Chapter 4 – Coronation of Lies

The Vale Pack hall had never felt colder, yet I shivered, not from the chill of the early morning air, but from rage, desire, and disbelief. I crouched in the shadows near the back balcony, soaked from the storm that had cleared hours before, every nerve on fire. Today, Lysentha would be crowned Luna. Today, she would parade herself before the pack as if she had earned it.

Her confidence radiated across the hall, warm and venomous all at once. She smiled at the council, at Calder, at the gathered pack members, her stolen bite glowing faintly on her shoulder. It should have been mine. Every instinct screamed at me, a primal ache so fierce that my knees went weak.

The moment my eyes landed on Rhaegon, standing tall before the throne, my body flared violently. Heat pooled between my legs, my pulse hammering as the bond reacted with agonizing intensity. I pressed my hands to my chest, clutching my blouse, trying to breathe, trying to contain the storm that surged through me.

He looked… different. Cold. Frustrated. Angry. His wolf circled beneath his skin, sensing the hollow energy radiating from Lysentha. His eyes flickered with silver, and I saw it, his confusion, his torment, and something else… something I couldn’t name.

Lysentha stepped forward to kneel, raising her hands to accept the ceremonial crown. Her smile faltered, just for the briefest instant, and my pulse jumped. That was all it took for me to see the truth: her bond was hollow. Forced. Fake. She didn’t belong here.

My hands tightened on the balcony railing as I fought the urge to leap forward. The pain in my shoulder flared in response to Rhaegon’s presence, searing, erotic, primal. I pressed my back to the wall, willing myself to stay hidden, but my body had other ideas.

Rhaegon’s gaze swept the room, commanding, piercing, and then it landed on Lysentha. His wolf growled low in his throat. “No,” he muttered under his breath. “This isn’t right.”

Her smile faltered further, though she didn’t stop moving. She began the ritual to strengthen the stolen mark, a circle of salt, silver, and whispered words in the old tongue. The glow from her shoulder intensified unnaturally, spreading like fire beneath her skin. My stomach turned. Something about the way her bond reacted screamed wrong, and I recognized it instinctively.

My anger roared. She was burning herself up. For a fake claim. For a lie. And for what? To take something that belonged to me. To take him. My mate.

I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to destroy her. But I stayed frozen, pressed against the shadows. My body ached with desire I couldn’t allow myself to indulge, my omega instincts warring with my rage. Every nerve screamed for him. Every fiber of me called to the bite that had marked me in the Blackwood.

And yet, he didn’t see me.

Not yet.

Lysentha finished the ritual. The mark flared again, unnaturally bright, and I flinched as a shiver of horror passed through me. Something was wrong with her. I could feel it even from here. The stolen mark, the false bond, the magic, it was poisoning her from within.

“Alpha,” she said, voice melodic but faltering now, “I… I am ready to, ”

Rhaegon’s silver eyes narrowed. His jaw tensed. He stepped closer, though the hollow crown on her head did not belong to him. Every step he took toward Lysentha made the glow on her shoulder flicker, unstable, like a candle about to go out.

“I can feel it,” he said, voice low, deadly. “Your bond… it’s… wrong. It’s hollow. It’s not mine. Not hers. She is… not yours.”

Her eyes widened in panic, but she forced her smile. “I, I can fix it. I, ”

“No,” he interrupted, voice booming through the hall. “You can’t. Not like this. Not with lies. Not with… this.” He gestured to her glowing shoulder, and the hall seemed to shiver under the power radiating from his wolf.

My chest tightened. I wanted to run, to scream, to throw myself into his arms, but my body betrayed me in different ways. Desire surged with the pain of the bond, my pulse racing, muscles coiling like springs. My breaths came in short, desperate gasps, and I fought not to call out, not to reveal myself to him.

I was exiled. I was supposed to stay hidden. I wasn’t supposed to feel this, not now, not ever.

But my body didn’t care about rules.

Every instinct in me, the fire of my wolf, the burn of the mate mark, screamed. I was drawn to him as if pulled by chains forged in blood and fire. My hands shook. My knees bent slightly. I ached to be claimed, to be acknowledged, to feel the connection that was mine and mine alone.

Rhaegon’s eyes swept the hall again, sharp and calculating, and for a moment I thought he would see me. But he turned back toward Lysentha, jaw tight, eyes flaring. His frustration was palpable, and my own longing twisted inside me like a knife.

The ritual she performed had begun to take its toll. Her face paled slightly, sweat dotting her temple. The mark flared brighter, but something about it flickered, unstable. I could feel it in the air, the bond’s imbalance. She was burning herself up, consuming her own strength in a desperate lie.

I wanted to warn her. I wanted to stop her. But I couldn’t. I wanted to warn him. But if he looked at me, he would know… and I wasn’t ready for that yet.

I sank lower into the shadows, trying to control my breathing, trying to ignore the ache in my body. My pulse raced. My wolf stirred in the shadows of my mind, growling low, coiling like a spring. Hunger, desire, frustration, all mixed into a single, overwhelming storm.

And then… I smelled him.

Not just near the hall, not just in his position at the throne, but closer. Closer than he had any reason to be. Closer than anyone should be allowed.

My stomach twisted. My pulse flared even hotter. Every hair on my body rose. The bond screamed. The mate bond, my wolf, the very core of me, it all flared violently.

I gasped.

And then I saw him.

Across the crowd, in the shadows near the balcony, moving slowly, silently… a figure cloaked, shadowed. My breath hitched. My body ached, trembling, trembling with recognition and desire and fear.

Rhaegon froze mid-step, nostrils flaring, jaw clenching. His wolf’s growl rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating through the hall. His gaze snapped to the shadowed figure, and then…

He inhaled sharply.

My heart stuttered.

His eyes locked on me.

Not Lysentha. Not Calder. Not anyone else.

Me.

I couldn’t breathe. My pulse surged in my ears. My shoulder throbbed. The mate mark burned hotter than ever. My wolf howled inside me, screaming in recognition, in hunger, in anger, in longing.

Rhaegon’s eyes were silver, sharp, molten with frustration and desire. The connection, the bond, flared, searing across the distance between us. I felt him through every nerve, every fiber of me. My body wanted to move toward him, to collapse into his presence, to finally be acknowledged, claimed, recognized.

But I couldn’t. I was exiled. I was vulnerable. And Lysentha… Lysentha was still performing her dangerous ritual, burning herself up with lies that could destroy her.

I pressed my back to the shadows, trembling, torn between rage, desire, and fear.

The hall seemed to hold its breath.

And then, as our eyes locked, I realized one terrifying truth: he had found me.

The mate bond had flared. He knew. He could feel me.

And everyone, everyone in the hall, was about to see the consequences of a lie that had gone too far.

 My pulse surged, my body a furnace of need and fear. The mate bond flared violently, and I saw the shock in Rhaegon’s eyes. My shadowed presence was revealed, he could sense me, call me, claim me. The question burned hotter than the mark on my shoulder: would he reach for me… or would the lies and stolen power tear us apart before I could take my place by his side?