lThe crown was made of bone.
Wolf bone. Alpha bone. From every Blackwood Alpha for twenty generations.
It sat on black silk. In the center of the circle.
800 wolves ringed us. Full pack. All ranks. Even pups. Because this was history.
Nine weeks pregnant. Bump visible now. Small. But real. Under blue silk. Not Luna black. Not war red.
Blue. For her.
Darius stood behind me.
Not on his throne.
On his feet.
At my side.
His hand on my lower back. Over our daughter. Always there now.
Elder Rook stepped forward.
He was old. Gray. Hated me two months ago.
Now he bowed.
Low.
“Blood Moon,” Rook called. Voice amplified by age and power. “We gather to crown Luna.”
Murmurs.
“Crown?” someone whispered. “Lunas don’t get crowns.”
“Lunas don’t fight wars pregnant,” Corin said back. Loud.
