The day of departure arrived, and the grand courtyard was filled with nobles, aristocrats, and ministers, all gathered to witness the future queen's send-off to war.
Among them, some looked upon her with sympathy, after all, she was with child. Others, however, felt no pity. She was a werewolf, and she-wolves were far from delicate creatures. A little battle wouldn't kill her. And with the Duke of the North present, many whispered among themselves, questioning if he would even allow her to lift a sword. The two may have divorced, but love—once ignited—was not so easily extinguished.
"I regret that this is the choice you made," Hezekiah said, his voice thick with restrained emotion. If there were any way to stop her, he would take it.
"Don't be," Belle replied, offering him a small smile, as if to ease his worries. "I will return alive."
But her assurance only deepened the anger in his gaze. Angry, not at her, but at himself.
