Chapter 4

Elara’s POV

My first summons to meet Lady Isolde Argent came as a formal "request" from Omega Brigid. Lady Isolde seldom left her sunlit tower at the highest point of Sterling Keep. As the oldest pack member in the territory and a former Luna who had outlived two Alphas, she now reigned above the Argent family, her power second only to the current Alpha. In her eyes, the duties and position of Luna were both sacred and unforgiving.

Escorted by Brigid through the keep, I heard the corridors alive with whispered speculations about me—so pale, so quiet, clearly not of Sterling Pack.

Silver-haired Brigid, ever loyal, accompanied me, but Lady Isolde’s gaze dismissed her at the threshold. "Leave us." It was not a request.

Lady Isolde’s chamber was a repository of antiquity: antique chests, drying herbs, wolf pelts, and shards of moonstone. She sat rigid in her chair, silver hair like frost, her shawl and fingers arranged with military precision, even her breath seeming to enforce propriety. The air smelled faintly of wormwood.

Isolde scanned me up and down, her voice icily precise.

"So you are the new Lady Argent. Find the tapestries lacking? The kitchens inadequate? I hear on your first day, you requested enough honey, barley flour, and sage to stock a field hospital."

I instinctively clenched my skirts but forced myself to explain. "Many soldiers and craftsmen have struggled to sleep since the migration. I know a little herb craft—some calming bread and teas might help them rest."

Lady Isolde let out a short, disdainful laugh. "A Luna meddling in kitchens and stillrooms? Do you so little value your rank?"

She leaned forward, voice low. "To rule this house, you must be neither servant nor nursemaid. You are the Pack’s Luna, not its handmaiden."

My hands trembled, but I met her gaze. "In my old pack, no one listened to me or saw my worth. This is all I know how to do. Last night, Lord Alaric barely slept until I baked him rosemary poppy seed bread."

Her expression flickered, and she looked away, fixing her gaze on a faded sprig of rosemary in a silver cup—the sole living thing amid relics of the past.

"My first winter as Luna, I ground wheat until my hands bled while fools fought over land," she murmured absently. "They remember my judgments, never my labor. Perhaps that is why our line endures."

Suddenly her eyes sharpened. "Remember: you did not come to Sterling to be a servant. This family, this keep, this pack—they demand the dignity of a Luna. Kindness is not weakness, but you must plant your authority in their minds—not with bread or herbs alone."

"Your surname and your Alpha instincts matter as much as your status as Luna," she said slowly. "And the Sterling Luna is not some girl with a mortar and pestle."

I fidgeted with my apron, terrified of forgetting her words, and nodded vigorously.

"Brigid will teach you Pack protocols. Stop skulking about like a lost Omega. Learn the rules—and how to command respect," Lady Isolde continued, her gaze as cold as winter iron.

I tried to protest, but the words tangled in my throat. "I’ll… try to learn," I managed.

With a sigh, she waved me off, letting Brigid lead me out. Her message was clear: some lessons are not remembered—they are enforced. And the Sterling Luna does not embarrass her family.

…

Two days later, as Brigid went to prepare spiced wine, the kitchen fell silent. Footsteps approached: Edric, the steward, flanked by two Omega handmaids.

One handmaid set a dark purple lacquered box on the table. Inside lay neatly stacked silver coins, beneath which peeked a sheet of vellum, glowing faintly.

Edric bowed slightly, voice warm. "Lady Luna, we know you’ve fretted over winter herbs and stores. This is a small token from the household—even the handmaids contributed."

He leaned in, voice dropping. "There is a matter we hope you might mention to the Alpha. The north slope lands, currently under Duke Clive’s stewardship…the people wish to manage them locally. A word from you would secure our claim—and your favor."

I stared at the coins, my mind reeling. The silver seemed to hum, promising new kitchen tools, an expanded herb shed, enough supplies to last the winter. Perhaps even tutors to help my hopeless sense of direction.

But Edric’s meaning eluded me. "Would that…be appropriate? Does Lord Alaric know of this?" I whispered.

Edric’s smile grew patronizing, like humoring a child. The handmaid behind him murmured, "Just accept the gift, my lady. The household understands discretion. You’re wise, my lady."

I rubbed my apron, confused. Was wisdom measured by accepting bribes?