The day I died, the entire Silver Moon Pack mourned.

Only Lukas Reynolds, the Lycan King, felt no sorrow—just a lingering irritation.

Irritation that, two weeks prior, when he’d tried to make my sister, Leona Reynolds, his chosen mate, I had argued with him fiercely and never apologized.

Irritation that the pack’s Omega, Samson Stewart, knelt outside the Moonlit Hall, unsure how to assign me a title, write my life story, or arrange my burial in the royal crypt.

Reports piled up like snow on the roof, each one filled with flattering words trying to guess the King’s mood.

They called me wise and compassionate, but I had once chased a corrupt Omega across three streets with my claws after he dared to withhold Lukas’s meals.

They said my life was one of ease and privilege, but after Lukas became King, we argued more than we spoke, and I seemed to cry often, always crying.

As for my burial, Lukas, in a rare moment of generosity, decided to grant me the honor of resting beside him in the crypt.

But before the decree could be finalized, Eleanor Mitchell, the Omega in charge of the Moonlit Hall, knelt outside and delivered my final wish.

Lukas probably guessed what it was.

Surely, it was an apology, a plea for a grand title, a demand that Leona never be allowed into the pack.

“Your Majesty,” Eleanor said, her voice steady, “the Queen did not wish to be buried with you.

“She said this life was too painful, and she did not want to see you again, even in the afterlife.”

---

Before I left the pack, there were still many things I needed to settle.

I instructed the healers to prepare for spring plagues and disasters, warning them that this winter’s mildness could bring trouble. I reminded the Omegas not to let my funeral disrupt the plans of the pack’s young women to leave and find their mates.

After finishing two final decrees, I knelt to wipe my eldest son Wade’s tears, telling him not to break the legs of crickets for fun—that a true gentleman avoids cruelty, even in small things.

Wade, too young to understand, only stared at the torn paper lantern in his hands.

Samson Stewart, standing nearby, hesitantly spoke up:

“Your Majesty… what should I tell the King?”

I paused, thinking carefully.

Two weeks ago, Lukas and I had argued bitterly, and we hadn’t spoken since.

He insisted on making Leona his chosen mate, even going so far as to send me a rejection decree and a vial of wolfsbane, hoping to force me to bend.

In the past, I would have torn up the decree, smashed the vial, and stormed into the hall to confront Lukas face-to-face.

But now, with my time running out, I no longer wanted to fight.

Calculating that I had less than three days left, I rubbed my temples and smiled softly:

“Tell the King that I agree.

“In three days, let Leona enter the pack as his chosen mate.”

Samson, an experienced Omega, looked at my pale, sickly face and hesitated before offering advice:

“Your Majesty, you needn’t worry about Leona’s arrival. Focus on recovering your health.

“You are the Lycan Queen, after all. If you wish, you can raise any child in the pack as your own.”

Wade, hearing Samson’s voice, peeked out from behind me and held up the lantern:

“It’s broken… fix it, please…”

Samson quickly set down his staff to comfort him, but his eyes caught sight of my decrees on the table, and he knelt in alarm:

“Your Majesty, these words are too ominous…

“Forgive me for saying so, but the King was initially promised to Leona. It was only out of pity for your hardships that he chose you instead.

“Recently, the healers selected a new batch of apprentices. The King intended to have them treat you after Leona’s arrival, so you could recover and give birth to the future heir…”

At the mention of medicine and the past, I felt a wave of nausea.

During the first five years of Lukas’s reign, I had taken countless bitter potions to improve my health, but nothing worked.

The healers said I had been too stressed in my youth and suffered from a cold, and that with time, I would conceive.

But I knew enough about healing to understand that my body was beyond repair.

The stress came from the early days of our mating, when Lukas was falsely accused by his siblings and cast out by his father. He was neglected by the pack, left to suffer even when he was burning with fever.

I was grateful to Lukas for choosing me as his mate. The title of Luna made my father acknowledge me, bringing me to the city and fulfilling my mother’s dying wish to be buried in the Reynolds family plot.

So, still in my mate ceremony dress, I grabbed a knife from the woodpile and pressed it to my neck, forcing the Omegas to call the healers to treat Lukas.

Later, to help Lukas recover, I saved my meals for him, often going hungry myself.

His father’s reign of terror, killing five of his own children, left me in constant fear, and my health deteriorated, my cycles irregular.

The cold came from the time Lukas was hunted by his brothers. I wore his clothes and rode his horse to lure the pursuers away.

When Lukas found me, I had been lying in the snow for three days and nights.

The best healer, Raiden Andrews, said if the King had arrived half a day earlier, my body wouldn’t have been so damaged.

For the first two years, the potions made me vomit until I could only stomach a little broth.

Lukas, heartbroken, held my thin hands, his eyes red with guilt:

“Coraline, we’ll stop. It’s too bitter.

“It’s my fault. If I’d gotten to you sooner…”

He was so remorseful that he drafted a decree, promising to adopt a child from the pack rather than see me suffer.

But I was determined, so I endured the nausea, swallowing each bitter dose, hoping for a miracle.

Until a year ago, my widowed sister, Leona Reynolds, was found pregnant during her mourning period.

The pack was deeply ashamed and demanded to know the father. In the middle of a stormy night, Lukas Reynolds, the Lycan King, arrived in his sleek black SUV and carried Leona, clad in mourning attire, into the royal estate, shielding her from judgment.

The pack elders voiced their disapproval, but Lukas dismissed them with a cold remark: “The Luna has no heir, and the pack lacks stability.” Only Frederick Butler, the loyal Gamma, dared to challenge him further, standing outside the estate despite the pouring rain.

Lukas, furious, called him “a stubborn fool” and exiled him to a remote territory, stripping him of his rank.

After that, the elders began debating what title to bestow upon Leona—whether she should be named “Grace” or “Rose.”

When I received the news, I stormed into the estate with claws unsheathed, my heart heavy with a terrible hesitation.

Over the years, I had heard whispers—rumors that Conor Palmer, the former mate of Leona, had never consummated their bond and had died under suspicious circumstances after Lukas ascended the throne.

When I hesitated, Leona proudly stroked her rounded belly, covering her smirk with a delicate hand.

She laughed at my fear, my sincerity, and the years I had been deceived, serving as her pawn:

“Sister, Lukas always wanted me. But the fight for the throne was too dangerous. He couldn’t risk losing the support of our pack, nor could he risk me.

“So he arranged for me to bond with Conor as a shield and chose you, the illegitimate daughter, to stand in front.”

She glanced at my unsheathed claws, seeing through my forced bravado:

“Sister, did you know you could have had a child?

“But that day, you were left in the freezing water, and it happened to be my birthday.

“I told Lukas I wanted the honey cakes from the royal kitchens. He rushed to bring them to me, still warm.

“But I found them too sweet and didn’t take a single bite.”

The memory of those five years of bitter medicines seized my heart, the taste of herbs and blood rising in my throat.

Before I knew it, my claws had slashed through the beaded curtain.

Beads scattered across the floor, mingling with Leona’s screams as blood gushed from between her legs.

She hadn’t expected me to strike, and in her panic, she stumbled and fell.

Lukas rushed in, his hand striking my face with such force that I staggered.

I refused to let the tears fall, staring at him with a bitter smile, each word dripping with pain:

“Lukas, the next time I see her, I’ll kill her.”

At my words, any trace of guilt in his eyes vanished:

“You’re insane! Greedy and heartless!

“You can’t bear a child, so you won’t let anyone else have one either?”

I wanted to laugh, but tears streamed down my face instead:

“Lukas, did you really come for me that day?”

He froze, unable to speak a word.

The truth, delayed and rusted, cut through my heart like a dull blade.

From then on, except for pack ceremonies and relief efforts, I avoided Lukas and refused the bitter medicines that made me cringe.

Until six months ago, on my birthday, Lukas brought six-year-old Wade to me.

The summer heat was oppressive as I oversaw the inventory of gifts from pack members.

When Lukas arrived that evening, I thought he was here to apologize, that the child belonged to one of the elders.

He pushed the timid Wade toward me, his patience worn thin by my cold demeanor:

“This child is from a distant branch of the pack. He’ll bear your name. Now you won’t have to worry about gossip or losing your position. Even if Leona joins the royal estate, you’ll always be the Luna.”

I set down the ledger, meeting his gaze without flinching:

“You can take as many mates as you want, a hundred or a thousand. I don’t care.

“But if Leona enters the royal estate, it will be over my dead body.”

My defiance finally broke his composure. He turned and left, throwing over his shoulder:

“Coraline, you have a child now. I owe you nothing.”

The wind made the chandelier sway, the hum of insects mingling with Wade’s cries.

He wiped his tears and hit me with tiny fists:

“They say you’re a monster, that you took me from my mom because you can’t have kids.”

Samson Stewart, the loyal Omega, tried to silence him, but I shook my head and gestured for him to let the boy speak.

I didn’t know how to comfort a child, but I noticed a box of dried apricots from the southern territories.

Samson, an experienced Omega who had entertained many young wolves, brought a golden cricket box and crouched to amuse Wade.

After eating the apricots and tiring himself out, Wade fell asleep.

“When he wakes, send him back. His mother must miss him dearly.”

I put away the apricots, suddenly remembering how a similar treat had often accompanied my bitter medicines.

The note attached to the box bore elegant handwriting, the strokes oddly familiar yet unplaceable:

“Do not let your finite life be consumed by endless sorrow.”

The words stirred something in me, and I turned to Jane Diaz, my attendant:

“How many birthdays have I celebrated now?”

Jane paused, then smiled softly:

“Your Luna’s grace, you’re only twenty-three.”

I had bonded with Lukas at fourteen, spent three years in isolation, five years swallowing medicines, and one year locked in a deadly feud with Leona.

I smiled faintly, resting my chin on my hand as I watched the crippled cricket in the golden box, still putting up a brave front.

It reminded me of myself—pitiful yet absurd.

Now, as I came to my senses, snow began to fall outside.

Samson, noticing my pale face and labored breathing, signaled to his apprentice to quietly bring some firewood.

Before my falling out with Lukas, he had ensured the royal estate was always warm, knowing how the cold worsened my condition.

But now, the lack of medicine and firewood was his way of breaking my spirit, forcing me to submit.

I didn’t want to burden Samson or see the staff punished because of me.

But when the cold gripped me, it felt like shards of ice pierced every part of my body, bringing tears and sweat to my skin.

In moments of agony, I would kneel, humbled and broken, my pride shattered.

With the warmth of the fire and a bowl of herbal medicine, the sweetness of the apricots chased away most of the bitterness.

When I had thought of leaving, I had hesitated, unsure of where to go in this vast world.

But now, holding the medicine bowl, I glanced at the faded note on the apricot box and asked softly:

“Samson, is the southern territory cold?”

“That place is hot and humid, unbearable in summer! Why do you ask, Luna?”

No reason.

If the south is warm, then I’ll go there.

If there’s no snow, perhaps the pain will fade.

Then I won’t have to kneel for a handful of firewood, losing the last shred of my self-respect.