Chapter 285: Forever Relevant
Jacob~
The throne room buzzed with cheers and quiet thanks, voices bouncing off the marble walls like music. I stood back in the shadows, arms crossed, just watching her—Natalie, my little moon. Her hair was back to its deep red, glowing under the chandelier. There was a playful spark in her eyes, thanks to Jasmine’s influence, and she looked unstoppable. Seeing her like that filled me with pride so strong it almost hurt. But under all that pride, there was this heavy sadness pressing on my chest, eating away at me no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.
Natalie’s gaze found me, her smile softening as she tilted her head, concern flickering across her face. "Hey..." Her voice was gentle, cutting through the noise like a warm breeze. She stepped closer, her boots clicking softly against the polished floor. "Jacob, you okay?"
I forced a grin, the kind I’d perfected over centuries—carefree, deflecting, the Wolf Spirit’s mask. "Me? I’m fine, little moon. Just taking it all in." I gestured vaguely at the room, hoping she’d let it slide. The truth was, I wasn’t fine. Not even close. The image of Easter’s tear-streaked face, her emerald eyes wide with confusion as I bolted from her side, haunted me again and again. I’d left her alone in my house, curled up on the couch like a lost child. She’d looked so small there, eyes wide with shock, probably terrified after everything that had just happened. But I couldn’t stay. The vision pulled me away from her with a force I couldn’t fight, tearing me from her side before I could even promise her I’ll be back and the we’d be okay.
And when I arrived, it hit me again—Natalie didn’t need my help. She didn’t need me anymore. That thought burned through me like acid, leaving this bitter taste at the back of my tongue. It felt like swallowing glass, each breath catching in my throat as the truth sank in. She was strong enough now to stand on her own, and somehow that hurt more than anything else.
She studied me, her eyes narrowing as if she could see the storm raging behind my facade. Without a word, she turned and crossed the room to Zane, who stood cradling a sleepy Alex in his arms. The boy’s blond curls were mussed, his cheek pressed against his father’s shoulder, and my heart twisted at the sight. Natalie leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Zane’s lips, then another to Alex’s forehead. "I’m gonna have a chat with Jacob," she murmured, her voice warm but firm. Zane nodded, his eyes glowing with that quiet pride he always had around her. She ruffled Alex’s hair, earning a sleepy giggle, before turning back to me.
Her hand found mine, her grip surprisingly strong for someone who’d once been so fragile. "Come on," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
"Nat, really, you don’t need to—" I started, but she cut me off with a look that could’ve silenced a thunderstorm.
"Don’t even try it, Jacob." Her voice was playful but edged with steel. Before I could protest further, the world shimmered around us, the throne room dissolving in a swirl of light and shadow. My stomach surprisingly lurched as Natalie’s teleportation magic whisked us away, and when the world solidified again, we were on the palace roof.
The night air was cool, carrying the sweet scent of flowers mixed with a hint of rain far away. Above us, stars dotted the sky like tiny lanterns. The rooftop garden felt like a secret world, filled with blooming roses and trellises covered in ivy. Tucked between the flowers was a stone bench. Natalie pulled me toward it, her fingers tight around mine. She flopped down onto the bench and tugged me beside her. The world around us fell quiet, the only sound coming from the gentle rustling of leaves in the soft breeze.
"Alright," she said, fixing me with those piercing eyes that saw too much. "Talk to me, Jacob. And don’t give me that ’I’m fine’ nonsense. I know you too well for that."
I sighed, running a hand through my hair, the strands falling messily over my forehead. "It’s nothing, Little Moon. Really. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill." I tried to flash that roguish grin again, but it felt hollow, and her expression told me she wasn’t buying it.
"Jacob Bartholomew," she said, her voice low and fierce, "you’re my brother, and I can tell when something’s eating you alive. So spill it. Now."