Silver Shackles

Chapter 2: Silver Shackles

POV: Selene Virel

The robe was freezing. That was the first thing I noticed. Not how it looked or the way the silver embroidery caught the light, just the dead-cold weight of the fabric against my skin. It felt like it had been sitting in a cellar for a decade.

I stood in front of the mirror and tried to smooth the silk, but my fingers wouldn't stop twitching.

Four days. Ninety-six hours. Then the moon would hit its peak, my blood would be bound to the throne, and there’d be no way out.

I was supposed to feel honored. The Elders, the handmaids, even the girls in the village—they all acted like I’d won the lottery. I just felt like I was being fitted for a shroud.

I turned away from the glass. My stomach had been a knot of acid for weeks. It wasn't dread, exactly. It was more like a low, constant hum of "wrong" that lived right under my ribs.

Luna of the Silver Moon. Women had literally clawed each other's eyes out for this title. They’d bled for it.

And all I could think about was the way Kael had looked at me during the rehearsal this morning. Or rather, the way he hadn’t. He’d looked through me. I was a piece of furniture that happened to be in the right spot. Functional. Necessary. Invisible.

I stepped onto the balcony. I needed to breathe something that didn't smell like incense and old stone. The night air was thick with pine and damp earth, underpinned by that sharp, metallic scent from the sacred river. The moon was a massive, bloated eye in the sky. I could feel the cycle starting to thrum in my marrow. The pack was ready. Kael was ready.

Nobody had asked me if I was.

I’d loved him since we were ten. Before he was the Alpha. Before he was "The Great Kael." I knew the exact ring of charcoal-gray around his pupils that only showed when the sun hit him right. I knew the way his jaw ticked when he was trying not to lose his temper. I’d spent ten years handing him little pieces of myself, thinking he was putting them in a safe place.

He wasn't. He was just letting them drop.

A sharp, impatient knock rattled the door. I didn't have to ask.

"Come in, Lyra."

She didn't just walk in; she invaded. Her boots snapped against the marble, her energy filling the room like a physical pressure. No bow. We’d been friends too long for that, though lately, that friendship felt like a piece of wire being stretched until it was ready to snap.

"You're still in here." She didn't make it a question. Her voice was tight. "The Elders are at the riverbank. The walk isn't a suggestion, Selene."

"I was just leaving." I grabbed my cloak, my fingers fumbling with the clasp. "You’re on edge. Is the pack restless?"

Lyra let out a short, dry laugh. There was zero warmth in it. She started pacing—quick, jerky movements. "The pack is fine. They’re thrilled. They want their Luna." She stopped, her back to me. "Kael’s already down there. He’s been asking for you."

A stupid, tiny spark lit up in my chest. I hated myself for it instantly. "He has?"

Lyra turned around. Her face was a mask of nothing. "He wants the ritual to go smoothly. It’s about the image, Selene. That’s all."

The spark died. I nodded, pulling the heavy cloak over my shoulders. "Right. Let's get it over with."

We walked in a silence that felt heavy enough to bruise. Out through the stone halls, into the trees, following the path to the river that had been worn flat by centuries of better women than me. The woods felt crowded tonight. The leaves weren't just rustling; they were whispering.

The roar of the water got louder. Usually, that sound settled me. It was a bone-deep constant. Tonight, it just sounded like a warning.

"You're too quiet," Lyra said.

"I’ve got four days until my life ends, Lyra. Give me a break."

"Is that it?" She stopped dead. We were at the edge of the bank now, the ground dropping off into the churning pools below. The spray was cold on my cheeks. "Or are you just practicing your 'tragic bride' look?"

"I'm doing what I have to do."

"What you have to do." She spat the words out like they were poison. I caught her scent then—it had shifted. It was sharp and sour, something I didn't recognize. "You act like being Kael’s mate is some kind of curse. Do you have any idea what other women would give to be where you are?"

"It was never about the title," I snapped. My voice felt thin against the roar of the river. "I just wanted him. Only ever him."

"And you have him!" Her voice rose, echoing off the water. "You have everything, and you’re standing here acting like it’s a death sentence. It’s insulting."

Then it clicked. The pacing, the tone, the way she’d been pulling away for months.

"You’re jealous," I said quietly.

"Don't—"

"If you think my life is easy because I’m tied to a man who won't even look at me when the doors are closed, you don’t know me at all."

"I know you’re an Omega." She looked at me, and the moonlight caught her eyes wrong. They looked like yellow glass. Cold. "Gentle. Gracious. Everyone says it like it’s a compliment. But the pack doesn't need gentle. It doesn't need a girl who’s going to cry over a man who already made his choice and just hasn't bothered to tell her yet."

The words hit me one by one. Like she’d rehearsed the order.

I looked at her—at the woman I’d called my sister since we were pups—and I didn’t know who she was. Or maybe I’d just been blind.

"Is that what you really think of me?" I whispered. "After everything?"

Lyra didn't say a word. She just stood there, her fists clenched at her sides, while the space between us turned into a chasm.

It was an ending. And I was the only one who hadn't realized the funeral had already started.