The grand hall of Ebonveil Castle pulsed with a raw, almost electric energy that night, as though the very stones had been holding their breath for this moment to arrive. Moonlight spilled across the carved arches in pale, ghostly beams, catching upon silken banners of the Second Kingdom, their embroidered wolves shimmering like silver guardians. Servants scurried between polished columns with crystal goblets brimming with wine dark as blood, while the low hum of conversation rose and fell in waves of polite excitement.
It was the first true festival since Aldric had returned — no longer the castaway, no longer a husk of faded power, but their champion reborn. The people wanted to celebrate him, to raise him high, to worship what he had become. But Aldric Moonbane felt only a quiet unease, the same unease that had stalked him ever since the fateful night he found his power awakening beneath a dying winter star.
His wolf, Luceris, prowled inside him, restless as a chained tempest. In the mirrored plates of polished steel lining the hall, Aldric caught glimpses of himself — a tall, striking figure with hair pale as moon-silver, eyes of fathomless blue like a frozen river, a jagged scar crossing one cheek but doing nothing to mar the devastating handsomeness of his sharp, aristocratic face. His presence made noblewomen stammer and warriors bow; his scent, that unearthly mix of forest pine and rain-washed steel, marked him unmistakably as something beyond any mere Alpha.
He belonged to prophecy now.
He was the One True Lycan.
Rowena, dressed in a deep sapphire gown with silver-threaded embroidery, slipped to his side like a shadow woven of light. Her long hair, half-braided with delicate wolf-tooth charms, flowed down her back, and her eyes glimmered with a fierce, protective love that had carried her through his darkest trials.
"You look as though you'd rather face a war band than this feast," she teased, her lips curving.
He half-smiled, brushing a knuckle along her jaw with uncharacteristic gentleness. "I'd rather face a thousand blades than these toasts," he admitted.
She laughed softly, the sound easing a knot in his chest. "You are their hope, Aldric. Let them worship you for a night."
His gaze roved over the gathered dignitaries — lords from distant packs, emissaries from mountain tribes, even one of the Moon Goddess's white-robed priestesses in attendance. All had come to witness the rebirth of the true Lycan King. And yet among the respectful bows and the gifts offered in ornate caskets, Aldric could taste a note of poison, something off in the air — a subtle wrongness that set Luceris growling deep inside his spirit.
Be vigilant, the wolf whispered. Betrayal hides behind silk smiles.
As music rose — lilting, intricate flute and drum rhythms echoing against the high vaults — Aldric and Rowena took their seats upon a dais of black stone veined with silver, their thrones carved with runes older than any living wolf. The scent of roasted venison, heavy with herbs, mingled with honeyed mead and the faint trace of fear among the lesser nobles.
A herald, robed in crimson, stepped forward with a flourish. "Behold, my lords and ladies, the One True Alpha — Aldric Moonbane of House Aldric-Moonbane, Heir of the Wolves, Alpha of the World!"
The hall roared in a deafening cheer, banners snapping in the updraft like the wings of ghosts. Aldric inclined his head with regal coldness, remembering everything he had lost to reach this moment: his parents, murdered in their bed; his kingdom torn from him; his power sealed; his own friends betraying him. All of it had burned him into this steel-forged creature the world now feared.
And as he sat, watching the swirl of courtiers, he found himself remembering a boy named Aldric who had laughed easily, who had believed in loyalty and brotherhood, who had once thought the world was made of light.
That boy was gone.
He had been replaced by a king of night and thunder.
As the night deepened, the feast grew more raucous. Drunken lords traded boasts of battle, ladies swayed in dance like silken phantoms, and scullions slipped in with fresh platters of spiced game. But Aldric's sharp sense never dulled.
Out of the corner of his vision, he noticed a familiar face. Damon Draegorn — the traitor, the very one who had stolen his first mate, whose father had helped murder Aldric's parents. Damon was dressed in high noble fashion, every inch the heir of a powerful wolf-lord, and he moved through the hall with an easy arrogance that made Aldric's claws twitch.
Rowena's grip on his arm tightened, as if reading his thoughts. "He should not have come here," she whispered, her voice as cold as a blade's edge.
"No," Aldric agreed, eyes narrowing to slits. "He shouldn't have."
Damon's smirk, as he raised a goblet in mock salute across the room, ignited a rage so deep in Aldric that even Luceris growled.
Let me end him, the wolf demanded.
Not tonight, Aldric answered silently. But soon.
The Moon Goddess would want him to uphold the old codes of hospitality — at least for this night. But after? After, no vow would bind him.
Hours passed. The feast blurred into a haze of voices, clinking cups, and shifting alliances. Aldric stood at last, towering over the room, and raised his own goblet.
"Hear me!" he roared, the power in his voice enough to make the flames in the braziers gutter. "You have gathered under my banner — all wolf-bloods, all kin — and together we will rise as one. Let no kingdom stand alone again. We are the sons and daughters of the Moon!"
The thunder of applause nearly shook the stones.
Rowena's eyes glistened with unshed tears of pride. Even the high-born guests, their faces hidden behind courtly masks, seemed awed. But Damon's sly grin never wavered.
Aldric made a silent vow in that moment: Damon's day of reckoning would come. When it did, no walls or fathers or titles would save him.
Later that night, the celebration ended, and Aldric and Rowena walked the moonlit corridor toward their private chambers. He felt the exhaustion behind his eyes, as if every memory of betrayal and loss weighed on him at once.
Rowena slipped her hand into his. "Aldric," she said softly, "you do not have to carry it alone."
He looked down at her, heart twisting with gratitude, desire, fear — a hundred tangled feelings. "I am the One True Alpha," he said, voice rough. "It is mine to carry."
She reached up, cupping his cheek with gentle fingers. "Then let me share the burden."
His lips found hers, slow and aching, the kiss stealing his breath as if it were the only thing keeping him alive.
Beyond the arched window, the moon watched in perfect silence, a silver sentinel over the two souls who would soon face a darkness far blacker than either of them yet understood.