Anastasia survives the night. Barely.

The healers move her into the old royal infirmary just before dawn. Moonroot smoke fills the room, and silver candles burn low beside the bed while snow rattles softly against the windows.

Three healers stand around her for hours. Nothing helps.

The rejection backlash keeps tearing through her body in waves. Every few minutes, blood rises into her throat again. Every few minutes, the silver fractures beneath her skin spread farther.

By sunrise, Anastasia lies still beneath heavy blankets, staring at the ceiling beams above her. Too quiet. Too empty.

A healer presses another tonic into her shaking hands. "Try again."

Anastasia drinks automatically. The liquid tastes like ash. Nothing tastes right now.

An older healer reaches carefully toward her wrist. "Shift for once."

The room goes silent. Anastasia closes her eyes.

Usually the transformation comes instantly. Breath, bone, wolf—natural as a heartbeat.

Now—nothing.

Not resistance. Not pain. Just nothing.

The emptiness terrifies the room more than screaming would. One healer whispers, "Moon Goddess…"

Anastasia tries again. Still nothing. Her wolf does not answer. Not even a flicker.

The bond rejection drives her wolf so deep into silence that Anastasia cannot feel her anymore. It feels like someone rips half her soul out and leaves the body behind.

A younger healer steps backward slowly. "She's gone..."

The older healer snaps, "Enough." But his hands shake too.

Anastasia opens her eyes again. Cold morning light spills across the blankets. She stares at her own fingers for a long moment; they do not feel connected to her body anymore.

Everything feels far away now. Muted. Like she watches herself from underwater.

----

The door opens quietly. Her father's old Beta enters first.

Marcus Hale. Gray-haired, with a thick scar across his jaw. He is one of the few men who still bows his head respectfully toward her after the coronation disaster.

He dismisses the healers with one look. They leave quickly; nobody wants to stay near mate-bond backlash longer than necessary.

Marcus approaches the bed slowly. "You're alive."

Anastasia says nothing.

Marcus studies her face carefully, then the silver fractures creeping beneath her throat. His expression darkens.

"The king asks for updates every hour."

That finally gets a reaction. Not much—just a tiny movement in her eyes. Marcus notices anyway.

"He hasn't slept."

Anastasia turns her face toward the window. Snow falls harder outside now.

"He doesn't need to do that.."

Her voice barely sounds human anymore. Rough. Hollow.

Marcus exhales quietly. "Anastasia…"

"He rejects me in front of the entire territory." Her gaze stays fixed outside. "Now he wants reports?"

Marcus has no answer for that.

Across the territory, Kaelen destroys another room.

The council chamber doors slam open hard enough to crack stone. Several guards move aside instantly as Kaelen storms inside, still wearing yesterday's black ceremonial clothes stained with Anastasia's blood.

His wolf has not calmed once since the rejection. Not once.

It no longer obeys him correctly.

A councilman rises carefully. "Your Majesty—"

Kaelen suddenly grabs the edge of the stone war table and flips it across the room. The impact explodes like thunder, scattering maps everywhere.

Nobody speaks. Kaelen braces both hands against the wall, breathing hard.

The bond still pulses faintly inside him—damaged, bleeding, wrong.

And underneath it—crying.

Soft at first. Barely audible. Now constant.

Ghostlike sobbing echoes through the back of his skull every few minutes. It is not real, not exactly, but a series of bond echoes. His wolf hears Anastasia suffering through the broken connection, and Kaelen cannot make it stop.

He closes his eyes briefly. The crying returns immediately, small, broken, and close enough to touch.

His wolf surges violently. GO TO HER.

The command slams through his body hard enough to make him stagger. Kaelen bares his teeth. "No."

The wolf attacks him instantly. Pain detonates behind his ribs as claws rake across him from the inside.

Kaelen drops to one knee. Several guards lurch forward instinctively.

"Alpha—"

"DON'T."

The roar shakes the chamber. Kaelen grips his own chest hard enough to bruise.

His wolf keeps thrashing inside him now—feral, hostile. Every instinct in the animal turns against him after the rejection. Food tastes rotten. Sleep lasts minutes at most. His temper fractures faster every hour.

And now, the wolf refuses submission entirely.

A low growl vibrates through Kaelen's throat again. It is not aimed at anyone in the room, but at himself.

The council members exchange uneasy looks. They have never seen an Alpha fight his own wolf before. Not like this.

Kaelen rises unsteadily. One of the elders speaks carefully. "The backlash may stabilize if you reclaim the bond."

Kaelen's eyes snap toward him instantly. Silver flashes violently through his pupils, and the room temperature drops.

The elder pales but continues anyway. "You reject a divinely formed mate during coronation rites. The wolf considers it betrayal."

Kaelen laughs once—short, ugly. "Betrayal?"

Another wave of phantom crying slides through the bond. Kaelen grips the edge of the broken wall beside him, his knuckles splitting open instantly.

The sound inside his head keeps going. Crying in empty hallways. Crying behind closed doors. Crying somewhere far enough away that he cannot reach it. His wolf nearly tears itself apart trying to get to her.

Kaelen suddenly snarls under his breath. "Stop crying."

The room falls dead silent. The elders stare at him carefully now—not with respect anymore, but with concern.

Kaelen drags one hand down his face roughly. He can still smell Anastasia's blood, still feel her collapsing in his arms. Something about that memory keeps making his stomach turn.

His wolf speaks for the first time since the rejection. Not words, but hatred—pure animal hatred directed straight at its own Alpha.