Chapter 2 Her Coronation

(Hilda)

It’s Cerelia’s Luna coronation today.

The banners are flying, music is playing, and laughter fills the air. 

They’re celebrating as if I never existed. 

As if I didn’t nearly die fighting for this pack, as if I wasn’t Soren’s mate once. 

As if he hadn’t promised me the very position Cerelia is about to take.

My ribs still ache with every step, the lingering wounds from battle healing slower than they should. 

But I welcome the pain. 

It distracts me from the deeper wound that festers with betrayal.

I see them. 

Soren and Cerelia, standing together beneath the ceremonial arch, hands entwined like they were made for each other.

Before I can turn away, a voice snakes through the crowd.

“Well, well. Look what the wolves dragged in.”

I stiffen.

Alpha Damon.

Cerelia’s brother, my former enemy. And by the sneer on his face, still very much one. 

He moves closer, all sharp edges and coiled arrogance. 

His hair, the same shade as Cerelia’s, falls wild around his angular face.

There’s no bulk to him, none of the usual Alpha brawn, just a wiry, almost scrawny frame wrapped in expensive black. 

But what he lacks in muscle, he makes up for in menace.

“Did you come to cheer for the happy couple?” he purrs. “Or are you hoping to claw your way back into relevance?”

“Go to hell,” I snap.

Damon chuckles, eyes gleaming with cruel delight.

“Already there, sweetheart. Watching you watch them is the best entertainment I’ve had all week. You were so easy to discard.”

I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. 

The air around me seems to tremble with my fury.

“You look so pathetic now. The once-glorious Beta, abandoned, forgotten. Soren always had poor taste. At least Cerelia looks the part.”

I lunge. I don’t even think—just act. 

But before I can land a blow, a hand clamps onto my shoulder.

“Alec?” I whirl around to see my old friend, expecting comfort, support. 

Instead, I get judgment.

“It’s Beta Alec now. And Hilda,” he sighs, his expression full of exasperation, not concern. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“What?”

“I get that you’re upset, but this behavior is reckless. You’re disrupting a diplomatic event.”

“He was provoking me…” I start, but Alec cuts me off.

“Damon is an Alpha. Our strongest ally right now. You need to be smart. Control yourself.”

I blink. “After everything Soren did, you’re defending them?”

His voice drops, as if he’s explaining something to a child. “You need to let it go, Hilda. The pack needs stability. You lashing out only makes things worse.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “I nearly died for this pack. I was supposed to be his Luna. I am his Beta.”

“Was,” Alec corrects softly, and that one word shatters something inside me.

Right. I am nothing to Soren now. Alce is his Beta, not me.

Cerelia appears then, perfect and glowing in her ceremonial gown. 

Her eyes widen when she sees me, and she approaches like some benevolent goddess.

“Hilda,” she says gently. “Please, let’s not do this today.”

I stare at her in disbelief. 

She’s standing in my place, holding my mate’s hand, wearing the Luna crown meant for me, and now she wants peace?

Her concern feels like poison. 

Mocking me.

“You don’t get to play the saint,” I sneer. “You swooped in while I was unconscious and built a life out of my ruin.”

Cerelia flinches, but Soren steps between us now, his face unreadable. “That’s enough,” he says.

“Really?” I hiss. “You promised me the moon, Soren. Then I wake up to find you gave it to someone else.”

“I did what I had to,” he replies coldly.

“No,” I say. “You did what was easy.”

Before either of them can respond, Damon steps in again, clapping slowly. “What a performance,” he drawls. “But I think the curtain’s closed, don’t you?”

His eyes darken. “Seize her.”

“What?!” I demand, whirling in confusion—but it's too late. 

Warriors close in on me, gripping my arms roughly.

“You’ll learn some respect one way or another,” Damon says with a sick smile. “If Soren won’t teach you your place, I will.”

The guards grip my arms like I’m some rogue intruder, not the Beta who bled for this pack. 

My first instinct is to fight them off, to lash out with teeth and fury, but my body betrays me. 

A year of starvation and rot in that cursed cell has turned my limbs to dead weight. 

The warriors' grips are ironclad, indifferent to my weakness.

Some of them recognize me. 

Not as a broken woman, but as the former Beta who left a trail of their brothers’ bodies behind her. 

Their gazes sharpen with hatred. 

No longer just following orders. 

Now they want to hurt me.

In the distance, someone murmurs, “Where is Alpha King Arlo? Wasn’t he supposed to attend the coronation?”

Another answers with a nervous laugh, “He never shows unless there’s blood to be spilled.”

That name, Arlo, slices through the noise like thunder, sparks unease in the crowd. 

Temperamental. Unpredictable. A war criminal, some say. A necessary evil, say others.

I cling to the mention of him like a fool clings to a myth. 

If Arlo were here… maybe things would’ve gone differently. 

Maybe Damon wouldn’t be so bold.

But King Arlo isn’t here.

And the crowd, once abuzz with expectation, now turns its gaze on me like I’m the spectacle. 

An unwanted ghost at a celebration.

Cerelia’s Luna coronation wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

No one planned for the ex-mate to show up bruised and bleeding, disrupting her perfect fairy tale. 

Certainly not while whispers of King Arlo’s potential arrival still lingered like distant thunder.

I hate that my eyes are well up. 

I hate that my panic is visible. 

But I can’t help it. There’s too many. 

I can’t move, can’t run, can’t shift. Not like this.

Then I hear his voice. Soren. Commanding. Like a true Alpha.

“Stop.”

The warriors hesitate, loosening their hold. 

For a flicker of a moment, I stupidly believe he still cares. 

That some part of the man who once held me in his arms still exists.

But Cerelia is beside him, radiant and composed, her expression crumpling slightly at the scene unfolding before her. 

This wasn’t part of her perfect Luna coronation. Bloodied exes don’t photograph well.

Damon pushes through the crowd, his fury barely contained. “What the hell is this, Soren?” 

His voice is loud, arrogant, snapping across the clearing. “We had a deal. You finish the ceremony. Now. Before King Arlo decides to come after all.”

Soren nods stiffly, as if the idea of Alpha King Arlo setting foot in his territory is enough to knock the breath from his lungs.

“Of course the coronation will go on,” he says quickly.

That’s when Damon’s mouth curves into a serpent’s smile. “But I have one more demand.”

He points at me like I’m cattle. Property. 

“Her.”

My breath catches. “What?”

“I want her. For what she did to my men. For the disgrace she brought to my family. I want her in my custody. Today.”