Chapter 22

Yvonne set her empty cup down on the silver tray, her amber eyes reflecting a quiet, deliberate light. She reached across the plush duvet and gently smoothed the soft fabric of the cashmere sweater she had brought, letting a comfortable silence settle between them before speaking.

“Lydia,” Yvonne began, her tone dropping into a tender, thoughtful register. “There is something the pack Elders have been quietly discussing, though Asher has forbidden anyone from burdening you with it until you feel ready.”

Lydia looked up, her fingers tightening slightly around the warm porcelain of her teacup. “What is it?”

“The Luna ceremony,” Yvonne said softly, keeping her eyes fixed on Lydia to ensure the subject didn’t trigger distress. “The Frostwell territory has just weathered a horrific betrayal. The execution of a high-ranking Beta and the revelation of treason have left our people feeling shaken, uncertain, and vulnerable. They are desperate for a symbol of renewal—they need their Luna.”

Lydia’s heart gave a small, fluttery thud against her ribs. The title carried immense weight; it meant leading alongside Asher, guiding the pack’s domestic affairs, and standing as a pillar of strength for thousands of wolves across the northern territory.

“I am not bringing this to you to rush your physical healing, or to force a heavy burden onto your shoulders,” Yvonne added quickly, reaching out to gently squeeze Lydia’s forearm with reassuring warmth. “If you tell Asher you need months, he will happily lock the entire world out and wait for as long as it takes. But as someone who has watched brave wolves heal from deep wounds, I know how easy it is for trauma to trap us inside our own minds. Sometimes, having a purpose—taking active control of your own destiny—is the very thing that pulls you back into the light.”

Lydia stared down into the amber liquid of her tea, Yvonne’s words echoing deep within her spirit. For days, she had been defined entirely by what had been done to her: the victim in the dungeon, the shattered patient in the hospital bed, the fragile flower guarded by sentries. But the thought of standing at Asher’s side, of officially claiming her place as sovereign of this pack, ignited a faint, fierce ember in her chest.

She did not want to remain a victim hiding behind locked bedroom doors. She wanted to reclaim her life, her power, and her future.

A slow, resolute breath escaped Lydia’s lips as she looked up to meet Yvonne’s gaze, a subtle glint of determination returning to her emerald eyes. “How long does a traditional coronation take to organize?” she asked, her voice steadying.

Yvonne’s smile widened, brimming with genuine sisterly pride. “With me helping you handle the details? We can make this entire territory shine in two weeks.”

Yvonne’s hands squeezed Lydia’s with warm encouragement, her smile radiating pure enthusiasm. “We will start slow. No grand galas or overwhelming crowds right away. Just picking out your ceremonial silks, selecting the pack crest embroidery, and letting you take back your power step by step.”

The heavy oak door creaked open, and Asher stepped back into the master suite, his broad shoulders instantly filling the room. His sharp blue eyes swept over the pair, immediately searching Lydia’s face for any sign of distress. Instead, he paused, noticing the faint flush of colour on her cheeks and the clear, steady light gleaming in her emerald eyes.

“I hope Yvonne hasn’t worn you out,” Asher said, his low voice carrying a tender edge as he approached the bed.

Yvonne stood up gracefully, smoothing her skirt with a satisfied expression. “Far from it, Alpha. In fact, your Luna has made a decision. I’ll leave you two to discuss the timeline—I have a seamstress to summon.” With a respectful nod to both of them, Yvonne slipped out of the suite, closing the door quietly behind her.

Asher’s brow furrowed slightly as he sat down on the edge of the mattress. He took Lydia’s small hand into his broad palm, his thumb softly tracing her knuckles as golden sparks flared between them. “A decision? What was she talking about, little one?”

Lydia looked directly into his eyes, her hand tightening around his. “I want to hold the Luna ceremony, Asher. In two weeks.”

Asher went utterly still. Concern flashed across his hard features as he leaned in closer, his gaze searching hers with fierce intensity. “Lydia, you don’t have to force yourself. The pack can wait. The borders are secure, and I will tear apart anyone who demands you rush your recovery. If you need months to heal, you take months.”

“I know you would protect me from the world forever, Asher,” Lydia whispered, reaching up with her free hand to gently trace the rugged line of his jaw. “But I don’t want to hide behind locked doors while trauma dictates my life. The rogues tried to break me, but standing at your side as sovereign of this pack proves they failed. I am not doing this just for the pack... I am doing this for me. For us.”

A profound wave of emotion surged through Asher, his wolf roaring with fierce, untamed pride inside his chest. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath hitched as he cupped her face in his broad hands.

“Then in two weeks, you take your throne,” he rasped, his voice thick with raw, unshakeable devotion. “And I will make it a coronation this continent will never forget.”