Small Victories
Elira- 6 months after the twins birth
The weight of my sons was a comfort, even as it pulled on my shoulders and hips. Caden rested in the carrier against my chest, his tiny breaths warming the fabric of my blouse, while Cylas was nestled against my back, a small warmth pressed close between the sturdy straps that bound us together. Six months had passed since my life had shifted into something that still felt foreign to me—something both fragile and immense—and yet, carrying them like this made me feel anchored.
Beside me, Seleric walked with his school bag bouncing against his side, his blond hair catching in the morning light like spun gold. His emerald eyes flicked up at me with the same mixture of stubbornness and obedience that always made me want to laugh and sigh at the same time.
“Don’t forget you have training after school,” I reminded softly, reaching down to fix the strap of his bag.
He nodded, too mature for his nine years, lips pressing together with determination. “I remember, Mother.”
The way he said it—firm, certain—stirred both pride and sadness inside me. He had started to show signs of Caelan's resolve, though I wish he could be the carefree boy he was just a little longer. I bent down as best as I could with the babies strapped against me and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“Go on then,” I said with a small smile.
He returned it, faint but there, before turning to join the line of other children heading into the school building. I stood there until the doors closed, watching until he disappeared from sight, before finally turning back toward the castle.
The halls were quiet at this hour, the air filled with the faint scent of sandalwood and parchment. My steps were careful, my body swaying slightly under the twin weights of Caden and Cylas, who had both begun to stir. By the time I reached Caelan’s office, Caden was awake, fussing faintly, and Cylas shifted against my back, murmuring in his tiny baby way.
Before I could even knock, Caelan’s voice carried through the thick door.
“Come in, Elira.”
A pleasant shiver ran through me at the way he always seemed to know when I was there. Pushing the door open, I stepped inside and found him bent over paperwork at his desk. The broad expanse of his shoulders seemed tense, his golden aura dim but steady, the weight of his crown—even without it physically resting on him—visible in every line of his body.
Beside him, in a wheelchair pulled close to the desk, was Kade. His face was set in a quiet, unreadable expression, but I saw the flicker in his eyes when he noticed me. The stack of papers between him and Caelan spoke of burdens I wasn’t privy to, the kind that gnawed at them in silence.
Caelan looked up the moment I entered, his eyes softening. He stood at once, leaving the paperwork behind, and crossed to me with the kind of command that still made my heart stutter. He pressed a kiss against my lips, firm and grounding.
“How was Seleric’s morning?” he asked, lowering his gaze to the carrier with our twins. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”
“It’s all right,” I whispered, brushing my hand along his arm. “I know this takes precedence.”
He nodded, guilt lingering in his eyes before he leaned down to unbuckle Cylas from the back of the carrier. I shifted, freeing Caden from the front, and made my way toward the chairs beside Kade. My movements were careful, balancing baby and fabric until Caden was nestled securely in my arms.
Kade’s lips curved faintly, a small smile that carried more effort than ease. His dark hair fell forward as he dipped his head.
“How’s rehab and physical therapy going?” I asked gently as I sat beside him.
His hands clenched against the wheels of the chair, knuckles whitening. “I took a step,” he said flatly. “Two days ago.”
The words hit me like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. My eyes widened, and a rush of joy filled my chest. “Kade, that’s amazing! Even the doctor said it could be years before you moved again on your own.”
But he didn’t answer, his jaw tightening instead.
I leaned toward him, searching his expression. “Come on, Kade. We need to celebrate the small victories. This matters.”
His head snapped toward me, eyes dark with sudden anger. “Small wins?” His voice cracked, low and sharp. “I used to be able to run across this entire court in two days’ time, Elira. Now I can barely take a single step without my legs betraying me!”
The silence that followed was heavy, raw. My heart clenched for him, for the weight of what he had lost.
Before I could speak again, Caelan’s voice cut through the room, sharp with authority.
“Watch how you speak to my mate, Kade. You may be her guardian, but she is still the Queen Luna, and you will show her respect.”
Kade’s gaze dropped to the floor, fury and grief swirling in his silence.
I tightened my arms around Caden, the baby’s soft coo the only sound between us, and wondered how to keep both men from breaking further under the lives fate had forced upon them.
Kade’s silence stretched until it pressed against the walls of the office. His jaw worked, his hands flexing against the arms of the chair, but no words came.
I drew in a slow breath, weighing whether to push. Finally, I asked softly, “Have you tried shifting yet?”
His head jerked up, eyes flashing. “No.” The word was clipped, brittle. “I don’t need to embarrass myself more than I already have. Plus, I haven't been cleared to try yet.”
I narrowed my gaze. “That’s not what the doctor said.”
His lips pressed thin, and I saw the stubbornness rise up like a wall.
“When I took the boys for their checkup,” I continued, ignoring the tension thickening in the air, “I asked about you. Well... more like I forced him to tell me. He told me he suggested shifting a month ago. He said it was important—not just for your body, but for your wolf. To know how both of you are healing.”
Kade stared at the floor, silent.
The weight of my son in my arms grounded me. I rose from my chair, carrying Caden to him. He stiffened when I lowered the baby toward him.
“Take him,” I said firmly.
Kade shook his head, his voice rough. “No. Elira, don’t—just take him back.”
I placed Caden carefully into his arms anyway. “No. Look at him, Kade.” My tone left no room for argument.
He hesitated, as if holding a child was somehow more impossible than the chair beneath him. But eventually his gaze fell to Caden’s round face, those bright green eyes blinking up at him with quiet wonder.
“Look at him,” I repeated, my voice softening. “The boy who carries half your name. He needs you. Both of them do,” I placed my hand on his shoulder. "So do I."
His arms tightened slightly, almost involuntarily, around the baby. But his words came out harsh, breaking. “They don’t need me. None of you do. I’m not even capable of walking. How the hell can I protect anyone?”
The silence that followed was thick and aching.
I turned my head toward Caelan, who was bottle-feeding Cylas now. His eyes met mine, and the sorrow there cut deeper than any blade. For Kade to believe he was worthless—when he had been our shield, our brother, our court’s heart—was a grief I couldn’t bear.
“That’s it,” I said suddenly, my voice steeled with resolve.
Kade’s head snapped up, startled.
I crossed the room, plucked Caden from his arms, and carried him back to Caelan. He blinked at me, holding Cylas in one arm he set down the bottle, as I pressed Caden into the other. Both boys were secure in their father’s embrace before he could protest.
“Elira—” Kade began, but I cut him off.
“No. We are going outside.” My gaze burned into Kade’s. “And you are shifting. Enough feeling sorry for yourself.”
Caelan’s brows furrowed, glancing between us, clearly torn. Left in his office holding both our sons, he looked utterly bewildered as I wheeled Kade out before he could stop me.
“Don’t do this,” Kade muttered, dragging his hands against the wheels as though digging his heels into stone. “Elira, I said no!”
“You could stop me if you shifted,” I said evenly, my grip strong as I pushed him through the corridors.
Frustration rolled off him in waves. “Damn it, Elira!”
I didn’t slow. “You’re angry? Good. Use it.”
***
We made it out of the castle, down the paths that cut through the gardens, until the trees swallowed us whole. The forest air was crisp, laced with pine and damp earth. I didn’t stop until we reached a clearing, the canopy breaking above us to spill silver light across the grass.
I parked the chair in the center and stepped back, my arms crossed. “Here. This is where we stay. Until you shift.”
His chest heaved, his eyes dark as storm clouds. “You don’t understand,” he growled.
“There’s no one around,” I pressed. “If something goes wrong, no one will know but me. But if it goes right—” I leaned forward, holding his gaze. “—then we’ll know your wolf still fights with you. That he hasn’t given up, even if you think you have.”
He gritted his teeth, fury and fear warring across his face. But underneath it all, I saw the spark—the same one that had carried him across battlefields, the same one that had sworn loyalty to Caelan and to me.
And I refused to let him allow it to die.
***
The woods grew quiet around us, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional cry of a distant bird. I stayed standing, arms folded, my gaze fixed on him, while he sat in his chair like a stone figure refusing to break. Minutes stretched into long, aching strands of silence.
The sun shifted, shadows crawling across the clearing. I didn’t speak. I wouldn’t.
Finally, after nearly an hour of stillness, his voice broke through, low and gritted.
“Fine.”
My breath hitched as he braced his hands against the armrests and began to push himself up. Every instinct in me screamed to rush forward, to steady him, to catch him if he fell. But I forced myself to stay rooted. Kade would never forgive me for treating him like glass.
His body trembled with effort as he managed to rise, swaying but upright. He looked at me, sweat beading across his brow, and managed a crooked smirk.
“I’m going to need new clothes,” he muttered. “Getting undressed by myself is… difficult. And I don’t need Caelan killing me for letting you help me get naked.”
A laugh bubbled from my lips, unexpected and light. “Fair enough.”
He took a deep breath, shoulders stiffening as he closed his eyes. I saw the strain ripple through him as he reached for the part of himself, he had abandoned for too long. For six months he had locked that bond away, refusing to face it. Now, as he pulled, I could almost feel the static in the air, the crackle of his wolf being summoned back to the surface.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t move. I let him fight in silence.
Then it happened.
His body shuddered, his form bending and reshaping in jerks and waves. Bones cracked, muscles shifted, and with a guttural sound that was both pain and release, his wolf emerged at last.
A massive dark-furred wolf with eyes that mirrored his own fury and despair, lie on his belly in front of me. His chest heaved as he lay there, refusing to move, his head lowered like a defeated soldier.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze to me. Those eyes—haunted, weary—met mine, and a soft whine slipped from his throat.
I crossed the clearing, my steps unhurried, and sank to my knees beside him. My hand slid gently over his head, fingers sinking into his thick fur. “You did it,” I whispered.
His ears flicked back, and I could almost hear the bitterness in his silence.
“Are you ready to try standing?” I asked softly.
He gave a sharp exhale through his nose, almost like a scoff, frustration clear in the sound. But beneath it was agreement—the acknowledgment that he had to try.
I pulled my hand back and let him be. He closed his eyes, gathering himself, and then with a tremor that shook his whole body, he pushed upward. Slowly, shakily, he found his paws.
For a moment, I didn’t breathe.
Then, he was up—on all fours, steady in a way his human body had not been in months.
I stayed silent, my lips trembling as I fought tears. This moment was his.
Kade’s wolf took one tentative step, then another, and then, with a sudden realization, his head jerked up. His body stilled as it dawned on him. The anatomy of his wolf was different. The legs that had betrayed his human form carried his wolf just fine. He wasn’t broken here.
A howl burst from his chest, joyous and raw, before he leapt forward. My tears spilled as I watched him move—first walking, then jogging, then running in wild, sharp turns. His body stretched with each bound, his paws tearing up the earth, his tail whipping behind him. He skidded and spun, jumping like a pup, alive in a way I hadn’t seen since before the accident.
Laughter broke from me, shaking with relief. My vision blurred as tears streaked my cheeks. My friend—my brother—was alive again.
I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth as I whispered to myself, “Thank you, Selene…”
