Standing at the base of the dais, Michael felt the dagger still tucked in his waistband press against his skin as he bowed before his father. As both Lukas and Damien had been told to wait outside, the Throne Room was empty.

And that was never a good sign for him.

But he would not let that distract him from his plans. Michael would let his father tell him whatever he wished to say, then follow suit with what he wished to say.

"It has been brought to my attention that you have been mistreating Danica."

Michael raised his head and stared up at his father. He was seated on his throne, body leaned forward with his arms resting on his thighs and fingers interlocked. His brown hair, which he had been keeping longer these days, was tied back, giving Michael a clear look of the dissatisfaction on his face. And those damned brown eyes they shared were staring directly at him.

"Have you nothing to say?"

He had called upon him to discuss Danica?

"I have entertained her when time has allowed me to do so. It may not be as often as you or her might like, but I would not call that mistreatment."

"And what would you call a broken promise to your mate?"

Michael immediately thought of Ellette, and although it caused his heart to ache, he could not let it show. Not when his father was clearly talking about Danica.

Had he broken a promise to her?

He thought about the few past interactions they shared and could not think of any mistreatment on his part until he finally remembered their last encounter the night before.

Michael closed his eyes as he sighed in frustration. He was not upset about missing their 'date', but in disbelief that she had told on him. "I apologize. I did promise to meet with her this morning. It must have slipped my mind."

"Well, here is some news I am certain will not slip your mind. I have decided to move up the date of your mating."

Michael looked up and stared at his father. "Because I missed one date?"

"Because you have fallen out of line!" His father stood up and walked to the top step where he looked down at Michael. "Do you not remember standing where you are, vowing to do everything I ask of you without question nor complaint? Or has that, too, slipped your mind?"

"Have I not? I have attended every pack meeting. Agreed with everything you have said, every choice you have made—even the one where you dumped the mate intended for Gabriel upon me—and uphold a promise I never made. I have eaten with Danica. Talked with her. Walked with her. I have chosen to accept a throne I never wanted because I know how important it is. I have done all of this and asked for nothing in return."

"Do not expect a round of applause for doing your duty. But since you have so much to say, tell me a better way to deal with Aria's request other than moving up your mating date?"

That caught Michael of guard.

"Aria? What does she have to do with this?"

His father slowly began to make his way down the stairs, stopping on the last just in front of Michael.

"She will be returning to the castle in two days' time, which means I must give an answer to her request. I figured having you and Danica officially join in union is reason enough to deny her the Woodlands, as I plan on announcing it as the new home for you two and a few other mated wolves. If we lay claim first, the Woodlands becomes our territory."

He continued to stare, hoping to see anything other than the seriousness in his father's eyes reflecting back at him the longer he looked, but that moment never came.

He could not say he was surprised at this sudden punishment and arrangement being forced upon him. His father had threatened to release his cruelty upon him in the West Wing, and Michael had been anxiously waiting for it to come to fruition. His missed date with Danica was not the catalyst, only an excuse. He was nothing more than a pawn being moved at whim around the chessboard by his father.

Yes, he was glad his father was not going to give the Woodlands to Aria, but one problem solved only created another one for Michael.

If he were to mate with Danica, how could he ever again face Ellette? But if he were to reject the plan, he would be putting her at risk of being discovered should the Woodlands fall into Aria's hands. His father coming up with this solution only proved the Wolves had no legitimate claim to the Woodlands any more than the Witches supposedly had.

But if it was going to become a free for all, he rather it become his than Aria's.

Michael raised his head and stared up at his father.

"I will do what you say, all I ask is you grant me one thing. Just one."

After a few silent seconds and a sigh of irritation, his father responded. "What is it?"

"You move our union to after the next full moon."

If he was going to be forced to be with another, he rather it be done after he reunited his true mate with her people and ensured her survival, and after they said goodbye to each other forever.

"Why?"

"If I am to start a new life with Danica, I rather it be after the full moon. A new beginning."

"Agreed. In return, I will leave the honour of declining the Witches to you. I suggest you spend the next two days wisely, practicing what you will say, as you must make it sound convincing to every pair of ears in the room."

It was obvious what his father was getting at. He was entrusting this task to Michael, not because he wanted him to turn down the Witches, but because he wanted him to publicly profess in front of everybody his intention to mate with Danica and claim the Woodlands. And he wanted him to do so to ensure Michael could not go back on his word.

Michael looked his father dead in the eyes and nodded. "Agreed."

* * *

Back in his chambers, Michael stared at the unsheathed dagger lying in the centre of his bed.

When he discovered it hours ago and realized it was the dark object needed to get Ellette home, he was content. Now, looking at it only made him want to take a torch to it and destroy it because of what it so obviously symbolized: an unhappy ending—the obvious fate for the wolf and fairy, whose first meeting and beginning of the rumored love story the dagger had shown him. And the longer he stared at it, the more he felt as if it was mocking him—another reminder that his life was not his to control, and an unhappy ending would be his fate, too.

And that only made him want to prove it wrong. But he could not alter the future without first learning the past.

He stepped closer to the bed, but found himself hesitating. All he had to do was reach out and pick up the dagger, but the fear of going back to the past kept his arms tucked at his sides.

He was not afraid of what the dagger might show him, nor the pain of being dragged into the darkness of the past, but afraid of what it might confirm. Even so, he could not afford to let those fears control him, too.

He took a deep breath, lifted his right hand and reached out towards the dagger. "Show me how you came to be," he said, closing his eyes just as his fingers met the blade.

* * *

He stumbled backwards, looking down at the bloody dagger in his father's hands then down at his stomach. Blood soaked through his tunic, spilling onto the floor. Before he knew it, he had dropped to his knees and onto his back, clutching at his wound.

He heard a piercing scream and the ground beneath him begin to violently shake, as if the castle itself was falling apart. He watched his father drop the dagger and flee the room without sparing him so much as a glance. He continued to stare at the doorway, hoping his father would return, but the door slammed closed and his fairy came into view when she kneeled next to him.

He looked upon his crying mate, her face stained with tears. The sight made him wonder how his father could ever believe the Witches' lie about the fairy bewitching him to fall in love with her and not see it as a ploy to start a war and rid the Woodlands of the Fae. How he could not believe his own son when he told him the moon and the heavens had weaved their love together with the magic of the stars—that a fate written in the sky could not be unwritten.

Her tears were real. Their love was real. She was his mate and he was hers in every way.

"Kora..." He lifted a hand to her face, and the moment he cupped her cheek, the room and everything outside ceased shaking and went silent. His eyes grew heavy, and as he stared up at her he knew he did not have much time left. He hoped to meet her eyes—her brown ones the last thing he wished to see—but they were shut tightly, her lips moving as she whispered words too low for him to make out.

When her whispers stopped, a ball of bright light expelled from her chest and she guided it with her hands to hover over his chest.

He felt himself slipping away, his eyes slowing closing as she leaned over him. He felt every drop of her tears as they landed on his face, and the ends of her curly hair brush his cheek. And when a darkness he could only assume was death came to claim him, the whisper of his name filled his ear, turning his fear into acceptance.

He found comfort in knowing she would be the last thing he saw, her name the last he would utter, her voice the last he would hear, and her love the last thing he would feel.

"My dearest wolf, I offer you my death so that you may live. Live well, live long, live happily, and find solace in knowing wherever I may go, from there I will love you well, love you long, love you happily for all of eternity."

* * *

When Michael came to, he found himself lying face up on the floor of his room, and, just as before, the dagger was clutched to his chest. His eyes were so clouded with tears he could barely make out the rays of sunlight and shadows casted along the ceiling. The memory he had just witnessed still so vivid that he could not move—as if he was the one that had been stabbed and dying.

But that was not the only reason why he wept.

He had learned a multitude of things through that memory.

First, it was possible for a wolf and fairy to be true mates.

Second, the promise of the Woodlands to the Witches had been gained through false claims and manipulation of the Wolves.

Third, love would always come with a sacrifice, and if one was not willing to pay it—to sacrifice or be sacrificed—they did not deserve that love at all.

Lastly, an unhappy ending would always be the fate of a love shared between two creatures not meant to love each other, and one he was now willing to accept. It was the sacrifice he would gladly pay—no matter the cost—so long as he never ever had to face a moment in which his life would be saved at the cost of Ellette's life.

All he had to do was make sure he gave her a reason to never want to make the same choice the fairy had. And he could only do that by making her regret over loving him run deep by turning that regret into hate.

Michael tightly gripped the hilt of the dagger before sitting up. He stared down at the blade, trailing his eyes over it as he flipped it over on one side then back to the other. There was not a single blemish on the centuries old weapon, but all he could see was it stained with the wolf's blood. His room was silent, but he swore he could hear the cries of the fairy as she wept over her dying love.

The dagger was an object once light turned dark, not because of a single choice or mistake but a series of choices and mistakes. And although he could not go back and change the past, he could at least try and right the wrongs created from the present day choices and mistakes to ensure history did not repeat itself.

And he had two days to figure out how to do so.