Forbidden Mate

Chapter 22

Thin sun lay on the yard; the house held a steady heat. They ate a simple breakfast together—bread, cheese, hot tea—and the talk stayed light.

When the cups were empty, Leah touched Cordelia’s sleeve. “Come out with me,” she said. “Leave the men to their plans. An hour of play will do us good.”

Cordelia glanced at Dante and nodded. “Yes,” she said, and tied her cloak. “Let’s go.”

They stepped into the garden. Frost edged the beds; the path was firm. Leah picked two smooth stones from the border and pointed at the low wall around the herbs.

“Best of five,” she said. “Closest toss to the corner.”

They threw. Leah’s first stone kissed the corner; Cordelia’s slid wide and made them both laugh. The second round went to Cordelia. The third was a tie.

“Luna has a good arm,” Leah said.

They set the stones down and jogged the short path to the gate, cloaks flaring. Leah reached first by a hand. “Again?” she asked.

“Again,” Cordelia said. They ran back, slower and still laughing.

They hopped down and found the bench dry enough to sit. Cordelia poured from a small thermos she had carried out. Steam curled in the cold air.

“Tell me a good memory,” Leah said.

“The maids tried to teach me how to do housework, but it was boring. I hid from them in the kitchen, and they started finding me faster and faster, so one day I went down to the basement. They couldn't find me, and I ate some jam and fell asleep on the flour sacks. My father laughed, but the maids didn't find it funny.” Cordelia said, smiling. “

Leah sipped. “My first winter in the pack, I salted fish wrong. I ate it anyway, so no one else had to. Silas saw it. One day, I noticed there were fewer fish. Then he came up to me and silently pressed the right recipe into my hands. ”

They threw the stones once more, walked the border naming plants they both knew even under frost, and finished the tea. Cordelia’s cheeks were warm; the tight place in her chest had loosened.

“It helps,” she said. “I feel like I fit.”

“You do,” Leah said. “The rest is practice.”

They carried the empty cups inside

In the study, Dante stood with his hands on the back of a chair. Daniel waited opposite, straight-backed, steady.

“I want your thoughts on Cordelia,” Dante said.

Daniel did not blink at the question. “She is strong. She stands when she could fold. She he keeps faith even when it costs. She is fair. She matters to you, so she matters to the pack.”

Dante watched his face. The warmth was present and contained; nothing edged past respect.

“You speak plain,” Dante said.

“It’s the only way not to trip,” Daniel answered. He drew a breath. “I’ll add one thing. Whatever the day brings, I will not harm you—by word, act, or silence. I stand with you. Even when I’m wrong, I stand behind your call.”

Something tight in Dante eased. He did not show it much. “You walked into a second fight after ending the first,” he said.

“I did,” Daniel answered. “It was a fool’s choice. But I only fight my conscience. I didn't say what they pinned on me.”

Dante nodded once. “Tell me how it was.”

And Daniel told him everything: about the whispers at dinner, about the strong wine he drank to drown his anger, about the knife that ended up on the floor by accident. He also did not omit the events for which he was accused. Dante listened to him as promised.

Silas appeared in the doorway, eyes unreadable. He said nothing.

Dante looked up. “We’re done,” he said.

Silas inclined his head as if he had heard only the last word.

Daniel nodded quietly and left the office, taking Silas with him. Dante stayed with the chair a moment, feeling the calm settle. A thin shadow still lived at the edge of his thoughts, the kind that catches on a glove, but for now, he chose not to feed it.

He left the study to find Cordelia.

Leah and Cordelia came in from the garden, cheeks pink, hair loosened by the run. Cordelia carried the stones as if they were prizes.

“How was your council of two?” she asked Dante, smiling.

“Inspiring,” he said. “You look livelier.”

“I feel better,” she said. “Leah wins races. I win stones.”

They shared a light noon meal and then each turned to small tasks. Leah checked the south shutters and set a note aside to oil them. Daniel ran crisp drills in the yard and corrected a young guard’s grip with patience. Dante walked the rooms and looked at hinges, latches, and the library ceiling mark they would fix when the weather allowed. Cordelia aired two rooms and straightened a short stack of books that had gone dusty. Work like that put thoughts in order.

The day thinned toward afternoon. The calm held.

Dante found Daniel again by the back door, wiping sweat from his neck after drills. “I checked your floors, and everything is fine there. You can rest.”

“Good,” Daniel said. He hesitated. “Thank you.” He did not explain what he meant. Dante understood anyway.

From the windows of the house, it was shown how Cordelia and Leah walked in the garden once more. They named the beds they would plant when warm days came and argued, laughing, over whether thyme belonged near the path or farther in. Cordelia felt, for the first time since she had crossed the gate, that she could stand in these rooms and not break.

Inside, Dante watched them pass the window and felt the steadiness return. The conversation with Daniel was important. The shadow in his mind stepped back a little. He could make it starve if he fed the right things instead: clear rules, clean listening, time with his mate that was not stolen by doubt.

Silas crossed the hall and glanced into the study he had left. A plan began to take shape—One more pinch, placed well, would do.

Evening would come soon. Tea kept hot. For now, the estate held simple. Leah nudged Cordelia with her shoulder as they reentered. “Tomorrow we race again.”

“Tomorrow,” Cordelia said, smiling.

Dante offered Cordelia his arm. She took it. The day had not solved every knot, but it had loosened some. He chose to notice that. The rest could wait. Silas noted the touch. The plan could start small. He would let the house do the rest.