Ceremony morning

Emry’s POV

Sunlight streamed across the room in long golden bars, carrying the warmth of early spring. Outside, the courtyard was already alive — the steady rhythm of hammers, the rustle of fabric, Mirae’s voice cutting through it all like a command wrapped in cheer.

Emry sat by the window, still in her linen shift, hair tumbling loose over her shoulders. The breeze carried the scent of baking bread and crushed flowers. Everything felt so normal that it almost hurt.

Through the open shutters, she could see the pack working — stringing lanterns between the pines, polishing the carved stones where the vows would be spoken. Mirae moved among them like a force of nature, hands flying as she scolded, directed, and encouraged in equal measure.

Emry smiled faintly, then let the expression fade. She should have been happy — and part of her was — but beneath it all lay a quiet restlessness, the kind that came before a storm.

She pressed her palm to her chest, feeling the hum of the bond — Braxton’s presence thrumming faintly through her like the echo of a heartbeat. It steadied her. It frightened her too.

A knock broke the silence.

“Don’t you dare say you’re not dressed yet,” Mirae called through the door.

Emry sighed. “You’re early.”

“I’m efficient,” Mirae replied, breezing inside without waiting for permission. Her arms were full of fabric and ribbons, and a small tray balanced precariously on one elbow. “Breakfast. And flowers. And instructions. I don’t know which one you need first, but we’ll figure it out.”

She set everything on the table and looked at Emry properly. “You’re pale. Tell me you’ve eaten.”

Emry gave a guilty shrug. “Not yet.”

“Gods, woman, you’re getting mated today, not sacrificed. Eat something.”

Emry bit back a laugh as Mirae pressed a pastry into her hand. “You’ve been bossier than Elder Mira lately.”

“Because unlike the elders, I know how to get results,” Mirae said, adjusting a piece of silk that had slipped from the pile. “Now — for the gown.”

She unfurled the dress across the bed, and sunlight caught on the fabric. It wasn’t the heavy ceremonial style of old, but something simpler — soft ivory silk with pale silver threads curling through it like vines. The bodice was fitted, but the skirt flowed like mist, meant to move with her rather than restrain her.

Emry stared at it, throat tightening. “Mirae… it’s perfect.”

“I know,” Mirae said smugly. “You should have seen the seamstress; she nearly wept when I told her it was for the moon’s chosen.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Emry said, running her fingers over the embroidery.

“Fine. The overworked, underfed wolf who needs to stop frowning before she wrinkles prematurely.”

Emry snorted. “Better.”

Mirae laughed and came to stand behind her, deft fingers beginning to braid her hair. “You’re nervous.”

“Shouldn’t I be?” Emry asked softly. “It’s not just the ceremony — it’s everything after it. Everyone will be watching. The elders. The pack. The goddess, if she still bothers to look down at us.”

Mirae’s tone gentled. “Then let them watch. Let them see something worth believing in again.”

Emry met her eyes in the mirror. “You sound like Braxton.”

“Good,” Mirae said. “He’s right about more than you admit.”

For a while, the only sounds were the whisper of hair through Mirae’s fingers and the murmur of voices drifting in from outside. Emry began to relax, the morning light wrapping around them both like quiet protection.

But then something cold brushed the edge of her senses.

A flicker — a shadow that wasn’t a shadow — passed across the mirror’s reflection. It was gone before she could blink, but it left a hollow ache in her chest.

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her pendant.

“Em?” Mirae’s reflection frowned. “You all right?”

“Yes,” Emry said too quickly. “Just thinking.”

Mirae’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t press. “Then think about how to tell Braxton that you want the moonlily arch instead of the old one. He’s probably sulking in the training yard already.”

Emry smiled faintly. “He doesn’t sulk.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Mirae said dryly. “He broods. It’s more masculine.”

That earned a quiet laugh from Emry. “I’ll find him soon. He should know what you’ve done to the courtyard before he faints from aesthetic overload.”

“Please. He’s lucky to have me.”

Emry rose, brushing her hands down the front of the gown once Mirae finished lacing it. She felt steadier — almost grounded again.

Almost.

Because somewhere deep inside, past the warmth of sunlight and the steady hum of her bond, that shadow still lingered — like a whisper beneath her heartbeat.

A voice not quite hers.

A presence that waited.

And when the breeze from the open window stirred the curtains, she could have sworn she heard it — faint, low, and ancient:

“Moon’s child… so much like her…”

Emry froze.

But when she turned, there was only sunlight and silence.