3. The Broken Lunas

Rosalie’s POV

The first night in the Crimson Wing was an exercise in pure survival. While Vanessa slept soundly, her rhythmic breathing filling our shared room, I lay awake on the edge of my mattress, staring at the canopy overhead. Every creak of the old stone walls, every heavy step of the armored guards patrolling the corridor outside our door, made my inner wolf bristle.

When the morning bell finally tolled, echoed by the harsh clanking of iron gates being thrown open, the East Wing erupted into a flurry of frantic activity.

"Get up, garbage," Vanessa snapped, throwing a velvet pillow directly at my head as she stepped out of bed. She was already dressed in a vibrant, form-fitting gold gown, her hair pinned up in intricate, royal braids. "The King's steward announced an assembly in the lower hall. If you make me late because you're wallowing in bed, I'll ensure the guards drag you down by your hair."

I let the pillow hit the mattress, keeping my face blank as I slid out from under the sheets. "I'm moving," I murmured submissively, keeping my voice appropriately small.

I purposely chose the plainest gown my father had packed in Cynthia’s trunk—a muted, dove-gray silk that lacked any of the flashy embroidery or heavy jewels the other tributes favored. I brushed my hair straight, leaving it down to obscure the lingering purple shadow along my jawline, and followed Vanessa out into the main corridor.

The twenty-four tributes filed out of their rooms, creating a sea of rustling silk, heavy perfumes, and tense, whispered conversations. We were marched down a sweeping spiral staircase made of polished obsidian, descending deep into the heart of the castle until we reached the Lower Great Hall.

Unlike the grand dining spaces upstairs, the Lower Hall was medieval and spartan, dominated by gray stone arches, massive iron hearths, and a long, elevated dais at the far end. There were no tables, no lavish breakfast spreads—just a cold floor and a row of heavily armed Bloodmoon warriors lining the walls like statues.

Standing on the dais was a severe-looking older werewolf with a scarred face and a crisp, dark uniform. He looked at us not as future queens, but as an annoying administrative problem.

"Line up," he barked, his voice cutting through the nervous chatter like a whip. "Single file. High Alphas' daughters to the front, high Betas’ behind them, minor lineages to the back."

Vanessa instantly pushed her way to the very front, her chin held high as she practically vibrated with pride. I gladly did the opposite, slipping through the crowd until I was firmly entrenched in the back row, buried behind two towering daughters of a southern pack.

"I am Commander Johnson," the older wolf announced, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. "For the next several weeks, you will reside in the Crimson Wing under a period of natural evaluation. There are no games here. There are no petty tests. Alpha King Dominic is a busy man ruling a global territory; he has no time to micromanage a gaggle of spoiled children."

A few of the girls shifted uncomfortably, their aristocratic pride visibly stung.

"You will be expected to attend daily court assemblies, formal pack banquets, and political functions," Eric continued, his cold eyes sweeping over the line. "The King will observe your behavior, your composure, and your value to the Bloodmoon Pack in real-time. Those who throw tantrums, those who breach castle security, and those who prove themselves too weak to withstand the weight of our pack's aura will be quietly dismissed, packed onto a carriage, and sent home in disgrace."

He stepped closer to the edge of the dais, his voice dropping an octave. "You are all fighting for a twelve-month contract. One year as the Luna of the Bloodmoon Pack. One year to hold the ring, command our fortress, and secure an astronomical fortune and total political immunity for your families. But do not mistake this for a fairytale."

From the front row, Vanessa spoke up, her voice dripping with practiced charm. "We are well aware of the prestige, Commander. The daughters of the North do not fear a challenge."

Commander Eric let out a dry, humorless bark of laughter that made Vanessa's smile falter. "Prestige? Is that what your fathers told you?" He walked down the steps of the dais, stopping a mere foot away from Vanessa. "Let me illuminate the parts of the contract your families conveniently forgot to mention."

The hall grew so quiet you could hear the crackle of the torches along the stone walls.

"In ten years, there have been ten Contract Lunas," he said, his voice echoing off the high arches. "Ten women who stood exactly where you are standing now. Ten women who signed the paperwork, wore the crown, and shared the King's bed for three hundred and sixty-five days."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.

"And every single one of them returned to their home packs completely changed. Silent. Hollow-eyed. Emotionally shattered. The wealth was delivered to their families, yes, but the women who earned it were broken beyond repair."

A collective shiver seemed to pass through the line of tributes. A girl a few spots down from me whimpered, her scent spiking with a sudden wave of sharp, metallic fear.

"Alpha King Dominic does not believe in fated mates, and he does not offer affection," Eric whispered, his gaze scanning the trembling faces of the high-born elites. "Behind closed doors, he treats the biological obligations of a Luna with cold, ruthless dominance. His power is a suffocating, predatory thing. The past Lunas didn't break because they were mistreated publicly; they broke because they could not handle the sheer intensity of the beast in his bed. If you think you are going to change him, or if you think a pretty face will shield you from his true nature, you will leave this castle in a state worse than death."

The commander turned back toward the dais, dismissing the sudden terror in the room with a cold wave of his hand. "You are dismissed back to the wing until the evening banquet. Reflect on whether your family's ambition is worth your sanity."

As the line broke, the quiet, disciplined demeanor of the tributes dissolved into frantic, terrified whispers. The girls huddled in small groups, their faces pale as they debated the Commander's warning.

"He's just trying to scare us," Vanessa said loudly to her friends as they began the walk back up the spiral staircase, though her scent was tightly wound with defensive anxiety. "Those past girls were just fragile, over-pampered things. A real Alpha's daughter knows how to handle power."

I walked far behind them, my mind completely consumed.

Hearing the cold, clinical reality from Commander Eric’s mouth made the hairs on my arms stand up. When the stamped envelope had first arrived at our pack house, I had secretly dismissed Cynthia’s hysterical tears as her usual dramatic exaggeration. I had assumed my spoiled sister was just terrified of leaving her pampered lifestyle to live with a stern king. But listening to the commander, a chilling realization settled deep in my gut. Cynthia hadn't been exaggerating at all. The rumors were real, the danger was absolute, and my father had thrown me to the wolf anyway, sacrificing me to preserve his precious heir.

A bitter, cold resolve settled deep in my chest.

*Good,* I thought, gripping the railing of the obsidian staircase. *Let Vanessa and the others fight to be broken. The sooner I look entirely useless to him, the sooner I get thrown out.*

Lost in my thoughts, I finally reached the top of the staircase and stepped back into the grand corridor leading to the Crimson Wing. The other girls were already rushing ahead to change for the evening banquet, desperate to fix their makeup and plan their seductions despite the horror stories they had just heard.

I slowed my pace, wanting to let the crowd clear out so I could walk back to my room in complete isolation.

"Enjoying the view, Cynthia?"

The deep, gravelly baritone vibrated right through the stone floor, stopping me dead in my tracks.

My heart violently seized against my ribs. Slowly, my head snapped up.

Leaning against a heavy stone pillar just a few feet away was Alpha King Dominic. He had discarded his formal military coat, wearing only a dark, silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing powerful, corded forearms mapped with faint, silver battle scars. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets, his posture relaxed, but his piercing golden eyes were locked dead onto me, tracking the sudden spike of adrenaline in my scent with predatory precision.

He had been waiting for the crowd to clear. He had been waiting for me.

"Your Grace," I choked out, instantly dropping my head and falling into my submissive posture, my hands folding over my gray dress.

"You look small in gray, Cynthia," Dominic murmured, his heavy, quiet footsteps clicking against the stone as he closed the distance between us. The air around him immediately grew heavy, his suffocating Alpha aura pressing down on my shoulders until it was hard to breathe. "And you walk like someone who spent her life trying to blend into the woodwork, not someone who grew up in an Alpha's manor."

He stopped right in front of me, his shadow completely eclipsing my small frame. He didn't touch me this time, but the sheer proximity of his massive body made my inner wolf whimper in absolute submission.

"Commander Johnson gave a very educational speech downstairs," Dominic said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr that brushed against my ear. "The other girls are currently in their rooms weeping or praying for strength. But you... your scent didn't spike with fear when he spoke about how I break my women. Why is that?"

I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs, but I refused to let my scent betray a single shred of panic. He was hunting for a crack in my armor, waiting for me to trip over another clumsy lie. If I tried to deny it, he would know I was playing a part. I had to deflect. I had to take the spotlight off my reaction and turn it right back onto his reputation.

Slowly, I tilted my head up just enough to look at the sharp line of his jaw, keeping my voice low, quiet, and deceptively calm.

"And is it true, Your Grace?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "Or is the story of the broken Lunas just another test?"

Dominic didn't move, but the air around us grew instantly still. "A test?" he murmured, a dangerous curiosity rippling through his tone.

"A psychological culling," I said, gaining a sudden, fierce wave of courage from my sheer desperation to survive. "A rumor allowed to leak to the outer packs to ensure that whoever comes through those gates is either entirely broken by fear before they even start, or arrogant enough to think they can conquer you. You don't micromanage us because you let the ghost of the past Lunas do the terrifying for you. So I ask you, Alpha King... am I supposed to be weeping in my room like the others, or was I supposed to see right through it?"

Dominic didn't just smile. He stepped so close that his chest brushed the fabric of my gray dress, crowding me completely against the cold stone pillar. He reached out, his leather-gloved hand not gripping my jaw this time, but slowly wrapping around the back of my neck. His thumb rested right over my pounding pulse point, feeling the wild, erratic rhythm of my heart.

"Clever little mouse," Dominic purred, his golden eyes flashing with a dark, predatory heat. "You think it's a game of strategy. You think mind games are the only way to break a woman."

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his voice a gravelly whisper that made my inner wolf lock up in absolute submission.

"But a theory won't save you when the bedroom doors are locked, Cynthia. Let's see if that beautiful, sharp mind of yours can keep your knees from shaking when I unleash the beast you think is just a bedtime story."

He released my neck, letting his fingers trail lazily down my collarbone before he stepped away into the shadows of the corridor.

"Dress well tonight, Cynthia," his voice drifted back to me, low and commanding. "At my right hand, there will be nowhere left for you to hide."

I stood frozen against the stone pillar long after the sound of his footsteps had faded. My hands were shaking so violently I had to ball them into fists against my skirt.

Instead of blending into the background, I had just made myself even more interesting to him. *Stupid, stupid Rosalie.*

A dark, heavy dread settled deep in my gut. Sitting at his right hand meant the eyes of the entire court—and a furiously jealous Vanessa—would be locked onto me. My plan of acting entirely unremarkable was completely ruined for the day. Now, I just had to come up with an entirely different strategy to make him lose interest tonight, or it would be too late.