Chapter 206: An Unexpected Encounter
The skyport lights at Santorini were still lingering in Emma’s mind long after they had left the island behind.
At 10:45pm, everything felt quieter, heavier in a different way—the kind of silence that only comes when a day has stretched too far and time no longer knows how to behave properly. The white walls of Santorini, the soft blue horizons, the way the sea had shimmered under evening light—it all felt distant now. The memory settled quietly as Emma sat close to Brandon, her clutch bag held tightly in one hand with her device tucked safely inside, while her other hand rested lightly against his sleeve.
Brandon, now fully acknowledged as Alpha Brandon, sat beside her with an easy confidence that never demanded attention yet somehow commanded the space around him. Their carry-on was tucked into the overhead compartment, while Emma kept her clutch on her lap. He glanced at her with that quiet look he always wore, making sure she was still there with him.
"You’re staring out that window like the clouds might disappear," he said softly, leaning slightly so only she could hear him.
Emma exhaled through her nose, tightening her fingers around his sleeve as she shifted her weight closer to him, her voice low and slightly stubborn. "It already feels like it’s running away. I don’t trust planes. Or skyports. Or anything that moves this fast."
His mouth curved faintly, and he reached up without thinking, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering just a second longer than necessary. "You’re mated to an Alpha, and planes are what worry you?"
She tilted her chin up at him, unimpressed but clearly comforted anyway. "Easy for you to say. You’re not the one worrying this thing might fall out of the sky."
Before he could answer, Brandon noticed the shift in Emma’s expression—the slight pause in her gaze, the way her fingers tightened briefly around her clutch bag before loosening again.
He didn’t need anyone else to explain it.
"You’re overthinking again," he said quietly.
She let out a soft breath, not looking away from him this time. "I’m not.
Silence stretched between them.
Brandon’s eyes held hers for a moment longer, calm and certain, like he already knew the argument before she formed it.
"You are," he said simply.
He let out a quiet breath of amusement, taking Emma’s hand properly now, fingers threading through hers with the ease of an alpha who had already decided she wasn’t letting go for the next several weeks.
"We’re not missing anything," he said simply.
Emma glanced at him, then settled back into her seat as the plane’s cabin quieted around them, their hands still linked between the armrests.
The flight stretched on through the moonfall, long but steady, the private suite quiet except for the soft hum of the engines. A bed had been set into the cabin, dimly lit and neatly made, turning the space into something closer to a floating chamber than a skycraft.
She drifted in and out of sleep, never fully anchored in either state, her head occasionally tipping toward Brandon’s shoulder until he shifted slightly to steady her without waking her. He didn’t complain once—not when she took more than her share of space, not when she moved closer across the bed, and not even when her cold fingers slipped into his beneath the blanket and stayed there like they belonged there.
At one point somewhere above the clouds,
she whispered, "Do you think Monaco looks like the pictures?"
He glanced down at her, eyes half-lidded with calm exhaustion, and answered without hesitation. "It looks better."
She frowned slightly. "That sounds like something alphas say when they want to avoid disappointment."
"I don’t get disappointed," he replied, and when she looked up at him, he added more quietly, "Not when I already know what I’m bringing there."
That made her look away first, pretending to adjust the blanket, though the faint color rising in her cheeks betrayed her.
When they landed, Monaco greeted them with a light breeze that carried salt from the Mediterranean, the air softer than anything Emma had felt in months. The car waiting for them was discreet, dark, and already warmed, the driver nodding respectfully as Brandon guided her inside with a hand at her back that never fully left her.
After arriving in Monaco at dawn, Brandon insists they rest at a resting den first. Emma assumes the trip is simply part of their honeymoon.
The entire day, Brandon acts unusually secretive.
Whenever Emma asks where they’re going that evening, he only smiles and says:
"You’ll see."
As the moon begins to set, the driver drives them along the coastline. Emma notices they’re heading toward an exclusive residential area.
They stop in front of massive wrought-iron gates.
Emma looks around, confused, still taking it in.
"You really didn’t mention we were relocating to another Grendor castle," she said, stepping out slowly.
Brandon pulls a small remote from his pocket.
The gates slowly swing open.
Then she freezes.
Mounted on a polished stone pillar is a bronze plaque engraved with elegant letters:
Emma Aurelia Frostbane’s Estate
For several seconds, she couldn’t speak.
"Starlit..." she whispers.
He takes her hand.
"Every king leaves his mark on the world. My greatest legacy is loving you. This is my way of saying thank you."
Emma turns to him.
"Thank me for what?"
"For choosing me when you could’ve walked away."
The words hit harder than the gift itself.
When they step inside, the surprises continue.
The grand foyer is decorated with fresh flowers in Emma’s favorite colors.
The walls throughout the mansion were lined with portraits and paintings of Emma and Brandon, each one crafted by Brandon himself. Beyond them, a gallery hallway showcased artwork he had created over the winters, including pieces Emma never imagined he had kept.
As they move deeper into the house, they enter a ballroom-sized living area.
She stops again.
A huge illuminated banner stretches across the chamber:
Happy Honeymoon, Brandon Oliver & Emma Aurelia Frostbane.
Beneath it are hundreds of photographs capturing their journey—from their first meeting to their royal matebond.
Emma’s eyes fill with tears.
"You did all this?"
Brandon rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking less like an alpha and more like a nervous mate waiting for approval.
"I wanted you to have one place in the world that’s completely yours."
Emma threw her arms around him.
"You idiot," she laughed through her tears.
Brandon stiffened.
"That’s not the reaction I was expecting."
Emma pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes shining.
"I know," she whispered with a watery smile. "But this is what happens when you love someone too much."
A smile tugged at Brandon’s lips.
"Then I guess I should start preparing for more surprises," he said softly. "Because I have no intention of loving you any less."
"The house is beautiful. But what matters is that you remembered every little thing about us."
Then she kisses him.
As they stand there together, the house no longer feels like a gift.
It feels like the beginning of a home.
Later, everything had gone quiet again.
The moonrise had deepened when Emma finally woke, wrapped in soft sheets that didn’t feel familiar yet. For a moment, she just lay still, blinking at the chandeliers, trying to remember where she was.
The door opened.
Brandon walked in carrying a tray.
He sat beside her and pulled the duvet down a little. "It’s mid-moonrise, my queen Luna."
He leaned in and kissed her lightly, then walked to the curtains and pulled them open.
Light spilled into the chamber.
Emma squinted and turned her head toward the wall clock.
10:49 a.m.
She exhaled, sinking back into the pillows like her wolf had already made the decision for her.
"I’m tired," she mumbled, stretching once before letting her arms fall back down.
"I know," Brandon said, setting the tray on her lap. "Eat first. Then go back to sleep if you want."
She looked at the food, then at him. "I don’t even feel like moving."
"I’ve got you," he said simply.
He picked up a spoon, scooped a small bite, and held it up until she opened her mouth.
Her expression softened as she tasted it. "This is really good."
A small smile tugged at his mouth. "I made it."
Emma blinked at him. "You cooked this?"
"It’s just us here," he said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "No staff. No noise. Just you, me and few guards."
That made her smile again, slower this time, as she settled back against the pillows and let him feed her another bite.
Brandon watched her more than the view.
"You’re not looking at the road," she murmured after a while.
"I’ve seen it," he answered.
She turned slightly. "When?"
"Every time I thought about bringing you here," he said simply.
That quiet confession settled between them like something too delicate to disturb, and she found herself leaning back into the headboard, fingers still loosely locked with his.
The villa was loud or extravagant in the way humans imagined luxury. It was private, carved into stone and surrounded by quiet gardens that opened toward the sea, with wide glass doors that let the ocean air drift through chambers that smelled faintly of wood, salt, and something unmistakably safe.
She finished eating, the last bite still warm on her tongue as Brandon set the tray aside and wiped his hand slowly with a napkin. The bed shifted when he moved, his weight sinking in beside her for a brief moment.
For a while, neither of them spoke. He adjusted the pillows behind her back without asking, fingers briefly brushing her shoulder as he made her more comfortable.
When she finally shifted to sit up, her legs slipped over the edge of the bed, and she stood slowly, steadying herself with a hand on the mattress. Brandon watched her for a second longer, then reached out, lightly catching her wrist just long enough to steady her before letting go.
She moved past him, her hand brushing the edge of the table as she passed, fingers trailing along the wall when she stepped into the hallway. The house felt new in a way that still hadn’t settled in her chest.
Brandon had given her this place. Again. Another house from him.
She stepped inside first, slowly, as if testing whether the place would hold her. He followed behind her, watching the way she moved through the space, how her fingers brushed the edge of a chair, then a wall, then the soft fabric of a sofa as though grounding herself in it.
"This is ours?" she asked finally, voice quieter now.
"It is," he said.
She turned to him then, and for a moment her expression softened in a way that had nothing to do with titles or power or ceremony. "It feels too quiet."
"That’s the point," he replied, walking toward her and stopping close enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. "No pack noise. No council noise. No one demands anything from you."
She studied him for a second, then lifted a brow. "Except you."
His lips twitched. "Only when necessary."
That earned him a small smile, and just like that, the weight of the journey loosened around her shoulders.
They were halfway to the cookhouse when Brandon excused himself to take a call. Emma continued down the path alone, but a faint noise from ahead caught her attention. It sounded like some wolf moving things around.
Her steps slowed.
At this hour, she hadn’t expected anyone to be there.
The noise came again, louder this time, and she frowned before heading toward it.
"Who’s there?" she called as she reached the doorway marked "Laundry Chamber."
No answer came, but the noise stopped completely.
Emma pushed the door open and stepped inside, her gaze sweeping across the chamber.
Then she froze.
A lady stood near one of the tables with a basket of freshly folded laundry in her hands.
The lady looked up.
Emma stared.
The basket slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then the ladies’s eyes widened.
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