Lyra's POV
I wake up screaming.
My body jerks upright in the unfamiliar bed, tangled in silk sheets that smell like starlight, my heart racing so fast I think it might explode. For a moment, I don't know where I am. The room is too beautiful, too impossible, the ceiling glittering with what looks like actual stars.
Then it all comes crashing back.
The rejection. The pain. The Moon King descending from the sky. The marks appearing on my skin. Being ripped from everything I've ever known and brought here—wherever here is.
I look down at my arms in the soft starlight. The marks are still there—silver and gold runes covering my skin, glowing faintly. Proof that last night wasn't a nightmare.
It was real. All of it.
A sob catches in my throat, but before it can escape, I feel it—a presence at the edge of my awareness. Not in the room with me, but close. Connected to me somehow.
The bond.
I can feel Azriel through it, like a constant hum at the back of my mind. He's awake too. Alert. And the moment I think his name, I swear I feel him react—a flicker of awareness that tells me he knows I'm conscious.
"Get out of my head," I whisper to the empty room.
The presence doesn't leave, but it pulls back slightly. Giving me space while still remaining connected. It's suffocating and comforting in equal measure, and I hate that I can't decide which feeling is stronger.
A soft knock at the door makes me jump.
"Come in," I call, my voice hoarse.
Elder Moira enters, carrying a tray with food that smells impossibly good. Behind her is a young woman about my age with kind eyes and a warm smile.
"Good morning, Your Majesty," the young woman says, bowing slightly.
I flinch. "Please don't call me that. I'm just Lyra."
"You're the Moon-Born Queen," Elder Moira says gently, setting the tray on a table near the window. "That title isn't optional, child. The sooner you accept it, the easier things will be."
"Nothing about this is easy." I push the tangled hair from my face. "I don't know how to be a queen. I don't even know how to control whatever this is—" I gesture at the marks on my skin. "—let alone rule a realm I just learned existed."
"Which is why your training begins today." Elder Moira's blind eyes somehow find mine. "But first, you need to eat. You'll need your strength."
The young woman—who introduces herself as Celeste, a palace attendant assigned to me—helps me into clothes that are both beautiful and practical. Soft leather pants, a flowing silver top, boots that look like they're made for fighting. Not the delicate dresses I expected a queen to wear.
"Azriel's orders," Celeste explains when she sees my confused look. "He said you'd need to be able to move freely. For combat training."
"Combat training?" My voice squeaks. "I can barely throw a punch!"
"Not for long." Celeste's smile is encouraging. "The Moon King is the best teacher in both realms. If anyone can unlock your potential, it's him."
I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.
After forcing down some food—my stomach is still in knots—Elder Moira leads me through the palace. The corridors shift and change as we walk, never quite the same twice. Everything is beautiful in an otherworldly way that makes my head spin.
We finally stop at a massive door covered in the same symbols that mark my skin.
"The training chamber," Elder Moira announces. "Azriel is waiting inside. Remember, child—he may be harsh, but everything he does is to prepare you for what's coming."
"What is coming?" I ask desperately. "Everyone keeps saying I'm in danger, that dark forces are hunting me, but no one will explain—"
"That's Azriel's story to tell." She pushes the door open. "Good luck."
I step inside, and the door closes behind me with an ominous thud.
The chamber is enormous—easily the size of the entire Thornwood Pack training grounds. The floor is smooth silver stone, the walls lined with weapons I don't recognize. And in the center, standing with his arms crossed, is Azriel.
He's not wearing his celestial armor anymore. Instead, he's in simple black training clothes that somehow make him look even more dangerous. His dark hair is pulled back, revealing the sharp angles of his face, and those silver eyes track my every movement as I approach.
"You're late," he says.
I glance around. "There are no clocks. How was I supposed to know what time—"
"You feel the sun through the bond now. Time is instinctive for celestial wolves." He moves closer, circling me like a predator. "You need to start paying attention to these things. Your life may depend on it."
"My life depended on a lot of things yesterday too," I snap back, surprising myself. "Like not getting my mate bond severed in front of hundreds of witnesses."
Azriel stops circling. "Are you going to hold onto that pain forever, or are you going to use it?"
"Excuse me?"
"Pain is a tool." His tone is matter-of-fact. "Anger is a weapon. What that Alpha did to you was cruel and unforgivable. You can either let it break you, or you can let it make you stronger. Which do you choose?"
I stare at him, torn between fury and the terrible realization that he's right.
"I choose to survive," I finally say.
Something that might be approval flickers in his eyes. "Good. Then let's begin."
He moves so fast I don't see it coming. One moment he's standing several feet away, the next his hand is around my wrist, pulling me off balance.
I stumble, nearly falling, but his other hand catches my waist, steadying me. We're suddenly very close, his silver eyes boring into mine.
"First lesson," he says quietly. "Celestial wolves move faster than mortal ones. If you want to survive in this realm, you need to learn to match our speed. Again."
He releases me and steps back, then moves again—same lightning-fast approach, same grab for my wrist.
This time, I try to dodge. I fail miserably, ending up flat on my back with Azriel standing over me.
"Again," he commands.
We do it over and over. Each time, I fail. Each time, I end up on the ground, frustrated and exhausted. Sweat drips down my face, my muscles screaming in protest.
"I can't do this!" I finally shout, sitting on the floor and refusing to get up. "I'm not fast enough, I'm not strong enough, I'm—"
"Not trying hard enough." Azriel's voice is cold. "You're still thinking like a mortal wolf. Small. Weak. Limited. Stop believing the lies you were told and start believing what you are."
"And what am I?" I demand, tears of frustration burning my eyes.
"You're the Moon-Born Queen." He crouches in front of me, forcing me to meet his gaze. "You have power in your blood that most wolves can't even comprehend. The marks on your skin aren't decoration—they're channels for celestial magic. You can command moonlight itself if you learn how. You can heal with a touch, fight with supernatural strength, sense emotions and intentions before they're acted upon. You're not weak, Lyra. You never were. You just need to remember."
"How?" My voice breaks. "How do I remember something I never knew?"
Azriel extends his hand. "By trusting me. By letting go of everything you thought you were and embracing what you're becoming."
I stare at his outstretched hand, hesitating.
"I don't trust easily," I admit. "Not after yesterday."
"I know." His expression softens slightly. "And I'm not asking for blind trust. I'm asking you to give me a chance to prove I'm not him. That I won't abandon you when things get difficult."
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. This is the first time he's shown any real emotion besides cold authority.
Slowly, I reach out and take his hand.
The moment our skin touches, power surges through the bond between us. Not painful, but intense—like lightning racing through my veins. The marks on my skin flare bright, and suddenly I feel it. The power he was talking about. It's been there all along, dormant under the seal, waiting.
My wolf stirs for the first time since the rejection.
It's just a flutter, barely there, but it's something. She's still alive. Still fighting.
"There," Azriel says, and I realize he felt it too through the bond. "That's what you're capable of. Now let's teach you how to use it."
He pulls me to my feet, and this time when he moves, I see it coming. Not fully, not perfectly, but enough to dodge partially. His hand still catches my wrist, but I'm not completely off balance this time.
"Better," he says, and there might be the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Again."
We train for hours. Slowly, painfully, I start to improve. My movements get faster. My reflexes sharpen. The power in my blood begins to wake up, responding to my desperation and determination.
By the time Azriel finally calls a break, I'm exhausted but exhilarated. For the first time since the rejection, I feel like I'm not completely helpless.
"You did well," Azriel says, handing me water. "Better than I expected for a first session."
"Thanks, I think?" I collapse against the wall, gulping the water.
He sits beside me—close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him, but not touching. "I meant what I said earlier. About protecting you. But I need you to understand something."
I look over at him. "What?"
"The bond between us—" He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "—it's not just about the prophecy. Yes, that's what brought me to you. But the moment I saw you in that clearing, broken and kneeling, something in me... recognized you. Not just as the Moon-Born Queen. As something more."
My heart starts racing. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that this bond is real. Not forced, not fabricated—real. And I know you don't want it, don't want me, not after what you've been through. But I need you to know that I'm not using you. This isn't about power or prophecy or politics." His silver eyes meet mine, and they're burning with an intensity that steals my breath. "This is about you and me, and something that was always meant to be."
Before I can respond, the chamber door slams open.
A tall man with auburn hair and amber eyes strides in, his armor bearing the marks of a high-ranking celestial warrior. He takes one look at us sitting close together and raises an eyebrow.
"Am I interrupting something?" he asks, amusement clear in his voice.
Azriel stands abruptly. "Caius. What are you doing here?"
"Bringing news." Caius's expression turns serious. "News you're not going to like."
"What happened?" Azriel demands.
Caius's gaze shifts to me, and I see pity in his eyes. "It's about the mortal realm. About Alpha Kael Thornwood."
My stomach drops. "What about him?"
"He's made a deal," Caius says grimly. "With something dark. Something ancient and very, very dangerous. And according to our spies—" He looks at Azriel. "—he's planning to breach the celestial realm. He's coming for her."
The room goes deathly quiet.
"Let him come," Azriel says, his voice deadly soft. "I'll destroy anyone who tries to take what's mine."
But I'm not listening to him anymore. Because through the bond, through that connection I'm still learning to understand, I feel something that makes my blood run cold.
Azriel isn't just protective. He's possessive. Obsessively so.
And I realize with startling clarity that I might have escaped one cage only to find myself in another.
One with silver bars and a king who just claimed me as his.