The hall gleamed under the Moon's silver light, every eye fixed on Isabella. The mate-bond flare had just struck—the Moon herself whispering fate—and for one breathtaking heartbeat, the world stilled.
Then Theodore's voice shattered it.
Loud. Cold. Cruel.
"A half-blood?" he scoffed, lips curling. "Moon Goddess must be blind. I will not have this—this stain—as my mate."
The words sliced through the hall.
Laughter rippled from the crowd. Some sneered, some pitied, some whispered so loudly it was meant to sting.
"She isn't worthy."
"The Alpha's right. Look at her—half-human."
"What a disgrace before the Moon."
And Theodore didn't stop there. He stepped closer, towering, his words like venom:
"You think a pair of cursed purple eyes makes you chosen? You're nothing. A mistake of blood. My mate? Never."
Isabella's body trembled—not with weakness, but with fury strangled by heartbreak. Her purple eyes flickered, burning brighter, almost unbearable, yet her lips stayed silent.
The hall waited for her collapse. For tears. For her to run.
But it was not Isabella who spoke.
It was her grandmother.
With a strength that silenced the entire hall, the old woman rose, her voice carrying like a hymn and a curse both.
"You dare mock what you do not understand, boy," she said, eyes locking onto Theodore. "The Moon does not err. And when she gifts a bond, rejection is never without a price."
Theodore's jaw clenched, but her words drowned his defiance.
"Very well," the grandmother continued, taking Isabella's trembling hand, lifting it high for all to see. "If the Alpha believes my granddaughter unworthy, let him prove his strength where legends rot. Let him venture North, where shadows still breathe, where monsters hunger for blood. If he returns—he will return as her servant. If he does not—then his arrogance will feed the earth."
The hall gasped. Some laughed nervously. Some looked terrified. Some muttered the North's name like it was a grave.
And Isabella—silent, eyes glowing deep violet now—stood still as her grandmother's decree thundered through the hall.
Theodore gave no bow, no apology. He only stared at Isabella, rage and something darker smoldering in his eyes, before he spat once more:
"Keep your curses. I bow to no half-blood."
But even as he turned away, the Moon's light flickered unnaturally, shadows crawling across the hall, as though the Goddess herself had taken offense.