I took the seat beside Marisol, placing myself further away from Gideon than I had ever been at this table. It felt strange—the physical distance between my husband and me filled by the woman who was now the key to our future.
Gideon chuckled, breaking the remaining tension in the room. He reached over and patted Marisol's hand briefly before looking at me with a look of pure commendation.
"You see, Vector?" Gideon said, gesturing toward us. "This is the heart of my wife. Most Lunas would have had a maid whipped for such a blunder, but Ellie sees a sister."
Vector didn't smile. He simply nodded, his eyes fixed on his plate. "Generosity is a rare trait in leadership, Alpha. It is… noted."
"Well, let's eat. I think we all have a very long day ahead of us." I beamed, trying to ignore the awkwardness in the air.
Barnaby let out a huff of disapproval but began the service. As the plates were laid out, the clink of silver against china filled the room. Gideon began a lighthearted story about a Council member's blunder, and soon, the room was filled with the sound of laughter and the bright, artificial cheer of a happy home.
I took a bite of my crepe, but it felt like lead in my mouth. I looked at Gideon, then at Marisol, then at Vector. We were all sitting together, a strange, new family unit.
I felt safe, surrounded by the people who loved me. And yet, for a reason I couldn't explain, the memory of Jarek's voice; the house is on fire echoed in my ears, louder than the laughter at the table.
Not longer than five or six minutes later, a sound began to bleed through the heavy velvet curtains. It started as a low buzz but quickly escalated into the unmistakable roar of a crowd.
I froze, my fork halfway to my mouth. Beside me, Marisol straightened her spine, her eyes darting toward the windows with a glint of… anticipation?
"What is that?" I asked, my heart beginning to race against my ribs.
Gideon didn't look surprised. He took a sip of his coffee, wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, and offered me a smile. "That, sweetheart, is the sound of the people. Your people."
"The people?" I echoed, confused.
Gideon stood up and walked to the tall French doors, throwing them open. The sound flooded the room—shouts of:
"Alpha Gideon!" and "Long live the Goldbanes!" mixed with the clicking of camera shutters.
I pushed back my chair and hurried to his side, my eyes widening in shock. Beyond the manicured lawn of the inner courtyard, the massive iron gates had been swung wide.
A crowd of hundreds of old men, young women holding toddlers, and a sea of teenagers with smartphones held aloft—was pouring onto the estate grounds. Flowers were being tossed onto the gravel path, and the flashes of the press were blinding.
"Gideon, what is this?" I hissed, my hand gripping the stone railing of the balcony. "Father never allowed the public beyond the outer gates. Not even for his own birthday. This is the Alpha's private sanctuary!"
"The world is changing, Ellie," Gideon clicked his tongue.
He stepped out onto the balcony, waving to the crowd. The roar intensified. "I've been seeing comments online for weeks—thousands of them. The pack members are grieving, too. They wanted to come and give their blessings for the upcoming coronation. I thought, why shouldn't they? They deserve to see the heart of the legacy they serve. I've promised them a limited tour of the grounds."
"A tour?" I was aghast.
I felt a sudden, sharp pang of betrayal. "You didn't speak to me about this. Gideon, I am the Goldbane heir. You are the acting Alpha, yes, but this estate... the security protocols..."
"Protocol doesn't feed the soul of the people, Ellie," Vector intervened from behind us.
He had appeared at the threshold, his laptop bag already slung over his shoulder. "In the wake of Aurelius's passing, the pack needs a symbol of openness. To keep them out now would be to admit weakness. The security has been doubled. I've personally vetted the perimeter."
"I have it under control, sweetheart," Gideon added, his hand settling heavily on the small of my back. "Vector and I were just heading out to give the opening address. You should join us. It would look... strange... if the Luna was hiding inside while her subjects were at the door."
I felt the walls closing in. Every fiber of my being screamed that this was wrong—that my father's ghost was likely pacing the study in fury—but the momentum of Gideon's decision was a landslide.
I was forced to move.
Marisol hurried to my side, smoothing my hair and adjusting the collar of my cashmere dress. "You look beautiful, Ellie. Go out there. Show them you're okay."
As we stepped onto the grand portico, the reception was overwhelming.
"Alpha! Alpha!" they screamed.
Gideon basked in it. He looked like a man born for the spotlight, his golden hair catching the sun as he shook hands and accepted bouquets. I moved like a puppet with a fixed smile.
"We are not ready for this much attention. Seems Gideon is too dumb to respect your grief." Nyla hissed in annoyance for the first time this morning.
I ignored her and raised my hand in a mechanical wave. It was overwhelming; the press of bodies, the heat, the intrusive lens of a camera pointed inches from my face.
Suddenly, a small gap opened in the crowd. A little boy, perhaps six years old, rushed forward. He dodged a security guard and skidded to a halt in front of me, a wilted bouquet of wildflowers held out like a shield.
"For the Luna," he whispered.
I softened, my maternal instincts overriding my panic. I knelt, reaching out to take the flowers. "Thank you, little one. They're beautiful."
The boy lunged forward, throwing his arms around my neck in a sudden, tight hug. It felt sweet, but then I felt his small hand press something hard and sharp into my palm. He squeezed my hand shut over the object.
"Look up," he breathed into my ear. "Look for the man in the mask."