Moonborn A Sovereign's Howl

“Fifty silver for moon-herbs?" Elara arched a brow at the vendor. “You doubled the price." The merchant sneered. “For an Omega like you? I should charge triple." She didn't flinch. Instead, she tossed two coins onto the table. “These'll buy enough to stop your daughter's fever by nightfall. Or would you rather bury her?" He paused. Grunted. Swiped the coins. “Get lost." She tucked the dried herbs into her satchel and slipped through the narrow alleys of Black-Shadow's outer bazaar, keeping her head low beneath her woolen hood. The scent of smoke and iron clung to everything, and whispers trailed her steps like shadows. Omega. Half-blood. Not pack-born. She ignored them all. “Elara!" She turned as old Mira, the baker's wife, waved her over with a steaming roll. “You haven't eaten all day again." “I'm fine—" “Nonsense." Mira shoved it into her hands. “Your father would've had my hide if he knew you skipped meals." Elara's fingers froze at the name. Her voice softened. “Thank you." Mira patted her arm and limped away. Elara lingered, watching the flicker of torchlight play across the cliff face in the distance. Beyond the peaks stood Silvermoon Citadel—stone towers, sentinel fires, and royal banners. Tonight, they gleamed brighter than usual. He was there again. Alpha Prince Kael. Even from this distance, she could spot him—rigid stance, commanding presence, sword glinting under moonlight as he barked orders to soldiers drilling in formation. Her breath hitched. “Still watching him?" a voice whispered from behind. Elara stiffened. It was Rion, the tanner's son. Tall, Beta, with a grin too smug for his own good. “You're obsessed, Elara. Everyone knows." “I'm not." “You think he remembers you? Six years ago in the forest—if it even happened." “It did," she said tightly. “And I don't care if he remembers." “Right. That's why you climb the cliffs every full moon." She turned sharply. “You have something better to do than stalk me?" He laughed. “Just curious what a healer's daughter sees in a prince who's about to marry someone else." Elara's silence was answer enough. Rion snorted and walked off. “Don't cry when he crowns someone else." She didn't. She wouldn't. Instead, she walked—faster—past stalls, through shadows, toward the old stone path that led to the cliff edge. By the time she reached the summit, the moon had fully risen. Wind howled across the valley, tugging at her cloak. She crouched behind a rocky outcrop and pulled out a leather-bound notebook—her father's. Inside were faded sketches of plants, maps, symbols… and the last few pages he never let her read. Not until he died. She'd buried him that morning, alone. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded a sealed letter inside the notebook. Her father's handwriting danced across the parchment in careful lines: > “If you're reading this, it means I failed to protect you from what's coming. Forgive me. You were never meant to live like this—hidden, belittled, silenced. You are Elara Valen-Silvermoon. Daughter of Queen Lysandra. Last heir to the throne stolen by fire and lies. Hide no longer." The wind howled louder. She stared at the name—Silvermoon—and her world cracked. Beneath the note, a cloth-wrapped bundle held a small steel dagger etched with an ancient sigil. She recognized it—barely. She'd traced it as a child without knowing what it meant. The royal crest. Her hands clenched around the hilt. Her heart hammered. She looked back toward the citadel. Toward the flickering torchlight. Toward Kael. And suddenly, she wasn't just the healer's daughter anymore. She was a question the world had tried to bury. A secret waiting to break the surface. From below, a drumbeat echoed. Distant, steady, like a heart about to leap into battle. The rumors were true then—Kael had returned from the northern war. And he would take the throne soon. Her fingers brushed the dagger's hilt once more. Then she whispered, “Not if the rightful heir has anything to say." The wind didn't answer. But the moon watched. And Elara knew—tonight, the stars shifted. She stood.