Chapter 4
1139 Words
The day moved like thick honey.
Too slow when Aria needed it to pass, too heavy when she needed it to breathe.
By late afternoon the stronghold had shifted into something sharp and bright. Torches were lit along the corridors. Fresh rushes were scattered on the floors. Wolves moved with a kind of humming urgency—straightening jackets, smoothing dresses, adjusting hair. Everyone knew there would be an announcement tonight.
No one knew exactly what kind.
Aria carried a basket of folded linens down the main corridor, more to keep her hands busy than because anyone had asked her to. Every time she passed a group, conversations dipped, eyes slid to her, then away.
The Beta’s daughter.
The future Luna.
The girl who might ruin years of planning.
Her wolf bristled at the last, but there was a small, stubborn spark of satisfaction too.
At the turning to the great hall, she nearly collided with her father.
“Careful,” Richard said, catching the basket before it tipped. His hands were steady, but his eyes were harder than usual, lines around his mouth deeper.
“Sorry,” Aria murmured. “I wasn’t—”
“Looking where you were going?” He studied her for a moment, then gentled. “You’ve been somewhere else all day.”
She bit her tongue on the obvious answer: with him. On that balcony. Against that wall.
Instead she said, “Everyone’s… a little on edge.”
“That’s one way to put it.” He set the basket aside and steered her into a small alcove, away from the traffic. “Listen to me for a second.”
The last time he’d used that tone she’d been twelve and about to throw herself between two snarling wolves twice her size.
“Yes?” she asked quietly.
“Whatever happens in there tonight, you stand straight,” he said. “You do not apologize for existing. You do not cower.” His gaze sharpened. “Even if you don’t like what you hear.”
A chill slid down her spine. “Why wouldn’t I like it?”
He hesitated for a fraction of a breath. “Because the Council rarely does anything simply,” he said finally. “And because the Alpha’s son is not the only one who makes decisions.”
She swallowed. “Do you think he’ll—”
“I think,” her father said, “that Aiden is young, and he’s being pulled in too many directions. But I also think if he meant what he told you, he’ll find a way to show it.” His mouth twisted. “Just remember you don’t vanish if he doesn’t.”
It took her a moment to process the if.
Her chest tightened. “You know?”
“I’m not blind,” he said, a hint of wryness under the grit. “Or nose‑blind.” His expression softened. “You’re my daughter. I don’t have to approve of every choice to stand beside you when they come back to bite.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
He squeezed her shoulder once, firmly. “Go get ready. Your mother will have my hide if you turn up to a pack announcement in those clothes.”
Her mother had indeed laid out a dress.
It wasn’t extravagant; they couldn’t compete with Alpha finery. But the deep green fabric brought out the gold in Aria’s eyes, the fitted bodice hugging her waist before the skirt flowed softly to her ankles. A thin silver chain circled her throat, a small moonstone pendant resting at the hollow of her neck.
“You look beautiful,” her mother said, fastening the clasp. “Like you belong on that dais.”
“Do I?” Aria asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Her mother met her gaze in the cracked mirror. “You belong wherever you decide to stand,” she said. “If that’s beside him, good. If it’s not… we’ll adjust.”
Adjust. As if stepping down from the edge of a dream was just… rearranging furniture.
Aria forced a smile, kissed her mother’s cheek, and let herself be fussed over until there was nothing left to straighten.
By the time they reached the great hall, it was already filling. Lanterns burned brighter than the night before. The dais was draped in Silvercrest colors—deep blue and charcoal grey—banners hanging on either side like watchful eyes.
Aria slipped toward the front as Aiden had asked, heart hammering. She could feel him before she saw him: a familiar pull in her chest, a steady thrum of bond.
Then he stepped out from the side door with his parents and the elders.
For a heartbeat, the image matched every foolish dream she’d ever had: Aiden in a dark jacket, shoulders broad, chin high, eyes sweeping the crowd. Alpha Efrain, solid at his side. Luna Beatrice, serene and regal. The future lined up like a path she could walk if she just put one foot in front of the other.
Then she saw Olivia.
The other woman walked just behind them, dressed in pale silver that caught every shard of light, her arm brushing Aiden’s as they moved. Wolves watched them as a unit: Alpha, Luna, heir, perfect candidate.
Something cold settled under Aria’s ribs.
Aiden’s gaze found her in the front row. The bond tightened like a rope. For a second, uncertainty flickered over his face—real fear, real want.
He looked away first.
Aria swallowed down the nausea and forced her shoulders back. Her father’s words echoed in her head. You do not cower.
Alpha Efrain raised his hands. The hall quieted instantly.
“Silvercrest,” he said, voice filling the space. “Tonight we stand at the edge of change. My son has returned from the Academy. Our pack is strong, our alliances many. It is time to speak of the future.”
Aiden stepped forward to his side.
Aria’s fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt to stop them trembling. The bond pulsed. Every wolf in the hall seemed to lean forward.
“This future,” Efrain continued, “requires stability. Strength. A Luna who can stand with our Alpha and carry the weight of what is to come.”
Aria heard her own heartbeat in her ears.
Beside Efrain, Aiden drew in a breath, chest rising. His gaze flicked to her again, then to Olivia, then to the elders.
He opened his mouth.
“Tonight,” he said, voice carrying, “I will name my mate.”
The word hung there, heavy and electric.
Aria’s wolf surged to her feet inside her skin, ready to leap.
Please, she thought, throat tight. Choose me.
He looked straight at her for one shattering second.
And then he turned away.
- Writer
