Page 85 of The Alpha's Forbidden Heir

“She is,” I say, letting the corner of my mouth twitch up. My eyes flick to Aria again, watching her sip from her water glass. She avoids the wine completely.

I don’t ask her why.

The night wears on. Aria and I make our rounds, exchanging pleasantries, smiling at allies and subtly glaring at enemies.

But my wolf is restless.

“She’s not drinking,” he growls in the back of my mind.

“I noticed,” I reply silently.

“You’re not going to ask?”

“She’ll tell me when she’s ready.”

But it gnaws at me.

Rook intercepts us near the balcony, his expression sharp. His suit is barely holding together on his broad frame, and there’s a faint nick on his jaw—probably from sparring earlier.

“Bane,” he greets me before turning to Aria. “Luna.”

Aria dips her head in acknowledgment. But I see the flicker of amusement in her eyes as she glances at Rook’s crooked tie.

“Rook,” I say, pulling his attention back. “Everything in order?”

“For now,” he replies, but his jaw ticks. “We had a minor incident near the southern border earlier. Nothing to concern you with tonight.”

“I’m concerned now.”

His lips press into a thin line. “A rogue scout. Alone. They didn’t cross far enough to be a threat.”

I nod, letting the topic drop.

Aria touches my arm lightly. “I think Elias is getting bored upstairs,” she says softly. “He’s been with Rook all day.”

“He’s fine,” Rook cuts in, a smile tugging at his lips. “He’s bright for his age. Almost too bright. The kid challenged me to a chess match and nearly won.”

Aria laughs, a genuine sound that lights up the room for a second. “He’s been practicing. I told him you’d be his hardest opponent yet.”

“Hard, but not impossible,” Rook replies with a faint chuckle before excusing himself to check on the perimeter.

As he leaves, I notice Aria’s glass again. Still untouched.

I lean in, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “Are you avoiding wine for a reason?”

Her lips part, but she hesitates, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. “I just don’t feel like drinking tonight.”

The party is winding down, the hum of conversation fading into the night as the guests leave. I’ve been stealing glances at Aria all evening, still thinking about that untouched wine glass. She brushes her hand against mine and I lead her out of the crowded hall, up the grand staircase toward our room.

Once the door closes behind us, Aria smiles softly. There’s a hint of mischief in her eyes as she reaches for a small, elegantly wrapped box on the table by the window.

“I have something for you,” she says, holding it out.

I raise a brow, taking the box from her. It’s light in my hands.

She laughs. “I wanted to give it to you when we were alone.”

Curiosity tugs at me as I pull at the ribbon and lift the lid. Inside, nestled in soft tissue paper, is a white mug. I turn it in my hands, and the words printed on it hit me like a lightning bolt:

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