The fortress air was heavy with storm clouds, pressing low over the spires like a warning. The pack went about its duties with clipped movements, their unease thick enough to taste. Rumors had begun to coil like smoke: whispers of the Blessed Luna, of a healer who glowed beneath the moonlight, of Selene’s beauty cracking around the edges.
Selene heard every whisper.
And she hated them all.
From her chamber window, Selene’s eyes tracked Aria moving across the courtyard below, her skirts dusted with herbs, her hands lifting to brush a lock of hair from her flushed face. Warriors nodded respectfully as she passed. Mothers smiled at her. Even the elders, once dismissive, inclined their heads.
Selene’s nails dug into her palm until blood welled.
“No,” she hissed under her breath. “No, no,
