Chapter 10
1523 Words
The wedding of Rowan Hale and Lady Elara Thorn became one of the grandest celebrations the Nocteron Kingdom had witnessed in decades.
Held within the sprawling grounds of Whitecliff Castle, the ceremony drew nobles, Alphas, ministers, and dignitaries from every corner of the kingdom. Banners bearing the crests of the various packs fluttered proudly in the cool breeze, while musicians filled the castle courtyards with melodies that echoed against the ancient stone walls.
The marriage was more than the union of two individuals.
It symbolized the joining of Whitecliff Pack with the most prestigious bloodline in the entire Nocteron Kingdom.
Even His Majesty, the Lycan King, Dorian Kade, honored the occasion with his presence.
As supreme ruler of the Nocteron Kingdom, King Dorian rarely attended the weddings of pack rulers. His appearance alone spoke volumes about the importance of the Thorn family and the significance of Elara’s Pure-Blood Luna lineage.
Towering above nearly every noble in attendance, Dorian possessed the commanding aura that only a true Lycan King could carry. His dark attire was embroidered with silver threads that shimmered beneath the sunlight, while the ancient crown resting upon his head served as a reminder that every pack within Nocteron ultimately answered to him.
Beside him stood Prime Minister Damien Thorne and his wife Eleanor Thorn, their expression calm yet proud as they watched their daughter exchange vows.
Rowan and Elara stood before the sacred Moon Altar, the High Priestess raised an ancient silver chalice engraved with the symbols of the Moon Goddess. The vast courtyard fell into complete silence.
“Before the Moon Goddess and the ancestors who came before us,” the priestess proclaimed, her voice carrying across the castle grounds, “do you, Rowan Hale of Whitecliff Pack, accept Elara Thorn as your fated mate, to protect her, honor her, and remain by her side for as long as the moon graces the night sky?”
Rowan never hesitated.
“I do.”
The priestess turned to Elara.
“And do you, Elara Thorn, daughter of Prime Minister Damien Thorne and Lady Eleanor Thorne, accept Rowan Hale as your fated mate, to stand beside him through prosperity and hardship, beneath every full moon and every sunrise?”
Elara’s sapphire eyes shimmered with quiet emotion as she met Rowan’s gaze.
“I do.”
The High Priestess joined their hands.
A warm silver light blossomed from where their fingers touched, flowing gently around them like liquid moonlight. Gasps spread throughout the crowd as the blessing of the Moon Goddess enveloped the couple, confirming that the sacred mating bond had been accepted.
The bells of Whitecliff Castle rang triumphantly.
Nobles rose to their feet.
Warriors pounded their fists against their chests in salute.
Even Lycan King Dorian Kade offered a single nod of approval, a gesture so rare that many guests regarded it as the greatest honor the young couple could receive.
The celebration continued well into the night.
Long banquet tables overflowed with roasted venison, honey-glazed fruits, fresh bread, and the finest wines from every pack in the Nocteron Kingdom. Musicians filled the air with joyful melodies while couples danced beneath thousands of glowing moon lanterns.
Elara smiled more that evening than she had in years.
She believed she had been blessed by both fate and the Moon Goddess.
Watching her genuine happiness, Prime Minister Damien Thorne leaned quietly toward his wife.
“Our daughter has found a good man.”
Lady Eleanor smiled warmly.
“I pray she will always be this happy.”
Not far away, Rowan raised his goblet alongside Marcus, exchanging cheerful laughter with the wedding guests.
No one noticed that every smile he offered concealed another carefully calculated lie.
As the days turned into weeks, Rowan became the husband every woman in Whitecliff secretly wished for.
Each morning before the sun climbed above the castle walls, he picked fresh moon lilies from the royal gardens and placed them in Elara’s chambers because she had once casually mentioned that they reminded her of home.
When official duties took him beyond the castle, he never returned empty-handed. Sometimes he brought rare books from the capital because she loved to read. Other times he surprised her with handcrafted jewelry made by the finest artisans in Whitecliff or sweet pastries from the village bakery that she had complimented during one of their walks.
He remembered everything she said.
Every favorite flower.
Every childhood story.
Every small preference.
The little details most husbands overlooked.
To the servants, it seemed impossible that a man could love his wife more deeply.
Even Marcus found himself impressed.
“I’ve never seen Rowan like this,” he admitted to Celeste one evening. “Perhaps love truly has changed him.”
Celeste merely forced a smile.
If only he knew.
Elara’s gentle heart prevented her from questioning Rowan’s intentions.
She believed every thoughtful gesture.
Every reassuring smile.
Every promise.
Elara herself gradually stopped wondering whether destiny had truly chosen the right mate.
She began to believe it had.
One evening, as they watched the sunset from the balcony overlooking the castle grounds, Elara rested her head gently against Rowan’s shoulder.
“I was afraid,” she confessed softly.
Rowan glanced at her.
“Afraid of what?”
“Leaving my family… leaving the capital… beginning a new life among strangers.”
She laughed quietly at herself.
“But you’ve made everything so easy.”
For a brief moment, Rowan simply looked at her.
There was such honesty in her smile that even he found himself momentarily speechless.
Then he gently brushed a loose strand of silver hair behind her ear.
“You’ll never have to face anything alone again.”
The words sounded sincere.
So sincere that even Rowan almost believed them himself.
Elara smiled, her heart warming with every passing day.
She had no way of knowing that the man she trusted most had married her not out of love, but because she possessed the one gift capable of placing a crown upon his head.
While Elara dreamed of building a lifetime together…
Rowan counted the days until the next Blood Moon.
As Queen of Whitecliff, Celeste frequently visited Rowan and Elara’s residence within the castle grounds.
Although Marcus and Celeste lived in the royal quarters reserved for the ruling Alpha King and his Luna, Rowan had been granted an elegant manor within the castle estate, befitting the younger prince and his Pure-Blood Luna wife.
Elara welcomed Celeste warmly every time she arrived.
The two women quickly formed a close friendship.
They spent afternoons strolling through blooming gardens, sipping tea beneath flowering moon lilies, exchanging stories of childhood, and speaking about the futures they hoped to build.
To Elara, who had left her family in the capital of the Nocteron Kingdom, Celeste became more than a friend.
She became the sister she had never had.
Elara trusted her without reservation.
She confided in Celeste about everything.
How kind Rowan was.
How patient he had been with her.
How grateful she felt that the Moon Goddess had chosen such a wonderful mate.
Each confession drove another invisible knife into Celeste’s heart.
Jealousy slowly took root within her.
How could Rowan smile at Elara like that?
How could he look so convincing?
At times, even Celeste found herself wondering whether Rowan had truly fallen in love with his wife.
Yet whenever Elara stepped away, whether to speak with servants, oversee the household, or prepare refreshments, Celeste quietly slipped away in search of Rowan.
Hidden from watchful eyes, they met in deserted corridors, secluded gardens, and forgotten balconies where no one could overhear them.
There, Rowan removed the mask he wore before his wife.
“You’ve become quite convincing,” Celeste said one afternoon, unable to hide the bitterness in her voice. “Sometimes I almost believe you’ve fallen in love with her.”
Rowan laughed softly.
“In love?”
He shook his head.
“Elara is nothing more than a means to an end.”
Celeste searched his face.
“You swear?”
Without hesitation, Rowan took both of her hands.
“You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”
His voice remained steady.
“Everything I’m doing, marrying Elara, treating her kindly, pretending to be the perfect husband, is for us.”
Celeste’s anxious expression slowly softened.
“And after you become king?”
Rowan smiled confidently.
“After I take the throne from Marcus, this charade will end.”
He squeezed her hands gently.
“I’ll make you my queen.”
Those were the words Celeste had been longing to hear.
She smiled again, believing every promise that left his lips.
From that day forward, whenever she visited Rowan’s manor, she became even more affectionate toward Elara.
She laughed with her.
Comforted her.
Shared meals with her.
Braided her silver hair.
To everyone watching, they looked like sisters.
Only Celeste knew that every smile she offered was another lie.
And Elara…
Sweet, trusting Elara…
Never suspected a thing.
With every passing day, her trust in both her husband and her dearest friend grew stronger.
And with every lie they told her…
The trap tightened.
- Writer
