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One week later.
The Citadel didn’t smell like blood anymore. It smelled like incense, moonflowers, and the promise of a new beginning.
The broken Moonstone had been replaced with a new one. Clear crystal, carved with the ancient Lycan runes, pulsing faintly with silver light. The Council Chamber had been renamed the Throne Room. And the high dais that used to hold six old fools now held one throne. Mine.
The coronation had to happen fast. The packs were restless. The other realms were watching. And I was 4 months pregnant with a Lycan heir who kicked every time someone bowed too low.
“You’re sure about this?” Darius murmured, adjusting the silver Lycan crown on my head. It was heavy. Ancient. Made for a Queen who’d been dead for 300 years.
I looked up at him and smiled. He was in
