AVA
Morning finds me beneath layers of silk, drowning in the weight of roses and responsibility. Light spills through the tall windows, golden and soft, but it doesn't warm me. I'm Luna now.
And I feel like a prisoner in a crown.
There's a sharp knock at the door. Before I can even call out, it opens, revealing a girl with thick black hair twisted into a braid down her spine. Her movements are fluid, practiced. She bows low.
"My name is Jatine. I've been assigned as your personal maid, Luna."
Luna.
It still sounds like a lie.
I nod, eyes scanning her for hidden motives. Everyone here smiles too easily, speaks too softly. Like every sentence hides a blade.
Jatine begins her tasks with silent precision…folding clothes I haven't worn, arranging shoes I didn't choose, tidying a room that isn't mine. I watch her quietly, my hands curled into fists beneath the sheets.
"I want a tour," I say, finally.
She glances up, startled. "Of the pack?"
"Yes. All of it."
She hesitates. "The Alpha prefers the Luna rest this morning…"
"Then he can rest," I snap. "I want to know the place I'm expected to rule."
Jatine bows again, but I don't miss the flicker in her gaze….nervousness, maybe even fear. Still, she nods and moves to the door. "As you wish."
The pack is vast. Old. Elegant. Its beauty is haunting. The floors gleam like mirrors. Tall windows stretch toward the heavens. Paintings of long-dead Alphas watch me with bored disdain as we walk past.
"Do you know how many people live here?" I ask as we step through a corridor draped in red.
"Hundreds," she replies. "Guards, servants, advisors, healers, warriors… The Alpha commands a powerful court."
"And you?" I glance at her. "How long have you been here?"
"Five years."
That surprises me. She doesn't look older than twenty.
We pass a small garden hidden between wings of the pack. A fountain whispers softly in the center, surrounded by white lilies. Jatine pauses beside it.
"This was Lady Dove's favorite place."
My chest tightens at the name.
Dove.
I've heard her name in whispers. In the tension in Sebastian's jaw. In the silence between words.
"What happened to her?"
Jatine's expression closes like a slammed door. "She died."
"How?"
She picks a lily and twirls it between her fingers. "No one knows. She vanished after the coronation. Her body washed up in the river three days later. Some say it was an accident. Others… don't."
The wind shifts, brushing cold fingers along my spine.
"And Sebastian?"
"He was never the same. He doesn't speak of her."
Of course not. The dead never get a voice in stories told by survivors.
"Was she the Luna?"
"No," Jatine says softly. "But she was meant to be."
I feel the implication like a slap. I'm wearing a crown meant for a ghost.
We continue walking, though everything feels heavier now. My chest tightens with every step. The estate is a cage, wrapped in velvet and gold, but a cage all the same. I count exits. Hallways. Weak points in the guard placement. I file it all away.
I will not rot here.
When we reach the west wing, Jatine points toward the far tower.
"That's the Alpha's wing."
"So we live separately?"
"Yes," she says. "Tradition."
Tradition. Control. Isolation.
I nod, hiding the tremor in my jaw. "Take me back to my apartments."
We move quickly through the winding halls. The corridors grow quieter the farther we walk. The laughter of distant servants fades into silence. As we pass beneath a carved stone arch, Jatine halts suddenly.
I stop beside her, confused—until I feel it.
A presence.
Powerful. Cold.
Something ancient slides across my skin like a breath on the back of my neck.
Then she steps out of the shadows.
She's tall, terrifyingly poised, with silver hair coiled into a crown of thorns atop her head. Her skin is pale, almost glowing, and her eyes… gods, her eyes are obsidian. Sharp. Bottomless. Her gown flows behind her like liquid midnight.
"Luna," she says. Her voice is smooth, ageless. It tastes like secrets and smoke.
Jatine bows so fast I almost miss it.
"Y-Your Majesty," she stammers.
I don't move.
I know who this is.
Queen Dagger.
Sebastian's mother.
Her real name is said to be unpronounceable, only ever whispered in fragments…Velyara of the Void, Mother of Flame, Widow of Wolves.
They call her Dagger because every word she speaks cuts something loose.
"Follow me," she says.
Not a request.
A command.
Jatine's eyes widen in panic. "Your Majesty, the Luna is—"
"She is mine now," Queen Dagger says, her gaze never leaving mine. "Go."
Jatine bows again and scurries away like prey scenting blood.
I stare at the Queen, heart hammering.
She turns, gliding down a narrow corridor I hadn't even noticed. With one last breath, I follow.
The air changes instantly.
Colder.
Thicker.
The walls are older here. Less polished. Stone instead of marble. The light flickers strangely, as if it hesitates to linger too long.
"Do you know why I called you?" she asks, not looking back.
"No."
"Good."
We reach a door carved with ancient runes. She pushes it open. Inside, the room is circular, lined with books bound in black and crimson. The ceiling stretches into darkness. A fire burns in the center of the room, though there's no wood, no source—just blue flame hovering above a stone pedestal.
"Sit."
I obey, perching stiffly on the chair beside the fire.
Queen Dagger circles me slowly, like a predator.
"My son is many things," she says. "A leader. A warrior. A fool. But he has always been terrible at choosing women."
I bristle. "Excuse me?"
She stops behind me, so close I feel her breath on my neck.
"Dove was delicate. Pretty. Obedient. And dead. You, however…" Her fingers trail lightly across my braid. "You are dangerous."
"I'm not…"
"Silence."
I freeze.
"You were not chosen for love. You were chosen for war. And war, my dear girl, is coming."
My blood runs cold.
She moves in front of me, kneeling so we're eye to eye.
"If you wish to survive this place, you will learn quickly. You will be sharp. Ruthless. And silent when necessary."
I meet her gaze, defiant. "And if I choose to leave?"
Her lips curl into something between a smile and a snarl.
"You won't."
She stands and glides to the door.
"But you will want to. Soon."
Before I can ask what she means, she's gone.
The fire dims.
The room shifts.
And I'm left sitting in the middle of something I don't understand—surrounded by the ghosts of the past, the promise of war, and the terrifying realization that this crown may very well become my cage.
Or my weapon.
And I have no idea which one I'll choose.