For now, all they could do was wait for the lab results. Nurses brought in a basin of cold water and began gently wiping down the children’s foreheads and bodies in an effort to reduce their dangerously high fevers.
Seeing her children like this—so small, so helpless—and no one able to tell what was wrong, Addison felt her heart tighten with unbearable pressure. Her mother stepped closer and wrapped her in a comforting hug, letting Addison lean on her shoulder. Addison’s eyes burned red with unshed tears, but she refused to cry.
If she broke down, who would her sons lean on? Who would be their strength?
She had to stay strong for them and for herself.
Wiping her eyes, Addison approached the table where the list of ingredients from the kitchen had been laid out. She carefully scanned the items, trying to jog her mory, replaying every mont of dinner in her mind. Had the twins eaten sothing unusual? Was there anything missing from the list?
She glanced at her mother. "Mother... when I was a child, did I have any allergies? Any dical issues? Maybe my sons inherited sothing from ," she asked softly, holding onto any thread that might help the doctors find answers.
Her mother thought for a mont, then gently shook her head. "No... You were as tough as a horse, Addie. Always running around the palace gardens like a little whirlwind. I still rember how you used to dress up as a boy just so you could sneak out easier—you said it was more comfortable to move in pants than skirts. You’d tie your hair into a bun and tuck it under your cap before vanishing. And when you started getting recognized too often, you roped Elric into using magic to change your hair and eye color."
She chuckled faintly at the mory. "No one could tell you apart from the regular street werewolves after that. That’s how you got away with so much—joining the Border Patrol Team, sneaking into patrol drills. You were unstoppable."
Addison couldn’t help but notice how much her children reminded her of the way her mother had described her as a child—energetic, spirited, always on the move. That thought led her to wonder if she might’ve unknowingly passed on so hidden health issue to them. But when her mother shook her head, saying Addison had been strong and healthy as a child, it left her with no further leads.
Feeling a sense of helplessness settle in, Addison went quiet. She didn’t want to distract the doctors with endless questions and risk interrupting their focus. She stood still, watching anxiously until her father leaned in and whispered beside her.
"You know what your twins inherited from you?"
His serious tone made Addison tense. Maybe he rembered sothing? She bit her lip nervously and looked up at him.
"They inherited being chatterboxes," the Alpha King said with a small grin, trying to lighten the mood.
Addison let out a breath of laughter, the tension in her chest easing just a little. He was right—worrying wouldn’t solve anything now. The doctors were doing all they could, and all they could do was wait and be there for the boys.
Just then, the Royal Healer arrived. He moved quietly, sitting on the edge of Aiden’s bed and placing a hand gently on the boy’s forehead. A soft glow surrounded his palm as he used his healing ability to help reduce Aiden’s fever, bringing it down to a safer 38 degrees.
When he finished, he moved to Kyle and did the sa. Although the doctors had already administered fever-reducing dicine, the boys were so young that only a small dose could be given. Everyone remained concerned, and so the healer’s gentle intervention was their best hope of keeping the twins’ temperatures down, avoiding the dangerous risk of brain damage from such high fevers.
Watching the healer work alongside the doctors, steadily trying to uncover the root cause of the twins’ fever, Addison felt herself finally relax, if only a little. She glanced at her father and let out a belated chuckle at his earlier joke, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. The Queen joined in with a soft laugh, and soon the three of them huddled together, offering Addison their quiet, steady support.
Across the room, Mila sat on the couch, silently observing the warm, unified display of their family. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t envious of Addison. That kind of familial harmony—of comfort and trust—was sothing Mila had never known. Her own family was the opposite of peaceful. It was a battlefield, a ho in na only, riddled with invisible landmines and veiled manipulations.
She couldn’t even stand being there for more than a few monts. The tension was suffocating, and worst of all, she couldn’t bear to watch her mother waste away under the effects of a decaying mate bond. A bond that should have been sacred—blessed by the Moon Goddess herself—was now a source of endless pain.
Her mother had been her father’s fated mate. They had marked and mated with each other, and for a ti, everything had seed perfect. But it hadn’t lasted.
Her father, unable—or unwilling—to control his lust, had strayed. He gave in to his impulses, letting his body dictate his life. Other won followed. Affairs. Pregnancies. Scandals. He treated his fated mate not as a gift, but as a limitation. A single tree in a forest, he refused to give up.
Maybe he was lost. Maybe he was going through so sort of identity crisis. Or maybe he was simply weak, seeking freedom in the shallowest ways possible, chasing pleasure while running from responsibility. A man drowning in wine and won, trying to convince himself it was freedom, when all he’d really done was abandon the one person fate had chosen for him.
It would also be a lie to say Mila didn’t hate her father.
How could she not?
He had made his own fated mate—his wife—suffer for years, parading woman after woman through their ho while his mate, her mother, was forced to endure it all. She had to hear their moans and groans through the thin walls, every sound like a knife twisting in her already fragile soul. And still, she stayed. She bore the pain, again and again, the backlash of the decaying mate bond nearly killing her each ti.
It didn’t feel like fate anymore. It felt like tornt.
Her mother hadn’t been treated like a partner—she had been treated like an enemy. An obstacle he was determined to punish for existing.
Over ti, her mother’s body weakened, slowly withering under the relentless emotional and spiritual damage. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, the illegitimate children started appearing. One after another. Proof of her father’s infidelity, paraded without sha.
And once it beca clear that Mila’s mother didn’t have much ti left—that the mate bond was killing her—they turned their attention to Mila.
She was the only legitimate heir. The only acknowledged daughter of the Alpha King’s brother.
Which made her a target.
All of them—her father’s other children, their ambitious mothers, the schers lurking in the shadows—they had their eyes on her now. Not out of love. Not out of respect. But because she was the last piece of the puzzle. The one with value. The one they wanted to claim, control, or destroy.
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