You Want My Crown: Fine, Take the Trash Too

For three days, the Nightfall Pack kept me in the servants' wing, out of sight in a territory that was meant to become my home. On the day of the sacred coronation, someone finally came to lead me to the great hall. I entered as an afterthought, with no place near the future Luna's seat. Moonpetal incense made the hall close and stuffy. Every Nightfall noble seemed to be there, filling the benches in silk and velvet and talking under their breath as I passed. Several looked me over from my worn travel tunic to my scuffed boots, making sure their companions saw what had amused them. The silver-backed chair reserved for the future Luna had been removed from beneath the moon dais. A strip of chalk near a rear pillar marked where I was expected to stand. “Attendants wait there,” one noblewoman told her companion. She made sure I heard her, then looked pointedly at my clothes. I faced the altar. The High Priest stood behind it, stern and gray from years of service. “The offering.” His command silenced the room. He looked straight at me. “Present the Starlight Crown. It is a necessary gesture of submission.” I set my teeth. The Starlight Crown was my ancestral heirloom and the symbol of the blood oath between our lines. It had never been an offering. Before I moved, a silver gown brushed past me. Elara, Caleb's childhood sweetheart, climbed the dais without waiting for permission. “Filthy hands shouldn't touch something this powerful.” She snatched the velvet box from the acolyte and opened it. The Starlight Crown rested inside, forged from fallen stars and solidified moonlight. Generations of my family had guarded it, and every ridge of the metal carried the history of my line. Elara stared at it and reached for the ancient metal. “The crown chooses its own, Elara.” My words carried through the hall. “It burns the unworthy.” She smiled. “We'll see about that.” Her fingers were about to close around it when the great oak doors slammed open. Alpha Caleb entered between two lines of elite guards. His aura reached ahead of him and drove the nearest wolves quiet. He had the kind of face bards praised: handsome, sharply cut, and utterly without warmth. He glanced at Elara, the open box, and then me. His attention stopped on the black cord at my throat. The plain dark stone hanging there looked worthless beside the Starlight Crown, but it was the true seal of our Blood-Oath. His eyes tightened. He had recognized it, and he was already deciding what to do. He dismissed me with a turn of his head and walked to the dais. Caleb pulled Elara against his side. She gave a small, practiced gasp, and he smiled down at her for the whole hall to see. Then he faced me with the expression of a judge ready to pass sentence. Whatever he planned to say would end the oath. He had no idea what else it would release.