CHAPTER 5 - THE KING’S CLAIM

Dominic had always hated the pageantry that came with his title, but the Ashbourne pack’s attempt to impress him was especially suffocating. 

Even the guards at the entrance stood a little too stiffly, their eyes skittering past his face as they bowed and ushered him inside. He imagined they half-expected him to tear out someone's throat on the spot just for a crooked smile.

He stepped out, stretching his legs, and the cold air bit pleasantly at his face. Adrian joined him, wearing the same crisp suit he favored for council business, though he’d left the tie hanging loose around his neck. There was no need for decorum tonight, not here. Not with the council’s little errand.

“Ready?” Adrian asked, voice pitched low enough to avoid the driver’s ears.

Dominic’s jaw flexed. “Let’s get this over with.”

They crossed the yard in silence, Adrian only half a step behind, as always. The porch loomed ahead, crowded with elders and pack dignitaries, all of them watching him with a blend of awe and fear. 

Alpha Roland himself waited at the top of the stairs, hands folded behind his back, shoulders ramrod straight. The man’s scent was pure authority, laced with the faintest edge of anxiety. Even kings could taste that.

“Your Majesty,” Roland said, bowing his head just enough to show respect but not subservience. “Welcome to Ashbourne. My home is yours.”

Dominic nodded, not bothering to fake warmth. “Let’s get inside.”

Roland led them through the foyer, past the grand staircase, and into the main hall. The place was a riot of sound—music, laughter, the clink of glassware. Dominic could feel the eyes on him before he even entered the room. Hundreds of them. Unmated wolves lined the walls, all in their best clothes, all posturing, all hoping to catch the king’s notice.

He stopped in the doorway and scanned the crowd, his senses filtering for what the council wanted: silver-gray eyes, moonlit hair, that elusive “aura” they’d promised would be unmistakable. All he saw was desperation.

Adrian caught his eye and gave a minute shake of his head. Nothing yet.

A server pressed a glass of something sparkling into Dominic’s hand as he passed. He set it on a table untouched. He wasn’t here to celebrate.

Roland took the microphone at the front of the hall. “Honored guests, the Alpha King has joined us.”

The room dropped into an uneasy silence as everyone bowed except for Dominic and Adrian. Dominic strode forward, took the mic, and looked out across the sea of faces.

“I know many of you were told that I might choose and mark a mate tonight,” he said. The words rang flat and cold, but the room leaned forward anyway. “That will not be happening. I have already found my mate. The council, however, expects me to return with a Luna. If I choose one tonight, she will serve as placeholder, nothing more until the true Luna arrives.”

A ripple passed through the guests, equal parts relief and disappointment.

He handed the mic back to Roland and stepped away, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. What a farce. The council would be pleased with the performance, at least.

Adrian’s voice found him before he’d taken three steps. “You really know how to work a crowd.”

Dominic kept walking, letting the music and chatter resume behind him. “I’m not here to work a crowd, Adrian. I’m here to find the girl.”

Adrian caught up, smirked. “And if you don’t?”

“Then we go home, and the council can find a new pet project.”

They moved through the crowd, scanning the faces, sniffing for a trace of the prophecy. If she was here, she’d stand out. He could feel it. But the farther they walked, the less convinced he became. The council’s “intuition” was worth less than last month’s moon cycle.

He’d almost made it to the back exit when someone collided with his shoulder.

A girl in a silver dress, hair swept up, skin pale as new snow. She looked up at him, eyes wide, and for a split second, he felt something - an electric charge under his skin, a jolt of recognition. But then it was gone.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” she whispered, bowing her head.

He studied her face. Not the one. The eyes were close, but not right.

“Be careful,” he said, and moved on.

Adrian nudged him. “That was Alpha Roland’s elder daughter. Vivienne, I think.”

Dominic grunted for a second before another thought formed in his mind. “

He called after her. “Vivienne, is it?”

She smiled, practiced and brittle. “The second daughter and future pack luna, yes. You have a good memory.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he said, “Is there anyone from Ashborne missing from this little gathering – a she wolf?”

Vivienne’s eyes flicked sideways, amusement curling her mouth. “You noticed, my sister’s absence is the hot topic tonight. She’s always been… difficult.”

“Difficult?” Adrian echoed, voice flat.

Vivienne leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. “Lyra is being punished. Father locked her up for an indiscretion. She went out last night, got herself marked by some rogue, and came home unable to even name him. Typical Lyra-always desperate for male attention. She’s made a sport of shaming us.”

Adrian raised an eyebrow but remained silent. 

Vivienne’s lips curled. “Lyra is the last girl you want as Luna, my king. She’s a slut.”

Dominic let the words settle, weighing them. He remembered the wild scent from the forest, the desperate need that had driven him nearly mad, the mark that had sunk so deep it still throbbed at the base of his own neck. He had not caught her name, but every instinct screamed that the girl Vivienne described was the same one he had marked.

He kept his voice even. “Where is she?”

Vivienne’s gaze sharpened. “Basement. If you really want to see the prize embarrassment of Ashbourne, follow me.”

Dominic nodded. “Lead the way.”

Vivienne moved with a dancer’s precision, as she led them through a side hall and down a flight of stone stairs. The air grew damp and cold, the walls lined with old family portraits and the sharp tang of bleach. At the basement door, Vivienne fished out a key and unlocked it with a flourish.

Inside, the space was more cell than bedroom. Lyra sat on a the floor in the corner, hunched and shivering, her hair tangled around her face. She looked up as they entered, her eyes catching the light.

Silver - reflective silver -  the color of moonstone. Dominic’s chest tightened.

Vivienne’s voice was syrupy. “Lyra, you have company. Try not to embarrass us further.”

Lyra’s gaze slid to Dominic, then to Adrian, then back to the wall. She said nothing.

Dominic stepped forward, feeling the old ache flare in his ribs. He crouched in front of her, waiting until she looked him in the eye.

“Who marked you?” he asked.

Vivienne scoffed. “She’s a whore, how would she know?”

Dominic ignored Vivienne. He reached for Lyra’s chin, lifting gently to expose her neck. He expected to see the mark he had left. 

But the skin on her neck was pale and flawless. 

There was no mark, no scar - nothing.