His Rogue Luna is a Princess (Mia and Derek) novel Chapter 51

DEREK

The hum of the engine was the only sound filling the car. Outside, the landscape rushed by

—a blur of tall grass, dense trees, and late afternoon haze. I leaned back against the seat,

my hands loose in my lap, my mind anything but calm. The suit I wore itched at my throat, but I didn’t adjust the collar. It was a small discomfort, easy to ignore compared to the thoughts turning over in my head.

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Joe sat next to me, unusually quiet for once. He’d already gone over the itinerary twice,

confirmed our security escort, and double–checked our destination route. He knew better

than to push conversation now. I wasn’t in the mood.

I’d worn my best suit. It wasn’t for politics, and it damn sure wasn’t a formal negotiation. But still, I wore it–like armor.

Old habits die hard.

I stared out the window as the scenery rolled past, a restless weight in my chest. I wasn’t heading to a war council or a council chamber, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that what I found there might change everything.

I didn’t know what I expected–answers, maybe. A shift in the tide. Or maybe just the chance to look someone in the eye and finally say what needed to be said.

Or what I should’ve said a long time ago.

Something needed to give. I would do just about anything that could shake loose the grip this mystery had on my mind.

The note had changed everything.

“If you want to know what happened to Elena, perhaps you should look at your own pack.”

That sentence kept replaying in my head. Taunting me. Turning every loyal face in

Chapter 51

Silverclaw into a question mark.

I closed my eyes, trying to shut it out. But instead of silence, I found memory.

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I was twelve. And still hadn’t shifted.

Every other male in my family had managed it by ten–some by eight, crowing about it like

it proved something. Maybe it did. Maybe I was already behind.

Not me. Not the boy meant to inherit a legacy.

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The teasing from my cousins started off like it always did in our world–quietly. A nudge here, a laugh there. “Late bloomer,” they’d mutter, half under their breath.

But boys–especially boys with sharp teeth and something to prove–rarely stay subtle for long. The jokes turned to challenges. The challenges to dares. And beneath it all, something uglier began to fester.

That day, I let them get to me.

They dared me to follow them into the forest–into the old hollow, deep in the pines, where rogues had been spotted the month before. “If you’re a real wolf, you’ll be fine,” they’d said, all toothy smirks and cocky grins. “Show us what you’re made of.”

And I’d gone.

Stupid. Proud. Angry. So angry I couldn’t see straight.

I should’ve known better. But at twelve, all I had was instinct and something brittle inside

me I refused to let them break.

So I followed, deeper and deeper into the trees, the sunlight thinning out above me like

water through a sieve. I thought we were just hiking. Just proving a point.

I didn’t notice when the laughter stopped. I didn’t notice the silence.

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Chapter 51

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