The Ashwood Manor had never been this quiet.
Not even during a full moon.
Not even during the night Luna accidentally turned all the hallway paintings into judgmental talking portraits that critiqued her fashion choices for six hours straight.
Even the wind outside seemed to tiptoe.
The aftermath of the Reclamation Trials hung in the air like incense—thick, powerful, ancient. Luna had passed every test, shattered illusions, and reclaimed her legacy as rightful heir.
So naturally, she was rewarded with a pounding migraine and a whole lot of “Now what?”
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Saffy slid across the floor in fuzzy socks and a bathrobe two sizes too big, holding a plate stacked high with blueberry pancakes and absolutely zero dignity.
“Good morning, Most Glorious, Recently Crowned, Possibly Cursed She-Wol
