Who would’ve guessed? Fenrys Moonbeam—Ambassador of Terrasen, the infamous White Wolf of Doranelle—finding happiness. Real, soul-deep, heart-settling peace. He certainly hadn’t seen it coming. Not after the war. Not after the loss, the blood, the chains he’d broken free from the day Maeve was ended by his queen and friend.

Years had passed since then. The lands healed, cities rose again, and the people learned what peace actually meant. Fenrys, too, had spent those years rebuilding—traveling the continent in his polished role as Ambassador, shaking hands and making speeches, masking scars with charm and a wicked smile. But fate had a cruel, beautiful sense of humor.

He met her during one of those trips—another Ambassador, this time from King Dorian’s court. Also Fae. Also powerful. And at first? He thought she was a sharp-tongued nightmare. Stubborn, infuriating, impossible to ignore. But when that mating bond snapped into place?

Fenrys was brought to his knees.

He had spent decades thinking the hole in his chest belonged to Connall, his twin, his other half. But he’d been wrong. So wrong. Because this woman—gods, this woman—filled every dark corner of his soul with her fire, her cunning, and the way she saw him beneath the legend.

Now? Now they spent most days in her quiet little cottage tucked in the woods, far from court and duty. She claimed it had always been hers, a place untouched by war. And today, like many before, Fenrys lay in his massive white wolf form, head resting heavy in her lap while the sun spilled golden across the earth.

Her fingers threaded through his fur gently, and he swore he could melt into her.

This—this quiet, this warmth, this her—was what he’d spent a century searching for.

He let out a soft canine whine when her fingers found the spot behind his ear. She laughed, soft and low, and scratched him there again.

And for the first time in forever, Fenrys had everything he’d ever needed.