The Fox and The Throne

3

Chapter Three

The Name I Hate

By late afternoon, the entire Mooncrest estate seemed to be preparing for something. Lyra noticed it the moment she stepped out of the servants' quarters. Pack members moved through the main courtyard carrying tables, chairs, crates of food, and decorations, while guards stood near the entrance, their expressions unusually serious.

She slowed. "What is happening?" she asked one of the younger servants passing by.

The girl glanced around before answering. "Guests are coming."

"What guests?"

"Representatives from Ironfang."

Lyra frowned. That name alone explained the number of guards. Mooncrest did not host other packs often, especially not lately. "Why?"

The girl shrugged. "I heard they're discussing the territory dispute."

Lyra nodded and continued toward the main residence. She had no interest in pack politics, and she had enough problems of her own. Inside, she was immediately handed another list of tasks: prepare the guest rooms, polish the dining hall, help arrange the courtyard, and make sure the Alpha's study remained untouched. She stared at the list.

"All of this?"

The head servant looked at her. "Is there a problem?"

"No."

"Good."

Lyra took the list. As she walked away, she heard two servants whispering behind her.

"She should be grateful."

"For what?"

"That Alpha Draven still lets her stay here."

Lyra kept walking and refused to react. The guest rooms took most of the afternoon, and by the time she finished, her shoulders ached and her fingers were sore.

She was carrying a stack of fresh linens toward the upper floor when she heard voices coming from the hallway ahead. She stopped. Draven, and another voice she didn't recognize.

"Darkclaw has been moving closer to the northern border."

Lyra lowered her eyes. She shouldn't listen, and she knew it, but she didn't move.

"They've been testing our territory for weeks," the stranger continued. "If Theron is planning something, we need to know before he makes his move."

Theron.

Lyra's grip tightened around the linens. She hadn't heard that name spoken aloud in months, and never like this, never with that tone. She remembered the stories: the Darkclaw Alpha, the man who had supposedly ordered her parents' deaths. Her stomach twisted.

"Theron doesn't need a reason to challenge Mooncrest," Draven said.

"He has one now."

Silence. Lyra took one careful step backward. She should leave, but she stayed where she was.

"What reason?" Draven asked.

"The Throne."

Lyra frowned. The word meant little to her. She had heard it before, of course, because everyone had. The Throne was something powerful packs fought over, something connected to whoever eventually ruled the supernatural world, but she had never cared enough to learn the details. Her life had never extended beyond Mooncrest's borders.

"Ironfang won't stand with us forever," the stranger said. "If Darkclaw gains enough influence, Ryker may reconsider."

"Ryker knows where his loyalty belongs."

"Does he?"

Draven's voice turned colder. "He will."

Lyra stepped back again, and the linens shifted in her arms. One slipped, and she caught it before it hit the floor. The voices stopped. Her heart jumped. She turned and hurried down the corridor, not stopping until she reached the servants' quarters. Only then did she breathe.

Theron Ravencrest.

She hadn't seen him or spoken to him, yet hearing his name had been enough to bring every old wound back to life: her parents, their empty house, the night she learned they were dead, the stories about Darkclaw, and the hatred she had carried ever since. She set the linens down. Her hands were shaking, and she clenched them.

"I'll find you one day," she said quietly. "And I'll make you pay."

Something strange moved beneath her skin. Heat, sharp and sudden. Lyra gasped and grabbed her wrist, and the sensation vanished. She stared at her hand. There was no mark and no injury, nothing that explained the warmth that had spread through her veins. She shook her head. It was probably exhaustion. It had to be.

She turned toward the window. Outside, the sky had begun to darken, and somewhere beyond the Mooncrest territory, wolves were gathering.

Lyra didn't know it yet, but the name she hated was about to become the name she could not escape.

By evening, the Mooncrest estate was crowded. Ironfang's arrival had changed the atmosphere completely. Guards stood at every entrance, and the usual noise of the pack had been replaced by quiet conversations and watchful glances.

Lyra stayed in the servants' quarters until she was called. When she finally entered the main hall, she kept her eyes down, having learned that being unnoticed was safer. The room was filled with unfamiliar faces. Ironfang warriors stood near the walls while their Alpha, Ryker Stone, spoke quietly with Draven. Lyra had never met him before. He was broad-shouldered and carried himself with the confidence of someone accustomed to being obeyed. Then the doors opened again, and a guard hurried inside.

"Alpha."

Draven turned. "What is it?"

The guard lowered his voice, but the hall had gone quiet enough for everyone to hear. "Scouts have returned from the northern border."

Draven's expression changed. "What did they find?"

The guard hesitated. "Darkclaw."

A murmur spread through the room, and Lyra's stomach dropped. Draven stepped forward. "How many?"

"Enough to make their intentions clear."

Ryker exchanged a look with Draven. "How close?"

"Less than an hour from the border."

The room erupted into quiet discussion. Lyra stood frozen. Darkclaw, here and so close. She hadn't expected the name to affect her this much. Draven raised his hand, and the room fell silent.

"Send more warriors to the northern border."

Ryker frowned. "That will look like an act of aggression."

"They're already approaching our territory."

"We don't know why."

"I know enough." Draven's voice hardened. "Theron is testing us."

Lyra's heart began beating faster. She looked toward the windows. Beyond them was the forest, beyond the forest was the northern border, and somewhere beyond that was the man she had spent years blaming for her parents' deaths. She should have been afraid. Instead, anger burned through her.

A servant brushed past her, and Lyra stepped aside.

"You're blocking the way."

"Sorry."

She moved toward the kitchen, but she had barely reached the doorway when another voice stopped her.

"Lyra."

She turned. Vivienne stood near the staircase, her expression pleasant. Too pleasant. "Come here."

Lyra hesitated, then walked over. "What do you need?"

Vivienne glanced toward the crowded hall. "Draven will be busy tonight."

"I know."

"You should stay away from him."

"I wasn't planning to bother him."

Vivienne smiled. "Good." She stepped closer. "Because tonight isn't the night for you to cause another problem."

Lyra's expression hardened. "I don't cause problems."

Vivienne's smile disappeared. "That depends on who you ask."

Lyra looked at her for a moment, then walked away. She had no energy for another argument.

Outside, the wind had picked up. Lyra stood near the servants' entrance, staring toward the forest and listening to the wolves in the distance. Mooncrest warriors were moving toward the northern border. Something was happening, something bigger than a territory dispute, and she could feel it.

The strange heat returned to her wrist, and this time it spread farther, up her arm and across her chest. Lyra gasped and grabbed the wall. For one brief second she heard something. Not a voice, but a whisper, almost like something calling her from deep inside the forest. She closed her eyes, and the sensation disappeared. When she opened them, everything looked normal: the courtyard, the trees, the guards. Nothing had changed, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that something had.

She looked toward the darkness beyond the estate. Theron Ravencrest was somewhere out there, the man she had hated for years, the man she believed had destroyed her family. For reasons she couldn't explain, the thought of him being so close made the strange feeling inside her grow stronger.

Lyra clenched her fists. She didn't know what was coming, but she knew one thing. If Darkclaw crossed into Mooncrest territory, she would finally have a chance to see the man responsible for her parents' deaths. And this time, she wouldn't be a helpless child.

She would be ready.