Fated Eclipse: The Illegitimate Princess And Her Alpha Suitors

Chapter 44: Of Wolves Beneath Noble Skies

The courtyard stretched wide and pale beneath the now afternoon light, its stone floor still holding the faint warmth of the sun. Servants passed now and again in quiet haste, their movements careful and respectful as they attended to their duties within the palace grounds.

Yet two men walked through the open space with a purpose entirely different from those around them.

Lord Thorncrest strode forward with the relaxed confidence of a man accustomed to every place bending to his presence.

Beside him walked Lord Hawthorne, whose attention seemed far less dignified.

The earl looked everywhere at once.

His gaze moved eagerly across the courtyards, the gardens beyond, the low hedges, the outer walls, and every open path that might possibly lead somewhere wide enough to run.

”Surely there must be a suitable place somewhere within these grounds,” Hawthorne muttered, scanning the distance with growing anticipation.

Thorncrest did not answer immediately.

While Hawthorne searched with the enthusiasm of a hound scenting prey, the duke walked in thoughtful silence.

His hands rested calmly behind his back as he moved.

Yet his mind was nowhere near the courtyard.

It lingered elsewhere.

With a servant girl.

The thought returned with a persistence that somehow irritated him.

There was no mistaking it.

He knew that scent. He could never forget it.

Not after the previous night.

He could still remember the instant he had moved.

The swift pull.

The sudden weight in his arms.

The soft warmth of a body pressed against him as he pulled her away from danger. And the way she had refused to give him a kiss for his job well done.

But more than anything, he remembered the scent.

It had enveloped his senses in a way few things ever had. It was warm, soft, and inviting.

It had clung to him long after she had left.

And now...

Now he had encountered it again.

In the palace stables of all places.

His eyes narrowed slightly as the memory sharpened further.

She had tried to change her voice.

He was certain of it.

And she had also lied about her illness. Hawthorne may have been a fool to believe it, but he wasn’t one. He may be a jokester, but he was no fool.

But even through that attempt, he had recognized the sound beneath it.

The faint stammer.

She remembered him.

Of that he was certain.

Why else would she attempt to disguise her voice?

Yet she had not expected him to recognize her.

Perhaps she believed the hood of her cloak had hidden her well. And it did, though. He did not know exactly what she looked like, but he knew her voice and her scent.

Both together were like a drug he was very close to getting addicted to, and he had only met her twice.

Each word she forced out seemed to send a strange, subtle ripple through his senses.

It was... distracting.

Dangerously so.

Which was deeply inconvenient.

After all, he had come to the palace for an entirely different reason. He had come for the princess, the moon of the empire.

But he was getting distracted by a mere servant girl he had only come across twice.

Yet no matter how firmly he tried to dismiss the thought, it returned. Again and again and again.

The duke exhaled slowly through his nose.

”Your Grace.”

Hawthorne’s voice broke into his thoughts.

Thorncrest looked up and only then realized that they had reached a wide expanse of open land.

Tall grasses swayed gently in the wind, their pale green blades catching the sunlight like waves upon the sea.

The field stretched wide and unobstructed. There were no trees or walls.

No narrow pathways.

Just open earth and sky.

A perfect place for wolves.

Hawthorne’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

”Do you see it?” he asked eagerly, gesturing toward the wide land.

Thorncrest chuckled softly.

”Yes,” he said. ”I see it.”

The earl wasted no time.

He immediately began removing his coat.

Buttons came undone with impatient speed as he shrugged the garment off his shoulders.

Thorncrest raised a brow.

”You truly do not care if someone happens to witness this display?” he asked mildly.

Hawthorne pulled off his gloves.

”I do not,” he said cheerfully.

He bent down to remove his shoes.

”I have spent far too long walking like a civilized gentleman today.”

One shoe dropped onto the grass.

”I would very much prefer to run like the wolf I am.”

The second shoe joined the first.

Hawthorne gestured broadly toward the field.

”Look at it, Your Grace.”

The tall grasses rippled beneath the breeze.

The land stretched wide and inviting beneath the open sky.

”Surely even you cannot resist that,” Hawthorne added.

Thorncrest nodded. ”I really cannot.”

He began loosening the buttons of his own coat.

Hawthorne had already shed most of his garments by the time Thorncrest finished removing his boots.

The earl stepped into the grass barefoot.

Then—

His body shifted.

The transformation came swiftly.

Muscles rippled beneath skin as bones reshaped themselves with practiced ease.

Within seconds, the man was gone.

In his place stood a wolf. It was large and looked powerful.

His fur was light brown—almost golden where the sunlight touched it.

The color mirrored the shade of Hawthorne’s hair.

His eyes were sharp and bright. Deep brown in colour and full of life.

The wolf shook once, his thick fur rippling.

Then he looked back at Thorncrest. His tail swished eagerly. And without another moment of hesitation—he ran into the vast open space.

Tall blades bent beneath his paws as he tore through the open field.

Thorncrest too finished removing the last of his clothing and stepped into the grass.

For a moment he simply stood there.

The wind moved through the field.

The sky stretched wide above.

The palace buildings seemed distant from where they were too.

Then Thorncrest stretched his shoulders.

His body shifted.

The transformation came smoothly, as natural to him as breathing.

Bones lengthened and muscles expanded.

Fur rippled across newly formed limbs.

Where the duke had stood now stood a wolf of similar height to Hawthorne. His fur was darker than Hawthorne’s.

A deep, rich brown that bordered almost on black in the shadowed places.

His eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence.

The wolf lifted his head slightly, testing the air. His ears flicked, and then he surged forward.

Powerful legs carried him across the open land as he joined Hawthorne in the endless stretch of grass.

All thoughts of the servant girl saved for later.

But the noblemen failed to realize that perhaps their belongings should not have been left unwatched, for they were expensive, and servants in the palace needed money after all.