The Luna's Choice

Chapter Three

The celebration unfolded with the kind of effortless elegance only royal courts seemed capable of mastering.

Music drifted through the banquet hall in soft waves of strings and piano while nobles moved gracefully beneath the glow of moonfire chandeliers, their voices blending together beneath the constant murmur of conversation and laughter. Long tables lined the chamber from end to end, covered in silver platters overflowing with food, crystal goblets filled with dark wine, and elaborate floral arrangements woven with pale moonflowers and black roses.

From a distance, the evening looked perfect.

The Kingdom of Asterra had gathered to celebrate a royal wedding, and every noble in attendance appeared determined to make the occasion look worthy of history.

Lyanna sat beside Alaric at the center table beneath the royal dais, trying not to feel overwhelmed by the endless attention surrounding them. Wolves from every ruling pack filled the hall in silks, jewels, and ceremonial colors, their conversations carrying beneath the music in polished, measured tones that somehow felt more exhausting than open hostility ever could.

She had never realized how tiring it was to be watched constantly.

Even now, she could feel eyes drifting toward her from different corners of the chamber before politely looking away whenever she noticed. Some seemed curious. Others openly assessing. A few looked almost disappointed, as though she had failed to become extraordinary merely by marrying into the Stormborne bloodline.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her wine glass.

“You are holding that goblet as though it personally offended you.”

The quiet comment beside her caught her off guard enough that she nearly turned too quickly.

Alaric sat relaxed in his chair, though not carelessly so. Even outside the ceremony itself, there was still something composed about him, as though years within the royal court had trained every movement into restraint. Beneath the softer lighting of the banquet hall, the sharpness of his features seemed less severe than before, though the pale storm-gray of his eyes remained difficult to look away from for too long.

“I am attempting to appear calm,” Lyanna murmured.

“You currently look as though you are deciding who to poison first.”

To her horror, a laugh escaped before she could stop it.

The sound was small and brief, but it still startled her enough that she lowered her gaze toward the wine in her hand almost immediately.

“I did not realize princes were allowed to mock their brides during wedding celebrations.”

“We are not,” Alaric replied smoothly. “Which is why I would appreciate your discretion.”

The corner of his mouth shifted slightly afterward, not quite a smile, but close enough that something inside her loosened despite herself.

It unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

She had expected coldness from him. Distance, certainly. Perhaps even resentment toward the political arrangement that had brought them there in the first place. Instead, Alaric had spent most of the evening quietly ensuring she never stood alone long enough for the court to overwhelm her completely.

Whenever nobles approached with overly sharp curiosity disguised as politeness, he redirected conversations before they became uncomfortable. Whenever the attention in the room became too suffocating, he seemed to notice before she said anything at all.

It was not affection.

Not yet.

But it was kindness, and Lyanna was beginning to realize how dangerous kindness could feel when one least expected it.

Across the hall, nobles drifted toward the dance floor as the music swelled once more. Riverclaw wolves laughed loudly near the center tables while several Redgrave commanders had already begun drinking heavily enough to earn visible disapproval from the Nightbane delegation seated nearby.

The court looked beautiful from a distance, but beneath the elegance, tension moved quietly through the room like something alive.

Every conversation seemed to carry hidden meaning beneath it. Every smile concealed calculation.

Even the ruling packs kept mostly to themselves.

The Nightbane wolves sat rigid and watchful in dark navy and silver, while the Shadowmere delegation spoke so quietly together that their conversations appeared almost secretive by design. The Redgrave Alpha looked permanently unimpressed by the festivities around him, broad shoulders leaning back in his chair as though he would rather be standing on a battlefield than attending a royal banquet.

And above them all, seated upon the elevated royal dais beneath the crest of House Stormborne, King Edric observed the hall with the calm authority of someone who had ruled for decades.

To his right stood Caelen, speaking quietly with one of the royal advisers while Vanya remained seated nearby, elegant as ever beneath layers of black silk and silver jewels. Even from across the chamber, she looked perfectly composed, though Lyanna noticed that her attention kept drifting repeatedly toward the king throughout the evening.

Something about the atmosphere felt increasingly strange the longer the celebration continued.

Not wrong exactly.

Just... tense.

As though the entire court were waiting unconsciously for something none of them could yet see.

“You keep looking toward the exits.”

Lyanna glanced sideways at Alaric in surprise. “Am I that obvious?”

“To someone paying attention, yes.”

“And are you paying attention to me?”

The question escaped before she could stop it.

For a moment, he looked faintly surprised by it himself.

Then, after the briefest pause:

“Yes.”

The answer came simply, without flirtation or embarrassment, and somehow that only made it more difficult for her to respond to.

Before she could think of something intelligent to say, the music throughout the hall gradually softened.

Almost instantly, conversations began dying away.

At the center of the royal dais, King Edric had risen from his seat.

Every noble in the room stood automatically in response.

Lyanna followed beside Alaric as servants quickly moved through the hall refilling goblets while the king lifted his own glass slowly into the air.

“My people,” he began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the chamber, “tonight marks not only the union between House Stormborne and House Zevrin, but another step toward stability within Asterra itself. The strength of this kingdom has always depended upon the unity of the ruling packs and the crown—”

He stopped.

The interruption was so sudden and unnatural that, for one confused second, Lyanna thought someone else had spoken over him.

The king remained standing perfectly still.

Then the crystal goblet slipped from his hand.

It shattered against the marble floor below.

Silence swept through the hall.

King Edric staggered violently, one hand gripping the edge of the table as blood spilled suddenly from the corner of his mouth.

The entire chamber froze.

Caelen caught him just before he collapsed completely.

“Father—”

Panic erupted instantly afterward.

The banquet hall dissolved into chaos so quickly that Lyanna barely understood what she was witnessing at first. Nobles stumbled backward from tables while guards rushed toward the royal dais, hands flying toward weapons as wolves throughout the chamber reacted instinctively to the sharp scent of blood thickening the air.

Someone screamed.

Another voice shouted for healers.

Several nobles tried moving toward the exits only to be stopped by armed guards flooding the entrances from every direction.

“Seal the hall!”

“No one leaves!”

“Protect the royal family!”

The elegant atmosphere of the banquet disappeared completely beneath the sudden wave of fear sweeping through the court. Conversations dissolved into shouting while chairs overturned across the marble floors and wolves from different packs began speaking over one another in rising panic.

Lyanna could barely breathe.

Blood continued spilling from the king’s mouth as healers rushed desperately toward him, but even from where she stood, she could already see something horrifying settling across his features.

Stillness.

The terrible kind.

The realization moved slowly through the room at first, almost too enormous for the court to fully understand.

The king was dead.

Not dying.

Dead.

Beside her, Alaric had gone completely motionless, every trace of warmth disappearing from his expression as instinct and royal training took over almost immediately.

A group of royal guards pushed through the crowd toward them.

“Your Highness,” one of them said urgently, “we need to move you now.”

Another group was already surrounding Caelen near the dais.

The crown princes.

Potential targets.

The realization struck Lyanna only a second before Alaric turned sharply toward her.

For one brief moment, she expected him to leave with the guards immediately.

Instead, his hand closed firmly around her wrist.

“She comes with me.”

The guard looked startled. “Your Highness, we cannot guarantee—”

“She does not stay here.”

There was nothing loud about the way Alaric spoke, but the authority in his voice cut through the chaos instantly.

His grip tightened slightly as another wave of panic erupted somewhere deeper within the hall.

Before Lyanna could fully process what was happening, he had already moved her behind him protectively while guards surrounded them from every side.

Across the chamber, Caelen was shouting orders while nobles argued loudly enough that their voices echoed beneath the vaulted ceilings. Vanya stood near the royal dais, pale but composed, her eyes fixed on the king’s body as healers continued attempting the impossible around him.

Then Lyanna noticed Eira.

The royal seer stood near one of the silver pillars at the edge of the chamber, strangely untouched by the panic unfolding around her.

And she looked terrified.

Not shocked.

Terrified.

Her pale gaze lifted slowly until it found Lyanna across the crowded hall.

Then, very softly, Eira shook her head.

“This was not poison,” she whispered.

And somehow, despite the chaos consuming the palace around her, Lyanna heard every word.