Plans and promises

Emry’s POV

The afternoon sun poured through the council courtyard, turning the white stone almost gold. The air hummed with life—wolves training, children laughing, the distant clang of metal.

And, somehow, Mirae’s voice above it all.

“Absolutely not!” she called toward a bewildered guard. “If you think I’m letting anyone hang dull brown banners for a divine mating celebration, you’re out of your mind. We’re talking moonlight, silver, maybe lilac—something that doesn’t look like a funeral!”

Emry groaned from the steps where she sat with a basket of parchment Mirae had forced into her hands. “You realize I didn’t agree to a festival.”

Mirae whirled, hands on her hips. “It’s not a festival; it’s a statement. You and Braxton are the first bonded pair blessed by the moon in generations. People need hope—and honestly, I need an excuse to boss people around again.”

“You never need an excuse,” Emry muttered.

Mirae ignored her, plucking a quill from the basket and sketching quick notes on one of the parchments. “See? We could line the outer ring with silver lanterns. Have the pack children release them after your vows—it’ll look like stars rising from the earth.”

Emry tried not to smile. “You’ve thought about this.”

“Obviously,” Mirae said. “I’m efficient chaos. Now, what flowers do you want? I’m thinking moonlilies for purity and—”

“Stop,” Emry said, laughing. “If you say symbolism, I’ll bury you in those lilies.”

“Noted,” Mirae said with a wink.

The sound of bootsteps on stone drew their attention. Eastin was crossing the courtyard, his usual guarded composure tempered by amusement. Beside him walked Lira, the pack’s youngest weapons instructor — tall, dark-haired, and carrying herself with the quiet precision of someone who’d fought too many battles to count.

Emry straightened, a smile touching her lips. “Lira, you look like someone dragged you into this against your will.”

“I was promised peace and training hours,” Lira replied. “Instead, I found Mirae with a clipboard.”

Mirae turned, beaming. “Ah, perfect timing! I need two people who can lift heavy things and look intimidating while doing it.”

“Why does intimidation matter?” Eastin asked.

“Because it’s good for aesthetic balance,” Mirae said sweetly. “You can’t have beauty without a bit of danger.”

Lira smirked. “That’s the most Mirae thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you,” Mirae said brightly, as if it were a compliment.

⸻

As the afternoon light mellowed to amber, the four of them worked side by side — Mirae orchestrating with relentless cheer, Emry pretending not to enjoy herself, Eastin stringing lanterns, and Lira testing knots with practiced efficiency.

For a while, it felt almost ordinary.

Then Mirae, perched on a crate, announced casually, “So, Eastin — who are you bringing to the ceremony?”

He froze mid-knot. “What?”

“Your date,” Mirae said. “It’s a celebration, not a tactical meeting. You can’t show up alone, it ruins the symmetry of the guest list.”

Emry groaned. “Mirae.”

“What? It’s a fair question,” Mirae insisted. “Everyone else will have someone. Including your sister.”

Eastin shot Emry a look that promised revenge later, but before he could retort, Lira spoke — quiet, even, but with that steel-edged grace she carried into every sentence.

“You assume I’m going,” she said to Mirae.

“Of course you are,” Mirae replied without missing a beat. “It’s practically required of pack legends. You’ll terrify the suitors and make the rest of us look composed.”

Lira huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Correct,” Mirae said. “Now, Eastin, you were saying?”

“I wasn’t,” he said.

“Then maybe you should,” Mirae teased, hopping down from her crate and wandering off toward the supply tents, humming as if she’d merely rearranged destiny and was quite pleased with herself.

The courtyard grew quiet again, the hum of preparation soft around them. Emry busied herself with tying ribbons, pretending not to watch her brother and Lira out of the corner of her eye.

Lira was crouched by the lantern strings, her braid falling forward, sunlight catching the faint silver scar along her jaw — the one she never spoke about. Eastin hesitated beside her, the air between them taut but not unfriendly.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “You don’t have to go if it’s too much.”

Lira looked up, expression unreadable. “Too much?”

“The ceremony. The talk. All of it.”

She studied him for a long heartbeat, something soft flickering in her eyes. “You think I can’t stomach a little celebration?”

“I think you’ve lost more than most,” he said quietly. “And I know what it’s like to stand where everyone else is celebrating and feel like the only one holding their breath.”

Lira’s gaze lowered, her fingers brushing the rough edge of the lantern cord. “You remember him, don’t you?”

“Kael,” Eastin said. “Yeah. You used to laugh louder when he was around.”

She smiled faintly. “He made it easy.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them — not uncomfortable, but heavy with something unspoken. Then Eastin took a breath.

“Lira,” he said. “Would you come with me? To the ceremony.”

Her eyes met his — sharp, questioning — and then softened, just barely. “Are you asking me as your friend… or something else?”

He hesitated, then, very quietly: “I don’t know yet. Maybe both.”

A long pause. Then she nodded once, her voice barely above a whisper. “Then yes. I’ll come.”

Something unseen pulsed in the air — faint, electric, like the moment before lightning. Emry felt it even from across the courtyard — a spark brushing her awareness through the pack bond, warm and alive.

Mirae’s laughter rang out from the tents. “I knew it! See? All it takes is a little divine chaos!”

Eastin groaned under his breath. “Remind me to never let her meddle again.”

Emry smiled, watching the light shift over them — her brother’s guarded heart cracking open, Lira’s strength finding something gentler again.

For the first time since the prophecy, hope didn’t feel like defiance.

It felt like living.