Chapter 5

  

  

   Serena

  

  

   Two weeks had passed.

  

  

   Two long, careful weeks since I stood outside Alpha Kael’s chambers and apologized with shaking hands and a bowed head. He’d let me go that night. No yelling. No punishment. No exile. But that silence came with its own kind of power.

  

  

   I hadn’t spoken to him since.

  

  

   I hadn’t seen him up close either.

  

  

   The day after my apology, I was reassigned to the laundry halls.

  

  

   No more trips to the Alpha’s wing. No more early morning cleaning of his floors. No more being sent to his personal chambers to arrange his folded shirts or check the towels twice over. I wasn’t officially punished. But I was kept away. Far away.

  

  

   And I accepted that.

  

  

   Gratefully.

  

  

   I no longer had to hold my breath every time I stepped into a hallway. No longer had to flinch when I dropped a spoon or spilled a drop of water on polished wood. I went back to folding sheets, sweeping the west wing corridors, assisting in the clinic when needed. It was quieter work. Safe work. Invisible work.

  

  

   And that suited me fine.

  

  

   But this morning, something in the air had changed.

  

  

   It was Kael’s birthday.

  

  

   Not that the Alpha seemed to care.

  

  

   There were no balloons. No garlands or string lights across the mansion. No golden streamers or extravagant floral arrangements. The halls weren’t scented with cake or music. Kael had specifically forbidden all of it, according to the kitchen staff.

  

  

   “He hates decorations,” one of the maids whispered to another in the linen room. “Said he’s not a child.”

  

  

   “He doesn’t even like gifts.”

  

  

   “Why celebrate if he doesn’t enjoy it?”

  

  

   “He’s Alpha. You celebrate him whether he likes it or not.”

  

  

   There was still going to be a party that evening—more of a formal dinner, really—for the pack council, a few warriors, and some neighboring dignitaries. Everything was being handled by the event staff and the Beta’s family. I wasn’t part of that.

  

  

   I had laundry.

  

  

   And orders.

  

  

   And distance.

  

  

   I carried a stack of folded towels across the second-floor corridor and turned toward the guest wing when I heard it—heels clicking softly across the marble floor, sharp and certain. The scent of rich perfume floated before her like a warning.

  

  

   Then I saw her.

  

  

   The Luna.

  

  

   Or rather, the one who had been chosen to become Luna.

  

  

   Mirah.

  

  

   The daughter of Elder Hadrian. She was tall and graceful, with long dark curls cascading down her back like a glossy silk curtain. Her lips were full and tinted rose, her lashes thick, and her eyes cold, dark, and alert.

  

  

   She wore a deep emerald green dress that clung to her figure without a single wrinkle. Her heels were nude, high, and perfectly silent except when she wanted them to be heard. Gold bangles jingled softly on one wrist, and in her hand was a small black gift box—neatly wrapped and tied with a silver ribbon.

  

  

   She didn’t need to speak to command attention.

  

  

   She was the attention.

  

  

   Her stride was purposeful, and her smile was faint—just enough to be called polite, not warm. Two warriors trailed behind her at a respectful distance. She didn’t even glance their way.

  

  

   I stepped aside instantly, flattening myself against the wall, eyes cast downward the way we were trained.

  

  

   She didn’t look at me.

  

  

   Not a flicker.

  

  

   But her presence brushed past me like cold silk, leaving the air stiff and perfumed.

  

  

   I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she walked up the stairs toward the Alpha’s wing.

  

  

   He would see her, of course.

  

  

   He chose her, after all.

  

  

   Rumor was their bond had been agreed on even before Kael returned. A union of strength, politics, and tradition. Mirah’s father had served on the pack council for over two decades. Her brother, the Beta, was Kael’s right hand. And she—perfectly poised, pure-blooded, powerful—was everything a Luna was supposed to be.

  

  

   I didn’t belong anywhere near her world.

  

  

  

   Later in the afternoon, I was assigned to dust the stairwell between the main hall and the council chamber. The glass railing overlooked the sitting lounge below, and from there, I saw them.

  

  

   Kael and Mirah.

  

  

   He sat in his usual chair, back straight, shirt black and crisp. Mirah leaned on the armrest beside him, laughing softly, her fingers brushing his shoulder in a way that seemed casual—too casual to be unplanned. Her dress shimmered under the light as she adjusted herself, crossing her legs with elegance only someone like her could pull off.

  

  

   He wasn’t laughing.

  

  

   But his lips twitched.

  

  

   A little.

  

  

   A signal that he didn’t mind her presence.

  

  

   Not the way he minded everyone else’s.

  

  

   They spoke in low voices. I couldn’t hear them from above, but I didn’t need to. The ease between them was clear enough. He didn’t stiffen like he did when warriors approached. He didn’t bark like he did with staff. He sat, composed, letting her talk, letting her touch his sleeve, letting her offer the box she brought.

  

  

   He opened it.

  

  

   A gold cufflink set. Engraved, polished. Probably custom-made.

  

  

   She leaned in to explain something, and Kael nodded once. A small nod. But not uninterested.

  

  

   They looked like they belonged in a magazine. Cold and powerful and untouchable.

  

  

   I turned away quickly before anyone could see I was watching.

  

  

  

   That evening, the house transformed—quietly.

  

  

   White tablecloths were laid out in the banquet room. Silver trays gleamed. Glasses were polished and placed with precision. Warrior uniforms were pressed, chairs aligned. Candles were lit but only in clusters—no dramatic chandeliers, no bold color. Kael had ordered simplicity. Elegance. Control.

  

  

   The only sparkle came from the guests themselves.

  

  

   Mirah reappeared in a floor-length navy gown, her hair swept into an intricate braid crowned with silver. She moved like a queen who didn’t need a throne. She spoke softly to the elders and nodded politely to the warriors. But her gaze always came back to Kael.

  

  

   He walked slightly ahead of her when they entered the room. Not beside her. Not hand in hand. But together enough that no one could question it.

  

  

   I wasn’t inside the party.

  

  

   I wasn’t meant to be.

  

  

   I moved between the side halls, helping with spilled drinks, empty trays, and whispered instructions from kitchen staff. I only caught glimpses of the celebration—through windows, half-opened doors, and distant echoes of conversation.

  

  

   He didn’t smile once. But he also didn’t frown.

  

  

   That, in Kael’s language, meant he was… content.

  

  

   Mirah stood at his side like she’d always been meant to be there.

  

  

   And maybe she had.

  

  

   Maybe there were stories already written, long before I was born, where people like me were never meant to be anything more than background.

  

  

   I focused on my steps, my task, and my place.

  

  

   Because I had learned, deeply, painfully, that speaking up had its price.

  

  

   And even when you meant well…

  

  

   You didn’t belong where wolves laughed.