The hall did not dare breathe while she spoke.
When Elizabeth released Theodor's hands, something invisible fractured. It was not drama. It was gravity. The sensation that the world had decided to move forward without asking permission from anyone.
The Queen Mother rose first. Not out of courtesy. Out of pure political instinct.
—The Moon does not ask the Sun for permission, — she said, her voice lower than the hall required. —If the heir returns to the Lunar Mountains, this kingdom does not detain her.
The King nodded, slow and heavy. An Alpha recognizing another—even if she was a she-wolf.
—Let the gods bear witness, — he declared, —that House Solar does not oppose the march of the Moon's daughter. This banquet shall continue. Not as celebration… but as vigil.
The council murmured in short waves. Some Alphas stood. Others averted their gaze. Betas swallowed hard. The Omegas felt it first. They always did. The shift in the air. The weight of fate. The metallic scent that precedes wars not yet named.
Dandara, however, went pale.
She stepped back when Elizabeth passed her. A single step. Small. Revealing.
Leónia did not look at her again.
The sacred knight pivoted with martial precision, striking her closed fist against her chest.
—Blood and Light acknowledge your command, my Princess.
She raised her voice enough for the entire hall to hear.
—No blade shall be lifted against this kingdom while the Moon's heir rides beneath my guard. But let it be recorded: whoever touches what is lunar… will be hunted to the last bone.
The temple priest closed his eyes briefly. Not in prayer. In acceptance.
—The Goddess has heard, — he murmured. —And answered with fire.
Theodor stood motionless for one second too long.
Then he inhaled deeply.
And for the first time that night, the Alpha they had been waiting for finally appeared.
—The banquet continues, — he announced, voice firm, echoing through the columns. —Music, wine, alliances at the table. No rumor leaves this hall beyond what I permit.
He lifted his chin, facing the gathered leaders.
—Whoever dares turn the return of my future Luna into gossip… will answer to me.
His eyes, however, followed Elizabeth to the end.
Not as a man losing a bride.
But as an Alpha realizing that if he failed now, he would never be worthy of the she-wolf who chose him.
When the doors opened to the night, a cold wind crossed the hall, extinguishing three torches at once.
Far away, a sacred griffin neighed like an ancient omen.
And in the Lunar Mountains, something smiled in the dark, believing it had gained time.
---
Meanwhile, in the Solari Mountains, the world had reduced itself to white, wind, and ancient hatred.
The blizzard was not natural. Samael knew it the way one knows a lie by looking into someone's eyes. The wind cut in wrong spirals, snow rose from the ground instead of falling from the sky, and the cold did not bite skin.
It chewed bone.
—Hold formation! — roared the Lycan King, his voice slicing through the storm like a blade.
He remained in human form by sheer discipline. Any other Alpha would have yielded to the beast to survive. Samael did not yield. He commanded it.
The escort had diminished. Twelve at the start. Now eight.
Two had been taken when the path simply vanished.
No scream. Only the dull sound of something too large falling too deep.
A guard, a Beta with a frozen beard, approached with effort.
—Your Majesty… — he said, nearly voiceless. —The guidance runes are not responding. The North is… turning.
Samael narrowed his silver eyes.
—Then we are not lost, — he replied, far too calm. —We are being led.
He drove his spear into the snow. Lunar metal groaned, reacting to magic beneath. Symbols lay buried there. Ancient. Deliberately broken.
—Containment sorcery, — murmured one of the elder guards. —To delay. Not to kill.
Samael smiled. Short. Dangerous.
—Of course not. — He lifted his face toward the invisible sky. —They do not want my blood here.
The wind intensified.
—They want my daughter alone.
The scent reached them then.
Dried blood. Ash. And something worse.
—Renegades, — growled a guard. —Many.
Samael closed his eyes briefly. Not in fear. In brutal calculation.
Inside his chest, the beast roared, demanding teeth, massacre.
—Not yet, — he murmured. —Wait.
He opened his eyes.
—They think they trapped me in a storm. That they separated us from the throne. That they gained hours.
He tore off his mantle, letting snow strike armor marked by wars older than kingdoms.
—But they forgot one thing.
The ground trembled.
—The Moon does not need roads to find her own.
Far away, something answered.
A deep, ancient, feminine howl.
Samael smiled fully now.
—Good girl… — he murmured. —She is already coming.
And in the Solari Mountains, the blizzard shifted direction.
Not because the weather wished to.
But because a king decided he had waited long enough.
---
Elizabeth heard it.
A feral sound—real, sharp, starving for what she shared with her father.
Blood and vengeance in their most brutal form.
—Not yet, Safira.
She growled, keeping the sapphire wolf restrained beneath the stench of betrayal and revenge.
—I know you are ready, but we need energy. If we shift into our pure ancestral form, we lose speed.
She urged the mount forward with a sharp cry, inhaling the distant reek of magic—and the odor of a mongrel that had bitten the hand that fed it.
—Leónia, use the sacred blade. Cut down as many as you desire. The hunt begins.
It was the closest thing to permission for slaughter she could give while riding like lightning barely touching the ground.
The response came before impact.
Not a scream.
A mistake.
The renegades felt the spell falter first. The runes buried beneath the snow trembled, cracked, spat wrong light. Ancient magic does not appreciate being challenged by rightful blood. It grinds. It protests. It dies ugly.
—Front contact! — snarled one of the enemy sentries. Too late.
From the slopes, shadows detached from snow like starving ticks. Deformed wolves. Some still wore remnants of old armor, pack marks burned away by force. Others were flesh poorly stitched with magic that did not belong.
Traitors always smell the same.
Burned fur and broken promises.
Safira sensed the first leap before it was visible.
—Right side. Three. One in the tree. Two on the ground. —Cold. Focused. —They think they are encircling us.
Their first mistake.
The second followed.
The sky darkened when Leónia's blade sang.
Arcadia did not cut.
It judged.
Where it passed, the air split in white light and deep blue flame. One renegade was struck mid-leap. There was no body falling.
There was lunar dust.
And a distant echo, as if something had been forcibly returned to the Goddess.
—One less, — Safira murmured. —She remembers how to kill.
The others learned too late.
Attack howls exploded around them. Seven. No—ten. More on the left flank. They tried isolating the mount, forcing Elizabeth to choose between speed and protection.
A classic decision from those who had never faced true blood.
—They are stalling, — Safira said. —Not killing. They want time.
Time was precisely what they would not have.
Ahead, hidden among ice-covered rocks, a tall man watched. Cloaked in torn mantles carved with erased symbols. His eyes gleamed when he heard her howl.
—She truly came… — he murmured, crooked smile. —Like her father.
He raised his hand, activating the final seal.
The snow began to sink.
An ancient containment trap. Designed for kings. To force premature transformation. To drain power.
Safira felt it instantly.
—Elizabeth… — her tone shifted for a fraction. —This will drag us into full form if we stand still.
The renegades advanced together, overconfident.
Fatal choice.
Behind them, the wind shifted again.
Not mountain wind.
Answering wind.
Far away, in the Solari Mountains, something immense howled in return. So ancient that the blizzard recoiled several meters, as if reprimanded.
The scent changed.
Lycan King.
—He is breaking the perimeter, — Safira said, with cruel satisfaction. —They lost control of the storm.
The renegades hesitated.
And hesitation, in a lunar hunt, is a sentence.
The ground exploded beneath the first enemy, an invisible force launching him skyward. Another was dragged downward by his own shadow. Screams echoed—short, interrupted.
The watcher among the rocks widened his eyes.
—No… it was not supposed to be this fast…
He retreated.
Cowards always retreat when the plan begins to bleed.
Safira bared her teeth, savage.
—Leader ahead. Marked. Runs poorly.
Night closed around the Princess like a living mantle.
The hunt had truly begun.
And none involved would survive to tell the wrong version of the story.