Shattered Bonds A Second Chance Mate (by Yui) novel Chapter 257

Still His 257 Summary

The story opens with an eerie atmosphere as the characters sense something ancient and foreboding approaching the castle. The usual lively sentries fall silent, and only a select group of guards and Alfonso’s men remain to meet the visitors. Francesco, despite a recent injury, stands resolute and calm beside the narrator, sharing a quiet moment of connection before they face the unknown.

A group of riders arrives, led by a tall, pale man named Drake, who exudes an aura of timelessness and power. Drake approaches with a formal bow and speaks of old debts and justice, revealing a deep grievance tied to a woman taken from him long ago. His presence and words unsettle the court, including Francesco and the gathered guards, as the tension between past wounds and present demands becomes palpable.

Drake presents a worn locket as proof of his claim, stirring a strong emotional response from those watching, including Sofia and Lucien. Alfonso handles the locket with reverence, acknowledging the weight of the past it represents. Drake speaks of love and bloodlines, emphasizing that the debt is carried in their very bones, and insists on restitution or revenge, refusing to haggle over what was lost.

Francesco responds with measured firmness, willing to hear Drake’s demands but unwilling to sacrifice innocent lives for old sins. Drake proposes a private conversation to settle the matter discreetly, suggesting that peace or conflict will hinge on the outcome. Francesco insists that the narrator, his Luna, be present for this meeting, to which Drake agrees, hinting that her involvement might ease the burden of the ancient ledger they are about to confront.

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The road smelled different that day not of rain or grass, but of iron and age.

I first noticed it as a thread beneath everything else: the faint, metallic tang that rides on the air when something ancient and patient moves across the land.

The castle seemed to sense it before any of us did. The sentries who ordinarily joked at the gate stood silent and small as mice.

By the time the riders came into sight, the outer court had emptied. We did not want shepherds peering at a wolf when it reached the fold. Instead a small circle of our oldest guards and Alfonso’s men waited a line for courtesy and a field of eyes to read what a stranger meant.

Francesco walked with me at his side.

–

He had not slept enough the night before, but his shoulders were square and his calm was the kind of thing a storm envies.

The wound on his temple was bandaged, but his face held a softness I had seen only when he allowed himself to be human

near me.

I squeezed his hand once, and he turned his head to me, a private smile passing between us.

“Stay close,” he said, low enough that only I could hear.

The bond hummed warm and steady beneath our touch.

We met them at the gate.

The riders carried no banners, only the black of leather and the hush of cloaks. At the lead was a single carriage of carved ebony, its wheels like the ribs of a sleeping beast. The escorts dismounted with a strange elegance, boots scraping with sound more like poetry than clatter.

Then the carriage door opened and stepped out a man who moved as if he belonged to shadow and glass.

He was tall, impossibly tall, and the sun made slick stars slide across his coat as if the very light were reluctant to touch him. His skin was pale, but there was a colorlessness to it that did not mean weakness it meant something older. He had the long bones and the narrowing shoulders of men who could live countless winters.

–

The first thing that struck me was how he wore time like a cloak: the way his eyes seemed to know the names of things that had been lost.

Drake moved forward with a slow, gracious bow. It was a motion learned in courts where cruelty was an art and politeness a knife.

“Francesco Lycaon,” he said, voice low and gilded, the vowels shaped like memories. “King. I extend the courtesy due when old debts are faced in daylight.”

There was a dryness in the sound that put dust in my mouth.

Alfonso stepped forward, perfectly practiced, and returned the bow with the right tilt to the head – the kind that said we were strong, but we wished to be decent about it.

“Lord Drake,” Alfonso replied, calm. “We are honored by your passage through our lands. Please–be our guest.” He did not invite him to dismount; he did not command such intimacy. It was a measured, small offering.

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Chapter 257

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Drake’s smile – if it was a smile was a knife wrapped in silk. “We both know why I come,” he said, and the carriage seemed to breathe at his words. “I have traveled far not for trophies but to speak of what was taken. Totti Lycaon did not leave me without accounting.”

Francesco’s jaw tightened minutely. He did not answer at once; the man’s words landed like stones, and the court around us shifted.

Our people peered from behind pillars, not yet sure whether to reveal the eyes they kept for the king or the ones reserved for hunters.

I felt my stomach knot.

Drake turned, and for a moment his gaze fell on me with a calculation that had nothing to do with courtesy, I could feel my blood tighten, the bond’s echo amplifying a small, clenching fear.

This was not a man who came to plead; this was a man who came to recall a wound.

“You should speak plainly,” Drake continued. “The ages have a poor appetite for riddles.” He looked back at Francesco. “A woman was taken from me. That woman’s name no longer matters. What matters is the debt. Lycaon’s line carries it in their bones.”

Francesco’s voice was steady when he answered, but there was a shadow I had not seen in the king yet. “A debt of hearts is an odd thing to measure in lands and crowns. If you seek restitution, name what you want.”

Drake’s laughter was soft – not amused, but amused at the idea that the hungry could debate crumbs. “You would bargain with me about what was stolen? The audacity. I will not haggle like a peddler. I come and I ask for what is mine in name and in spirit.” He inclined his head, slow and exact. “Justice. Or revenge if justice is refused.”

In his words, several of our men shifted in discomfort.

The language of ‘justice‘ fit perfectly into polite halls, but the way he said it made the word a promise and a threat in the same breath.

Francesco took two steps forward. The ground under his feet seemed to answer him; the slightest tremor rolled like a ripple. “If the debt is to be repaid,” he said, “we will hear you. We will not barter lives, and we will not suffer blood in the name of old sins unless a clear wrong is proven.”

Drake’s eyes narrowed just enough to be a bruise. “Prove?” he echoed. “Evidence has the lifespan of memory, and memory – when it concerns the crimes of gods and kings – is often lost.” He reached into his coat and produced a small black shape wrapped in cloth. When he unveiled it, the court leaned forward. Inside was a locket not ornate, but heavy with age. A face was painted on a disc of pale shell; the paint was cracked with time, the image of a woman both fierce and fragile.

“You keep mementos,” Drake said lightly. “I kept hers.”

A hush tensely knotted itself through the gathered people.

–

Sofia, watching from behind her father’s escort, turned pale. Lucien’s hand tightened around her fingers; I could see the tension in his jaw as if he had swallowed an ember.

Francesco’s face did not change as he took a step to the side and let Alfonso see the locket. Alfonso handled it with the careful reverence of someone who had learned the reverent things to do in the presence of damage. The leather was old; the clasp needed pressure that was almost ceremonial. Whatever was inside carried its own scent – a faint saline tang, as if the sea itself had been pressed into the metal.

–

“You loved her,” Drake said without accusation now more as an observation, an old truth released. “Or you believed you did. The forms of love are irrelevant when the ledger is read.”

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“If your grievance is with Totti,” Alfonso said at last, “then we are a people of the present and the living. Totti is dead. We did not ask for his crimes. Take us as we stand.”

Drake’s expression softened for the barest moment, as if some memory in the folds of his life had pricked him.

Then it drew itself back like a wince. “Totti’s blood runs here,” he said, his tone almost clinical. “And in my experience, blood remembers. If you wash what was taken, you will need to offer something of equal weight. I do not ask lightly.”

Francesco kept his gaze level, steady as the horizon. “Name it. If the demand is reasonable, we will carry it out. If it is not know that I will not sacrifice those who have no hand in the sin.”

Drake’s smile sharpened.

–

He uncapped something at his throat, the motion almost ceremonial. “A private conversation,” he said simply. “Between you and me, King. I will not parade revenge in the open. If what you offer suffices, we depart in peace. If not then we will race the old songs and see which gods wish to sing.”

The invitation was both dagger and olive branch. It wrapped the war in civility.

Francesco’s mouth thinned. “My Luna will be present,” he said.

Drake’s gaze flicked to me with a curious brightness. “So be it,” he answered. “She will make the ledger lighter.”

I return his gaze with a polite nod.

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Conclusion

The chapter closes on a charged moment of uneasy truce, where the weight of old debts and the promise of justice hang heavily in the air. Francesco’s calm strength and measured resolve stand as a beacon amid the tension, while the arrival of Drake brings a haunting reminder of the past’s inescapable shadows. The delicate balance between honor and threat underscores the fragility of peace, as the characters brace themselves for the private reckoning that lies ahead, bound by loyalty, history, and the unspoken bonds that tie them together.

Amid the looming uncertainty, the quiet connection between Francesco and the narrator offers a tender counterpoint—an intimate refuge grounded in trust and shared strength. Their bond, steady and warm, becomes a silent promise that even in the face of ancient grievances and looming conflict, they will face whatever comes together. The chapter leaves us suspended between past wounds and future hope, reminding us that love and courage persist even when the ledger of the heart demands its reckoning.

What to Expect in Next Chapter?

The next chapter promises to deepen the tension between Francesco and the enigmatic Lord Drake, whose arrival has already unsettled the court. As the delicate balance between justice and revenge hangs in the air, the private conversation they are about to share holds the key to unearthing truths long buried and possibly reopening old wounds. The presence of the Luna alongside Francesco hints at a shared strength but also a vulnerability that could shape the outcome in unexpected ways.

Emotions will run high as loyalties are tested and the weight of past sins presses on the present. The subtle power plays and unspoken fears simmer beneath every word, suggesting that what unfolds next will challenge the characters not only politically but personally. Readers can expect a charged atmosphere where the line between ally and adversary blurs, and the echoes of history demand reckoning.