6: The Luna of Fangshire

Briar's POV 

“I’ll be the Luna of Fangshire.” 

The minute those words left my mouth, my life changed. It was like a door had closed on the past, locking it away forever.

It had been two days since I made my choice and last saw Azrael, but everything in my life had already turned around. I woke up the morning after to find a personal maid assigned to me. 

Her name was Angel, and she arrived before I even finished breakfast. She was young, bright-eyed, and carried herself with a gentle confidence. 

The royal tailors came next, arriving with measuring tapes and their notebooks. They took my measurements for dresses I never in my life imagined owning. 

And by the afternoon, boxes started arriving at my door. Boxes of silk, velvet, chiffon, and lace attire. Each one was more extravagant than the last. 

I ate delicacies I never even knew existed, dishes so rich and complex that I had to ask Angel what some of them were. 

And yet, even with all the luxury, I felt a strange unease. This kind of comfort could be just as intimidating as danger. 

It was evening now, and Angel was helping me get ready for bed. I stood in front of the tall mirror, wearing a nightgown embroidered with tiny silver crescent moons. 

Angel’s fingers moved through my hair, brushing and untangling, and she spoke softly as she worked.

“You know, the whole palace is curious about you,” she said. “Everyone’s been talking. You should see how the staff whispers when your name comes up.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m wolfless?”

“Well… that, and the fact that Alpha Azrael has never had a bride. Ever,” she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. 

“He doesn’t even entertain women, barely acknowledges anyone. And now he’s announcing you as his bride.” 

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“It’s… unbelievable.”

She was right. Even outside the palace, rumors about him being unmarried had circulated, whispered in taverns and markets, and, over the years, had been exaggerated and twisted. 

Some claimed he couldn’t get it up, that his fury and demonic nature were driven by some hidden impotence, while others told more barbaric, ridiculous tales meant to entertain themselves at his expense. I shivered slightly, imagining the stories.

I tried to shake my thoughts off and focused on Angel. “And what do they think of me?” I asked.

“Curious, cautious, and maybe a little envious,” she said. 

I swallowed and glanced down at my hands, thinking of the last time I had seen Azrael. That moment, the train, the choice, all of it had led me here, to this strange, luxurious limbo where my life had been turned upside down, yet I was still alive.

“Angel,” I said quietly, “thank you for helping me adjust to all this.”

She smiled warmly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear one more time. 

“It’s my job, my lady.”

Before I could say anything further, there was a sharp knock on the door. I jumped slightly, my heart stuttering in my chest. Angel’s hands paused in my hair, and she turned toward the door.

“I’ll see who it is,” she said. She moved quickly and opened the door. 

Standing there was a man I recognized immediately. It was the same man who had been in Azrael’s sitting room when I was first summoned.

“My lady, this is Abel,” Angel said softly. “Alpha Azrael’s beta.”

Abel’s dark eyes swept over me briefly before he spoke, his voice low and formal. 

“The Alpha has requested your presence. I am here to take you to him.”

I felt a cold shiver run through me. It was late, far later than anyone would normally summon anyone for anything, and this could only mean one thing. I tensed instinctively, my hands balling into fists at my sides.

“Okay,” I said quietly as I stood up, keeping my voice steady even though my stomach had turned to ice.

Abel nodded once and gestured for me to walk ahead. The hallway was dimly lit, shadows stretching along the marble floors, making the palace feel larger and more imposing than it had in daylight. My pulse hammered in my ears as I followed him.

We didn’t stop walking. Room after room passed, corridors winding into deeper, darker parts of the palace I had never seen. 

The walls became stonier, the air colder. The soft tapestries and paintings vanished, replaced by sturdy wooden doors with no windows, no openings, no sign of life behind them. 

My mind raced. Why here? What would Azrael want in this part of the palace? My stomach tightened with every step, a mixture of fear and anticipation curling in my chest.

Finally, Abel stopped in front of a particularly thick door, darker and heavier than the others. He opened it silently, stepping aside. I hesitated for a brief moment, but Abel’s steady gaze pushed me forward.

Inside, the space stretched far wider than I expected. Shadows pooled in the corners, illuminated only by the dim glow of torches mounted on the walls. 

My eyes were immediately drawn to the center, where a man hung suspended, his body bloodied and bruised, each motion sending a sickening rattle through his chains. 

I couldn’t look directly at him for long. The sight was horrifying, and my stomach lurched violently.

Azrael sat calmly a few feet away, his posture relaxed, hands resting on his knees as if he were watching a play. But his eyes were sharp, piercing, and they found mine the moment I stepped fully into the room. 

He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging my presence, and the air around me seemed to thrum with tension.

“Do you recognize this man?” he asked quietly, but his voice carried that weight that made my knees feel weak.

I shook my head slowly, unable to bring myself to look at the man strung up before us. He was too bloodied, too mangled, and I couldn’t reconcile the image with any memory I had.

“That,” Azrael said, gesturing lightly, “is the man who touched you in the dungeon.” 

My breath caught audibly. The realization sent a jolt of anger and nausea through me. My eyes burned as I glanced briefly at him, though I could barely stand to look.

Azrael’s gaze shifted back to me.

“Now, how do you want him to die?”