The arena floor was a haze of dust and blood, but Kharos could only focus on the headache thumping behind his eyes. Below, Roxy was supposed to be fighting a seasoned gladiator. Instead, the human was skipping through the dirt, blowing kisses toward the royal box and shouting, "Did you see that, Kharos? I’m like a ninja!" Kharos gripped the stone railing until it cracked. He had sponsored this human slave for a single purpose: a mission to root out a traitor. But the universe had played a cruel joke. The moment their skin touched, the Soul-Mark had flared on Kharos’s chest. Roxy was his mate—a loud, childish, clinging human who treated a deadly world like a playground. Throughout their mission, Roxy was a constant shadow. He would tug on Kharos’s heavy velvet robes, ramble about "fast food" and "movies," and insist on hugging Kharos after every battle. "We’re mates, grumpy pants! You’re stuck with me," Roxy would chirp, oblivious to the Prince's icy stares. The second the traitor was executed, Kharos’s patience snapped. They stood in the quiet of the palace, the mission finally over. Roxy reached out to poke Kharos’s cheek, grinning wide. "So, do we get a vacation now? Maybe a honeymoon?" Kharos grabbed Roxy’s wrist, his grip bruising. "There is no 'we.' The mission is done, and so is this farce." Roxy’s smile faltered. "But the mark—" "The mark is a biological mistake," Kharos hissed, his voice like a serrated blade. "I do not want a mate. Especially not a human who acts like a frantic animal. I’ve ordered your transfer to a neutral territory. You leave tonight. Do not come back." He watched the light die in Roxy’s eyes, replaced by a hollow shock. For the first time, Roxy didn't argue. He just let go of Kharos’s sleeve and stepped back, his hands trembling. The silence Kharos craved lasted only hours. A report arrived that the transport carriage had been ambushed by a pack of rogue werewolves. Kharos arrived at the scene in a blur of shadow and violence. He found the carriage shredded and Roxy being dragged into the dark. By the time Kharos tore the pack apart, he was drenched in blood. He reached into the brush to pull Roxy out, expecting the human to sob and cling to his neck as usual. Instead, Roxy flinched. He crawled away from Kharos’s hand, his face pale and streaked with dirt. "I’m sorry," Roxy whispered, his voice small and broken. "I’m going. I’ll be quiet. Just... don't touch me." Back at the estate, Roxy became a ghost. The colorful tunics were gone, replaced by drab greys. He no longer skipped; he walked with his head down, hugging the walls to stay out of the way. Kharos paced his study, the silence of the palace now feeling like a tomb. He walked into the dining hall and slammed a box of sweets onto the table. "Eat these. You used to scream for these." Roxy didn't look up. He didn't reach for the box. "Thank you, sir. I’ll take them to my room so I don't bother you." "Talk to me," Kharos commanded, his frustration turning into a desperate, heavy pressure in his chest. "Tell me one of those annoying stories about your world. Ask me for a hug. Do something." Roxy finally looked up, and the vacancy in his eyes made Kharos’s heart stutter. "I’m trying to be better, Kharos. I’m trying to be what you wanted. I'm staying quiet. I'm staying away." The realization hit Kharos like a physical blow. He had hated the noise, the clinging, and the childishness because they forced him to feel something. Now, he had exactly what he asked for: a silent, obedient mate who was terrified of his own shadow. Driven by a sudden need to see a spark—any spark—Kharos moved into Roxy’s personal space, looming over him. Usually, Roxy would have jumped into his arms. Now, the human simply went limp, his eyes staring at the floor, waiting for the Prince to tell him to disappear again. Kharos reached out to touch Roxy's hair, but the human's sharp, panicked intake of breath made him stop. He hadn't just rejected a mate; he had broken a soul.