Slowly Killing His Queen Luna: Banished

Elira

The world blurred around me, nothing but trees and shadow, nothing but the thunder of my paws hammering the earth. My chest burned, my lungs seared, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. The betrayal carved through me deeper than any claw, deeper than any whip or blade I had ever endured. Every stride was agony, every breath ragged.

A whimper escaped me, broken and pitiful, but it wasn’t enough. My wolf drove us harder, desperate to outrun the pain clawing at our insides. Branches slashed across my face, stones cut into the pads of my paws, but I didn’t slow. I ran as if the forest itself were chasing me, as if the sound of his voice — Caelan’s voice damning me before our people — were still at my heels.

Hours passed. I don’t know how many. My body was trembling, sides heaving, fur soaked with sweat and dew. Still, I ran.

Until the scent of smoke, iron, and too many bodies hit me all at once.

The forest broke open, giving way to a stretch of open land and, beyond it, a structure of wood and stone, rails gleaming beneath the moonlight. A train station. Lights swung gently from hooks, glowing against the foggy night, casting pools of yellow light across the platform.

I staggered to a halt at the edge of the trees, chest convulsing with each labored breath. My legs shook beneath me, my claws dug grooves into the earth. And then… it came.

The sound ripped from me without warning, raw and ragged, tearing through my throat until it burned. A howl — my howl — so drenched in sorrow it made even me flinch. It carried into the night, across the rails, through the quiet chatter of human voices, silencing them.

It wasn’t a call for help. It was a dirge. The death cry of a wolf betrayed.

The echo of my howl still hung in the night air, trembling like a wound torn open for the world to see. When my gaze flicked toward the station, I saw them—humans frozen mid-step, wide eyes glinting in the light. A mother pulled her child closer, a man set down the crate he carried, and whispers rippled through the crowd like uneasy waves.

They’d heard wolves before. But not like that. Not one so broken. Not one so full of grief it could split stone.

My stomach twisted. I turned away from the platform and padded deeper into the tree line, shadow swallowing me once more.

The shift came violently. My fur rippled, bones cracking, skin pulling and reforming until I was on my knees in the dirt, gasping, bare and trembling. My fingers clawed for the satchel strapped to me. Hands that shook so badly I could barely untie the cords. At last, I dragged out a shirt and trousers, fumbling to pull them on, desperate to feel covered, hidden, human again—at least on the surface.

That’s when I heard it.

The snap of a branch behind me. Sharp. Too close.

I spun, heart leaping into my throat, teeth clenched, every muscle braced to fight even though I was so spent I could barely stand.

And then he emerged.

The dark outline of a wolf moved through the trees, his fur catching silver light, his eyes burning like coals. In his jaws, he carried folded clothes, careful not to let them fall.

Kade.

My breath caught. Relief surged through me—and then I remembered. He was still the King’s Beta. Still Caelan’s man.

I stiffened, fists curling at my sides. “Go back,” I rasped, voice raw from the howl. “You’re not dragging me back there. Not alive anyway.”

Kade padded closer, slow, deliberate, before laying the bundle of clothes at my feet. His wolf’s eyes held something I didn’t expect—not command, not authority, but something that looked like sorrow.

The shift rippled through him next, fur receding, bones reshaping until he stood tall before me. He bent to scoop up the trousers, pulling them on without shame, his voice steady even as his gaze lingered on my trembling hands.

“I’m not here to drag you back,” he said, his tone edged with something fierce. “I left too.”

The words stunned me. I shook my head hard, stumbling back a step. “You can’t. You’re the King’s Beta. You swore an oath.”

“I broke it,” Kade said simply. He tugged his shirt over his shoulders, then met my eyes with a fire I hadn’t seen before. “I renounced my title. My loyalty isn’t to him anymore.”

My stomach twisted, my hands balling into fists. “Are you insane?!” My voice cracked as I took a step toward him, heat flaring in my chest. “You renounced your title—your life—for me? For what? To follow me into exile?!”

Kade didn’t flinch. He just watched me, calm in the face of my fury, his expression steady.

“Why, Kade? Why would you throw everything away?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Because I told you the day I brought you into the castle that I’d protect you. I meant it.” His voice was low, steady as stone. “I can’t explain it, Elira. I just feel this… overwhelming need to be loyal to you. To guard you. To stay at your side unless you tell me otherwise.”

My chest tightened, but anger still licked sharp through my veins.

“If you want to be alone, I’ll give you that,” he went on. “I can protect you from afar. But I won’t leave unless you order me to. I need to know you’re safe, Elira.”

A bitter laugh clawed its way out of me, harsh and broken. “Safe? Kade, how can you expect me to believe that? My own mate—my fated bond—stood before everyone and tossed me away like I was filth.” My voice dropped, sharp and shaking. “If even he couldn’t keep me safe, why should I believe anyone else can?”

For a long moment, Kade just held my gaze. He didn’t argue. Didn’t try to tell me I was wrong. He only nodded once, slow, the fire in his eyes dimming into something like understanding.

His attention flicked past me, toward the faint glow of the platform lanterns through the trees. “Where do you plan to go?” he asked softly.

I followed his gaze, my shoulders slumping. “I don’t know,” I admitted, the words tasting bitter. “I don’t even have money for the train.”

Kade reached into his jacket pocket without a word and pulled out a thick roll of bills. More money than I’d ever seen in my life. My brows shot up as he pressed it into my hand.

“There’s about a hundred thousand there. Enough to get by for a while.”

I stared at the bundle, fingers trembling. “How—” I swallowed. “How did you get this?”

His mouth curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Don’t ask. The less you know about that, the better.”

For once, I didn’t press. I just shoved the money into my satchel, the weight of it unfamiliar against my side.

“There’s a friend of mine,” Kade said after a pause. “An Alpha. He runs a pack on an island in the Southern Court. Far from here. Remote. Safer.”

I lifted my chin, the idea sparking something small, fragile in me. “An island,” I whispered. “That… actually sounds like a nice change.”

Kade bent, scooping my bag from where I’d dropped it earlier. His other hand extended toward me, steady and open, an unspoken promise.

I looked at it. At him. My chest constricted. And then I turned, walking past him toward the station without a word.

The sound of his boots followed after me, quiet and certain, as he fell into step behind.

Kade

The station pressed in around me with the smell of smoke, sweat, and human chatter. I stood in line at the counter, every nerve pulled taut, every instinct screaming to keep my eyes on her. Elira sat alone on the far bench, knees hugged to her chest, so small she looked like she might disappear into the shadows if I blinked too long.

When the clerk slid the tickets across the counter, I snatched them up, pressing cash into her palm before she could count. My hand clenched around the slips of paper like they were worth more than gold. In a way, they were. They were a way out.

Crossing the floor back to her, I forced my face calm, steady. She didn’t need my panic. She didn’t need to see me thinking about the dozen ways this could go wrong. She only needed to see that I had a plan.

“Here,” I said, holding the ticket out.

She took it carefully, her voice hoarse. “How long?”

“About a week,” I told her. I kept my tone even, but my gut twisted. A week was a long time to keep her safe by myself. Too long, with too many chances for eyes to find us.

She only nodded and tucked the ticket away, then rose. I fell into step beside her, scanning the crowd as we walked. The station felt wrong—too many strangers, too many shadows moving where they shouldn’t.

Every muscle in me itched, protective instincts spiking until I couldn’t stop myself. I slid my arm around her shoulders, pulling her in against me. A silent message to anyone watching: she wasn’t alone. She was under my protection.

But she shoved me off, sharp and quick. “Don’t.”

The word cut deeper than I expected. For a moment, I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t him, that I wouldn’t ever toss her aside like that bastard king had. But I swallowed it. It’s going to be a long time before she trusts anyone again, if ever. She deserved space, not more chains. So I just nodded and kept walking, my eyes sweeping the shadows, the crowd, the corners of the platform.

When the train screeched to a stop, we boarded. She slipped into a narrow seat by the window, curling up with her face pressed to the glass. I stood a long moment in the aisle, watching her reflection tremble, before I sat across from her.

Her shoulders shook. Quiet at first. Then harder.

“The least he could’ve done,” she whispered, voice cracking like glass, “was reject me.”

My jaw locked, fists curling on my knees. I wanted to tell her that she didn’t deserve to go through that kind of pain again. Worse even as they completed the bond, but I kept my mouth shut.

Because what she needed right now wasn’t my rage. It was silence. My watchful eyes. My promise that no matter how broken she felt, she wasn’t alone anymore.

***

The whistle screamed, metal grinding against metal as the train lurched into motion. The platform outside slid away, lights shrinking into pinpricks of gold swallowed by the dark behind us. I kept my eyes on her, curled against the window, her breath fogging the glass. She looked like a ghost of herself — fragile, shattered, barely clinging to the pieces that remained.

The words burned my tongue. I hadn’t wanted to tell her like this. But she deserved the truth.

“Elira,” I said low, leaning forward, elbows braced on my knees. “I think I know why he banished you.”

Her head lifted slowly, eyes rimmed red, lashes wet. “Do I want to know why?”

I drew a breath, the memory of that brittle parchment still heavy in my chest. “Because he found out about your son.”

Confusion flickered across her face. Then horror. She sat up straighter, shaking her head hard. “What? No. I’ve never—” Her voice cracked. “I’ve never had a son. I’ve never had a child.”

I met her eyes, steady, though my heart twisted. “I found a birth certificate, Elira. In his office. Your name was written on it. As the mother to an infant son.”

She froze. For a heartbeat, she didn’t even breathe. Then her gaze unfocused, glassy, like she was being dragged backward into herself.

Her lips parted in a soundless gasp. And then she was gone from me — lost in a memory that she took me through.

She was in her room again. Younger. Small, frail. She had been sick for quite a few months. Her body wracked with pain she didn’t understand. Her stomach burned, pressure coiling inside her, a desperate need to use the bathroom, to expel something. She screamed, cried, begged. No one came.

Her body took over. She bore down, following instincts she didn’t know she had. The pain tore through her, white-hot, until suddenly — release. The pressure was gone. Relief flooded her, her body sagging, weak, trembling.

And then… crying. Thin, desperate wails that made her heart seize.

Her vision swam. Her head fell back against the wood floor. Darkness rushed her, pulling her under before she could make sense of the sound unsure if it was coming from her or something else.

When she woke, her parents sat at her bedside, faces smooth, voices calm.

“Remember how we told you that you were very sick?” her mother said. “You’re better now. That’s why your stomach hurt. That’s why it grew so big. Remember all the throwing up and gurgling gas in your belly?”

Her father nodded firmly, eyes sharp in the shadows. “You were sick, Elira. Nothing more.”

Then they showed her a slip of paper. A certificate.

“We need you to sign this, Elira.” Her mother told her. Elira didn’t bother to ask what it was as she was still in shock after what she just went through, tears still pouring from her eyes.

Elira stared at the paper, at the names and words she couldn’t comprehend. Her chest constricted, grief piercing her though she couldn’t explain why. Tears spilled hot down her cheeks. She just wanted whatever she was going through to be over, and it was.

“Elira!”

Her eyes snapped back to me. Wide. Dazed. Shock written clear across her face.

“I—” her voice broke, trembling. “I don’t remember all of it but... Kade, I—” She covered her mouth with shaking fingers. “The only thing I remembered clearly was the pain...how could I forget that?!”

I leaned forward, keeping my voice steady, grounding. “We all process trauma differently. Some of it… our minds bury, just to keep us alive.” I held her gaze, steady and sure. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” I moved over next to her and she fell into my chest. I held her close.

Her tears spilled faster, silent but unrelenting, streaking down her cheeks as the train thundered into the night.