The Huntress Luna

Chapter 7 The Royal Dinner

Arya's POV

The Whitestone palace dining hall was really built for royalty. Golden light poured from the chandeliers, polished stone gleamed between velvet banners, and the long oak tables stretched so far, I almost couldn't see the end. Every place was set with silver cups and plates so golden that I could see my reflection.

I felt like I had walked into the den of lions.

Dozens of eyes turned towards me as I stepped through the carved doors. The warriors and nobles all stared at me, their mumbles reaching my ear. I could hear their thoughts—a rogue that came from nowhere, dressed in a navy blue gown that didn't quite fit my body. My shoulders were tense, my eyes were watchful. I didn't belong in silk and lace — well, at least not now. And yet, here I was.

I told myself to breathe, to walk slowly, one step at a time. Rodrick's voice whispered in my ear: Revenge. My gaze shifted to the high table.

The King and Queen sat in their carved golden thrones, their purple linen wrapped in flesh. The King's jaw was stiff, his gray beard trimmed short, his dark eyes heavy with the weight of a ruler. The Queen beside him, softer but still commanding. She has a quiet strength in the tilt of her chin. She looked at me the way healers look at wounds—carefully, but with gentleness.

I hated them for it. I hated the warmth in her eyes, the stern dignity in his posture. Murderers who wore crowns. And yet, for a second, my breath paused. They looked so... human.

Beside them sat an older man, Elder Ezra. The king's right-hand man. His eyes were hawk-sharp, his posture was straight. He didn't say anything unlike the others. He simply sat quietly observing me. Only the long, measured look made me feel like I wasn't wearing anything beneath. As if he could see through my lies.

I bowed my head gently, "Your Majesty. Alpha. Thank you for having me in your presence."

Before the King could respond, the palace doors flung open.

An old woman rushed in, guided by a servant. She looked frail, her hair was silver, and her hands were shaking as she held a cane. I realized it was the King's mother—I heard about her in the quarters. They said her mind had gone, that she wasn't in touch with reality.

The hall became silent as she was led towards the high table.

Her cloudy eyes wandered until they landed on me. Then suddenly, they cleared. Her lips trembled and her whole body went stiff.

"My baby," she mumbled, her voice breaking with both joy and sadness. "Where have you been?" The words struck like lightning.

Everybody in the hall froze. Forks paused mid-air, golden cups halfway to the mouths. All eyes landed on me.

My ears rang. My hands folded into a fist at my sides, nails digging into my palms. My throat locked. I was still waiting for the ground to open and swallow me whole.

"I..." I gulped my saliva, forcing my lips to curve into a polite smile. "I'm sorry, your highness. You must be mistaken."

But she struggled against the servant's grasp, reaching a hand towards me. "No, my sweet child. They told me you were gone. Where have you been?"

The Queen moved towards her, hands placed gently on her shoulders, "You are tired mother. Please, sit and rest. It's been a long day already."

"No!" the old woman cried, tears spilling down her wrinkled cheeks. "She's my baby!"

Whispers rose through the hall. "What's she saying?"

"Isn't that the rogue?"

The servant led her to a chair where she sat, confusingly filling her face again. She blinked as though she was waking up from a dream.

But the damage was done. Everybody's gaze was fixed on me. Its eyes could stab, trust me they would.

I lowered my head, my heart beating heavily against my ribs. From across the room, a smirk was on Lyria's lips. She leaned forward, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "You seem to always have a way of making an entrance. First our Alpha now the King's mother mistakes you for royalty. Tell me Arya, what gives?

The insult was sharp, but her delivery was sharper. Her friends sipped into their cups. I dug my fork into the roasted meat before me, ignoring her, though the food tasted sour in my mouth.

Then Kyle's voice broke through the hall, loud but firm. "Silence." The whispers ceased immediately.

Kyle turned to me, then across the hall, "Arya fought her way here. She's already proved herself in battle. She deserves respect, not suspicion."

Lyria's jaw stiffened, her fork scraping against her plate, it made me shiver.

The King's gaze pierced me sharply, "A stray. Why should we house someone with no ties to our pack?"

Kyle didn't flinch. Because she's more than a stray. You'll see it in time."

The Queen's gaze softened, I thought she saw through me. She gave a slight smile, "Let her sit at the high table."

Gasps broke through the hall. I stood still. The high table?

"Come," Kyle said, extending a hand to me.

Every muscle in my body screamed no. But all eyes were on me, waiting for me to waver. I forced my legs to move, each step heavier than the last until I sat beside him, directly across from the King and Queen.

Ezra leaned forward, his voice steady, "Tell us Arya, where are you from?"

I knew it was a trap and I had to escape.

"Nowhere," I said bluntly. "I've hunted rogues my whole life. I have no pack, no family."

Ezra's smile faded. "How amazing. For the middle of nowhere to train a girl who fights like a wolf bred only for war."

My jaw stiffened. The King grunted. "We'll see if she's worth it with time. We don't shelter rogues forever."

The Queen's hand rested on his arm gently. She turned back to me. "Eat child. You look famished."

I lowered my gaze, murmuring thanks I didn't mean.

The meal passed in a blur of music, clinking goblet cups and laughter. I barely ate. My mind was still on the old woman that barged in just to embarrass me.

My baby? It couldn't be true. She was crazy. But why did it feel genuine?

Meanwhile, Ezra's eyes were still on me. When the King rose, he lifted his goblet and his voice roared through the hall. "Wolves of Whitestone. Our borders hold. Our enemies tremble. Tonight, we feast for the strength of the pack."

The hall roared back in unison, raising her goblets high, "To the pack!"

I raised my goblet with them, though my fingers trembled around t

he stem. Deep inside I knew, this wasn't a feast. It was a stage and I was a character in it.