Chapter Forty-One-Northern Crescent
Elara’s POV
The hum reached me before the palace did.
Engines purred beneath the convoy, steady and controlled, but another sound rose over it-higher, metallic, insectile. A swarm. My stomach tightened before I even leaned toward the tinted glass to confirm it.
Drones. Hundreds of them.
They darted above us like black flies fattened on rumor, their camera eyes flashing red, white, and blue. Some skimmed so close to our SUV that their reflections glared in the paint. Others climbed higher, casting the whole caravan onto Crescent’s feeds. The world was watching, dissecting, judging.
I could almost hear the captions being typed in real time.
The bastard heir. The Alpha King’s scandal packaged neatly in a car seat.
A shiver ran over my skin. I hadn’t even stepped inside Crescent and already the air was full of verdicts. Would they ever see me as anything but an outsider? Would Aeron survive their scrutiny? The knot in my chest pulled tighter.
Beside me, Aeron pressed his nose to the glass, curls bouncing with every squeal. “Buggy! Mama, big buggy!” His palms smacked against the window, leaving prints that glowed in the drone strobe.
1 smoothed a hand down his soft hair, though my voice caught in my throat. “Not a bug, pup. Just… people watching.”
“Correction, cousin-an audience,” Cassia drawled from her sprawl across the leather seat. Crimson sweater, oversized sunglasses, a smirk that dared the cameras to find her best angle-she looked every inch the scandal’s star,
“Infestation,” Caius muttered from Aeron’s other side, long legs braced wide. “One of those things comes closer, I’ll swat it.”
Cassia tipped her shades lower, eyes glinting. “And then you’ll trend as Valemont’s Savage Ambassador, Imagine your face plastered on every feed.”
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“Better that,” he fired back, “than yours replayed as the cousin who stole the groom at his own wedding.”
Cassia kicked his shin. Aeron gasped with delight. “Aunty Cassha fight! Unca Caius owie!”
Their bickering-sharp, ridiculous, familiar-almost drowned out the buzz outside. Almost.
Then Aeron gasped, finger jabbing forward. “Sky castle!”
And gods help me, he wasn’t wrong.
The palace of Northern Crescent rose from the cliff like stormlight given form. Black stone towers speared upward, glass wings stretched wide to catch dawn’s fire, and gold ribs framed the heart of it. Flags whipped in the wind, wolf sigils embroidered in silver and black snapping as if alive. The place didn’t look built-it looked conjured.
雞
Below, the city sprawled in precise tiers. tablet rooftops tumbled down the cliffs in terraces, markets burst with color along narrow streets, and harbors glittered with ships lined like teeth, every bow angled in military order. Even the chaos was organized. Crescent breathed control.
Everything was sharp. Precise. Unyielding.
Everything was his.
Thorne’s.
“Mama, we stay hewe?” Aeron’s voice tugged me back.
1 nodded carefully. “Yes, pup. For now.”
His grin split wide, dimples flashing. “My birfday here?”
The words nearly undid me. He was still counting in months, not years-still thinking the greatest question in his life was where he’d eat cake. My chest ached with love and fear. “In two months,” I reminded softly. “We’ll see.”
“Birfday in castle!” he crowed, smacking Mister Dwagon against the glass like the dragon was announcing his coronation.
Cassia tipped her shades down, smirking. “If Crescent wasn’t prepared to crown him already, they’ll have their chance soon.”
The convoy slowed.
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The gates loomed ahead-iron taller than redwoods, Crescent’s crest etched in silver across their surface. Guards in black-and-gold uniforms flanked the walls, bows slung over their backs, golden eyes unblinking. Above them, wolves watched from the parapets, their posture disciplined, rehearsed.
The drones shrieked louder, their swarm pressing in like they smelled climax. My skin prickled.
The gates opened.
Our SUV rolled through, tires crunching on cobblestones polished by centuries of power.
The courtyard yawned wide and gleaming. Fountains spilled crystal water. Ivy crawled elegant over archways. Stairs climbed like a spine into the palace’s chest. Wolves lined the steps, dark uniforms catching the sun, eyes bright.
And then-one by one-they bowed.
Not to Cassia. Not to Caius. Not even to Thorne, though his presence was storm and crown
combined.
To Aeron.
My son’s small hands pressed to the glass. His eyes went wide. “They play peek-a-boo?” he whispered. Then he waved, curls bouncing. “Hi peepos!”
A murmur rolled through the wolves, low and unified. My ears caught it even through the sealed car.
Luna
The word brushed my skin like frost.
My pulse tripped, breath snagging. Me? Them bowing-not just to him, but to me by extension? It was surreal, a dream I’d never dared have turned into a prophecy I didn’t want. The idea of being Luna Queen pressed against me like armor I hadn’t chosen, heavy and dazzling at once.
Cassia’s smile curved, sharp as glass. “Subtle, aren’t they?”
Caius’s usual drawl thinned. “They smell what he is. And her.” His gaze flicked to me. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”
The SUV door hissed open. The air hit-pine sharp, salted sea, torches burning resin.
And louder than scent was sound. Wolves murmuring, voices braided into one word.
Luna.
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I stepped down with Aeron on my hip, his little hand waving like he’d been born for this parade.
Thorne walked with us, black coat snapping in the wind, golden eyes fixed. Dominance pressed from him in waves, silencing the courtyard. He didn’t need to greet us-he’d been beside us all along, but this was his stage, and every wolf bent to it.
“Home,” he said, his voice low but carrying.
And every wolf repeated it.
The word thundered like a vow through stone. Home.
Aeron threw his head back and laughed, the sound ringing like bells. Wolves bowed again in unison, black cloaks sweeping. Reverence prickled my skin until I couldn’t breathe.
Cassia brushed my shoulder with hers. “If you faint, I’ll defend your honor. But I’m very busy this
week.”
Caius shifted closer, silent steel at my left. “We walk,” he said, gentle and unyielding.
We walked.
The stairs rose, dizzying. Drones buzzed overhead; one dipped too low and a guard snapped it away with his baton, sparks scattering. Outside the walls, the crowd roared. Inside, silence reigned.
The palace doors opened.
I expected echo and chill. Instead-warmth and attention.
Black stone ribs arched into glass ceilings, sunlight pooling on veined marble. Chandeliers floated like constellations. Portraits lined the walls-stern kings, softer queens, their painted eyes tracking.
Staff lined the space, their motions seamless, orchestrated. At the stair’s base, a woman stepped forward. Dark hair coiled at her nape, suit sharp as steel, a silver wolf pin at her lapel.
“Highness,” she said to Thorne, then bowed deeper to me. “Lady Elara. Prince Aeron. I’m Chief Steward Maris. The nursery is prepared. Security is at yellow-red if you wish it.”
“Family first,” Thorne said. His gaze never left mine.
Maris crouched to Aeron’s eye level. “Your Majesty of Cookies,” she said gravely, “on behalf of Crescent, I present emergency rations.” She opened her palm, a tin stamped with a wolf crest.
Aeron gasped. “Fo’ me?”
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“For you. And Mister Dragon.”
“Dwagon,” he corrected.
“Of course.”
He hugged the tin like treasure. “Fank you.”
Tears pricked my eyes. I touched Maris’s shoulder. She inclined her head, message received.
The family salon was warmth disguised as opulence-fireplace blazing, rugs swallowing boots, trays arranged with military precision. Aeron vaulted onto a couch, banging the tin like a seal. “Wule one! Cookies fo’ bweakfast!”
Cassia raised her hand. “Motion to adopt.”
Caius lifted two fingers lazily. “Seconded.”
“Carried,” Julian announced from the doorway, tablet under his arm, smirk sharp enough to draw
blood.
Cassia slid her sunglasses down her nose. “Nice entrance, Spreadsheet. Practiced that?”
Julian leaned on the doorframe like he owned the room. “Timed it. You like a man who’s punctual.”
“I like a man with a pulse and a plan,” she said, lazy smile.
“I have both. And a budget.”
“Careful,” Cassia purred. “I’ll make you spend it.”
“On you? Happily. On glitter? Never.”
“Compromise,” she countered. “Edible glitter.”
He sighed, delighted and doomed. “My lawyer will be in touch.”
“I’ll settle out of court,” she said, and flicked her gaze over his tie. “Preferably somewhere with dim lighting.”
Julian’s mouth tugged. “Best behavior, Ambassador,”
“No promises,” she said, looking anything but sorry.
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Aeron offered him a cookie. “You bowwow.”
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Julian accepted gravely. “I’ll return it with interest.”
Laughter tangled in the air, fragile, dangerous and belonging.
The council tried next-sharp suits, sharper words. “We must formally receive-”
“No,” Thorne cut, final.
They sputtered. “We must establish boundaries.”
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Cassia’s smile promised violence. “Don’t call my cousin a package. And don’t pretend you can be trusted when half of you whisper in Ashthorne’s bed.”.
Caius’s hand slid to his blade. Lazy. Clear.
I folded my hands. “We’ll attend after the prince has eaten.”
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The councilor faltered when Aeron pushed the tin toward him. “You bowwow,” my son decreed. “But give back.”
The man stammered thanks. Aeron corrected, “Li’l King.”
The council retreated.
Later, at the nursery.
Moonlight blue walls. A forest mural painted like Valemont. Blocks stacked neatly. On the bed-a quilt I knew. My mother’s.
“How?” I whispered.
“Your mother sent it,” Maris said.
Aeron bounced on the bed, curls flying. “Dis mine?”
“For as long as you want.”
He shoved under the quilt, popped back up, and declared with toddler gravity, “Yours.”
And for once, I didn’t argue.
We slept. Ten minutes or an hour-palace time blurred.
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Chapter Forty-One – Northern Crescent
I woke to Crescent spread below-stone, glass, banners snapping like weather. Not a cage, I thought. Not today.
Aeron stirred. “Birfday here?”
“Yes,” I said, and the promise anchored like stone.
Back in the salon, politics blurred with laughter. Cassia was already drunk-decorating in theory, Caius vowing to guard cake, Julian drafting glitter bans, Aeron building forts.
And Thorne, watching me with molten eyes, murmured my name. “Elara.”
I lifted my chin, felt the bond, and answered the word that had chased me since the gates.
“Home.”
Chapter Forty-Two- Rooms of Stone and Gold
Elara’s POV
The word was still humming in my bones-home-when the palace decided to swallow us whole.
A single nod from Thorne was all it took. The double doors opened wider than they had any right to, black stone ribs curving into glass vaults above, sunlight flooding a floor so polished I could see the sharp lines of my own nerves reflected back. For a heartbeat, it didn’t feel like stepping into a house. It felt like stepping into a mouth.
The palace had teeth, and it smiled at us.
Cassia, naturally, struck a pose as if the whole foyer had been built for her. “If this isn’t my next magazine spread backdrop, Crescent owes me royalties.”
Caius didn’t even grunt, which in his language meant he was too busy cataloguing exits. His gaze darted over the archways, the staircases, the side halls, every sightline as if he were already staging a
siege.
Aeron, however, had exactly zero reservations about marching his cookie tin and stuffed dragon into history’s grandest hallway. He thumped forward on tiny boots, curls bouncing, announcing to no one in particular: “Dis big house.”
“Palace,” Cassia corrected, sweeping her arm as though she were the tour guide of doom. “Palace, darling. Big houses are for billionaires. This is for kings.”
“King house,” Aeron repeated solemnly, then dropped Mister Dwagon on the marble to skid along the shine. “Oopsies.”
The sound echoed up into the rafters like a royal decree.
Julian appeared on our flank, tablet tucked like a weapon, his expression set in that precise shade of not-amused-but-secretly-amused he wore like armor. “Congratulations,” he murmured dryly, “the dragon has now christened the state foyer. The first scandal will be marble maintenance.”
Thorne’s mouth twitched-not a smile, not quite-but his golden eyes never left me. As though the entire parade of staff, chandeliers, and bowed wolves were secondary to the answer he wanted from my pulse: could I survive this?
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