Connections

Stefan

I lose myself in the kiss, and while I want to damn Ghost to hell for this, I can’t because it’s her. Something inside of me is screaming that it was Harlyn that night.

Her mouth feels exactly the same, she tastes the same, and I swear the small moan that escaped her mouth instantly sounded like that night.

My body is pushed back slightly, and her eyes are on fire with rage. Her hand swings, and for some reason, I don’t try to move out of the way.

As the sting of her punch flows through my jaw, I stand there, stunned, caught in the emotions that sweep over me like a storm.

Harlyn—no, it couldn’t be her. But the familiarity of her touch and the taste of her lips ignite a primal instinct within me that defies all logic and reason.

Her eyes blaze with fiery rage, yet beneath the anger, I glimpse a flicker of fear—a fear of the repercussions of hitting the king. At that moment, I couldn’t blame her for hitting me. I had overstepped my bounds and crossed a line that should never have been crossed. I deserved her hitting me in many ways.

“You’re the king! You’re engaged to marry a princess, and you kiss me?” Her words echo around us. I didn’t mean to. It was Ghost. “This is over, Stefan! Stay away from me!” She called me Stefan, and I almost laughed. As she turns and storms away, I am left standing here, considering the implications of what I have done.

How could it have been Harlyn that night? The very thought sends a chill down my spine, a burning sense of doubt that claws at my mind. Had Jacub honestly chosen her, knowing who she was? Or was Ghost merely fixated on finding connections where none existed?

As I wrestle with these unsettling thoughts, a sense of unease settles over me, too heavy to shift. Ghost—usually under my control—has acted of his own accord. I was blind to them until it was too late. And now, I am left to deal with the consequences of his impulsive behaviour.

But amidst the chaos of my own feelings, one thing remains clear: I have betrayed the trust placed in me as king. And no amount of rationalisation can rid me of that truth.

I should find her and ease her fears over the consequences of punching me. At least, I can do that to try to fix the situation I caused.

“Really, I saw you!” Diandra’s shrill voice follows me as I move around the manor like an unwelcome echo, each word a reminder of the obligations and expectations that bind me to her. Ones I wish I had never been burdened with.

“You kissed her, I saw,” she accuses. Her footsteps quicken as she tries to catch up with me.

“I did,” I reply evenly. I refuse to meet her gaze as I continue walking forward. My thoughts are consumed by the urgent need to find Harlyn and fix the mess I have created. I don’t want her worried about the consequences of hitting me.

“You did? Is that all you can say?” Diandra’s voice rises with her frustration. Still, I pay little attention to her as I quicken my steps, wanting to find Harlyn quickly.

“Exactly. I’m the king and don’t need to explain anything to you. This isn’t a real marriage. You know that,” I say bluntly. My tone lacked the charm I would usually have.

Diandra is one situation that I caused. I grew up knowing I needed to marry soon after becoming King. My parents were happy with me finding my mate. I was just hoping for a second chance after rejecting Harlyn.

As I reach the female side of the manor, I spare Diandra a fleeting glance, her expression a mask of fury and hurt. And yet, I feel no remorse for my words at that moment. My priorities now don’t lie with her but elsewhere—with the woman whose punch has shattered the facade of my carefully constructed world, revealing the raw truth beneath. Harlyn.

As I step into a room I see Lucy.

“Lucy, where is Harlyn? I need to speak with her,” I ask.

“Speak to her again? What could be so important you need to speak to her again?” Lucy asks. Her expression is guarded. I get she is worried, but there’s no need. I don't plan to hurt Harlyn.

“You know it isn’t right to answer a question with another. Where is Harlyn?” I press. My voice takes on a more authoritative tone, the alpha in me asserting itself.

“She took a phone call; her alpha fiancé called her,” Lucy taunts. Her reluctance to tell me where she is, however, irates me.

“Where is she?” I demand, my patience wearing thin as I push for a direct answer.

“She went that way,” Lucy finally relents, gesturing towards a nearby door. Without hesitation, I stride towards it, my heart pounding with urgency.

When I enter the room, I find it empty. I'm disappointed but unwilling to let this go, I retreat back into the hall, determined to continue my search.

“Your Majesty,” a voice interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to see Earl Harold approaching me with a sense of purpose.

“Earl Harold, how are you?” I greet him with forced politeness, my mind still preoccupied with thoughts of Harlyn’s whereabouts.

“I’m well, Your Majesty. Your return to the palace is required,” he informs me. His tone tells me there are issues.

“My return? What has happened?” I inquire, a sense of worry settling over me. I guess my quest to find Harlyn has to come to an end.

I begin to make my way to the palace doors. Despite my burning desire to find Harlyn and set things right, I can’t avoid things. So, for now, I will return to doing what my duty requires, and then I will find her.

I glance at the Earl. Why would he refuse to tell us what Harlyn did that led to her exile? My mind considers it as I listen to him speaking about the issue that has me having to return to the palace.

As I step into the room, my father’s presence welcomes me. His stern expression betrays little of the emotions I know are building beneath the surface.

“Give us a moment, please,” I request. My voice is firm yet tinged with an underlying urgency. I guide my father into a quiet corner, away from prying eyes and ears, bracing myself for the conversation that I repeat constantly.

“Jacub,” I begin, my words full of stress as I broach the topic that has tortured me for years. But my father’s response is swift and dismissive, his eyes rolling in exasperation at the mention of the name. I get that he thinks I am overreacting and need to let go, but I can’t.

“Back to this? It has been like eight years,” he replies. His annoyance is visible as he waves his hand at my inquiries. Yet I continue, determined to uncover the truth.

“I just need to know,” I press. “Would Jacub have put a woman in that room we did know?” I fear right now that he did, as a way to try to cause a war between us and the Earl.

“I cannot answer,” he admits. He looks annoyed at himself for his lack of answers.

My father’s response offers little comfort and no answers. “You left him in the wasteland because of your anger at him. Only he has the answers. I doubt he survived out there. Everything he said that night was a lie.”

His words don't ease me, I know I messed up. This is the consequence of my own actions, I was angry and dumped in. I can't shake the feeling, however, that there was more to his plan. I accept my actions were wrong and reckless, but I was hurt that he would put me in a position where I had possibly raped someone.

“What if he had a plan?” I ask. The worry building within me more. “What if it was someone we knew?” I can’t just let this go.

“You need to let this go,” he insists. His tone is heavy with resignation. Guilt sends even the strongest of men crazy,” he says, looking at me like I am one of those men. I feel like am one of those men.

Yet letting go is a luxury I cannot afford, not when the events of that night always loom over me like a dark cloud. They cast doubt upon every part of my existence. I know that the quest for answers will consume me until the bitter end.

I will find answers.

“You need to speak to the Earl and sort this issue of the intruders.” Father walks away, and I go to the Earl to discuss the current problems.