“Zion, smile a little,” Isolde whispered, linking her arm tighter around the Alpha of Moonstrike. Her voice was sweet, but her grip was firm—like she was clutching the proof of her victory.
“I’m not in a marketplace, Isolde. I don’t need to sell my smile,” Zion murmured without looking at her.
They stood in the grand hall, where the soft hum of violins filled the air, accompanying the footsteps of guests from every territory.
Yet every eye in the room was drawn to one pair—the betrothed couple of the Moonstrike Pack.
Isolde smiled gracefully, nodding to each guest who bowed in respect.
“Alpha of the Heart River, thank you for coming all this way,” she said warmly. “Ah, Luna of the Midnight Moon, your gown is absolutely stunning tonight.”
All the while, her fingers never once left Zio
