lowered, almost conspiratorial. "When will the ceremony be held, my lord? It’s been weeks since the mate bond appeared."

Lucian’s mind stalled.

Veyra’s sharp amber eyes narrowed. "Surely you’ve noticed the bond strengthening. The young Omega’s scent aligns perfectly with yours. The council already assumed you’d announced the union."

Lucian’s throat tightened.

His mind was so fucking blurry he almost forgot the meeting with the council.

"I..." He forced a careful breath. "We haven’t made any formal decisions yet."

Halvyr exchanged glances with the others. "Forgive my boldness, my prince, but hesitation invites challenge. The Northerners already whisper that you’ve claimed him in secret. They say the moon itself chose the match."

Elian stiffened. "That’s not—"

Halvyr raised a hand. "I speak only of rumors, Omega. But you must understand—when an Alpha of royal blood knots and leaves the bond incomplete..." His gaze sharpened. "It stirs unrest."

The words hit like a hammer to Lucian’s chest. He felt Elian’s pulse skip beside him.

"I don’t owe the council explanations about my private life," Lucian said quietly.

His tone stayed even, but frost edged every word.

Orin’s lips curved faintly. "You owe Lunaria stability, my lord. And stability demands a consort beside you."

The implication landed heavy between them. Elian’s fingers twitched where they rested against his sleeve.

Lucian forced a shallow breath, schooling his features back into royal calm. "You have my answer. I will handle my affairs as I see fit."

Halvyr inclined his head slowly. "Then we await your proclamation... before the next full moon."

The council bowed and drifted back toward the crowd, leaving a silence so thick Lucian could hear Elian’s shaky exhale.

"Lucian," Elian whispered, voice breaking. "Do they think we’re—"

"Married," Lucian finished hoarsely.

He turned to him, eyes glinting like fractured glass. "They think I—" He bit off the rest, knuckles tightening around the glass he’d forgotten he was holding.

It cracked faintly in his grip.

Before Elian could speak again, a sharp vibration pulsed through Lucian’s comm ring.

He frowned, glancing down at the holographic display blinking crimson.

Incoming transmission: Aurora.

Static flared—then a voice broke through, panicked and distorted:

"Lucian... don’t let anyone—"

The feed hissed and cut off.

Lucian’s heart slammed against his ribs.

"Aurora?" he whispered into the silence.

Then the connection reestablished, her voice trembling through the line.

"It’s the Dark Hand. They’re in the ball!"