Chapter 5 – Humiliation at the Feast

The feast was meant to honor her.

At least, that’s what the elder had told her when he came to fetch her. The Luna’s first banquet was a tradition, a way of introducing her formally to the pack. Bella had clung to that thought, fragile hope blooming in her chest that perhaps—perhaps—this would be the moment she could prove herself. That if she carried herself with dignity, the wolves might see her as more than a fragile human doll.

But the moment she entered Stormfang’s grand hall, that hope died.

The hall was transformed from its wedding-day solemnity into a riot of sound and color. Torches blazed in iron sconces along the walls, casting golden light on the long tables laden with roasted meats, baskets of bread, pitchers of dark wine. Wolves filled every seat, laughter and voices echoing high into the vaulted ceiling. Their scents—musk, pine, and iron—mixed with the aromas of food and smoke, thick enough to choke.

And at the head table, Lucian sat in effortless command.

He wore black again, simple but regal, silver embroidery glinting faintly along his cuffs. His raven hair was neatly swept back, his scar sharp in the firelight, his silver eyes as cold as ever. He didn’t look at her when she entered. He didn’t need to. The entire hall turned as one to follow his gaze, and the laughter faltered into silence.

The Alpha’s Luna had arrived.

Bella forced her chin high. Her white gown from the wedding had been traded for a pale blue dress that clung too tightly at her ribs, chosen for her, not by her. Her chestnut-brown hair had been brushed into glossy waves, her gray-green eyes lined with kohl to make them brighter. On the outside, she was dressed like a Luna. But on the inside, her knees trembled with every step.

The elder who escorted her gestured to the tables. Bella’s breath caught.

She was not led to the Alpha’s side.

She was not even placed near him.

Instead, the elder directed her toward a seat halfway down the lowest of the long tables. A table for servants, for the lowest-ranked wolves.

Bella hesitated, her chest aching. She looked up, her gaze flicking instinctively toward Lucian, silently pleading. But his silver eyes were fixed on the goblet in his hand, his jaw tight as he spoke to the man at his side. He did not look at her.

Her humiliation was complete before she even sat.

Whispers broke the silence as she lowered herself onto the wooden bench. “The Luna at the bottom table?”

“She doesn’t belong anywhere else.”

“A human Luna. What a joke.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. Her trembling hands smoothed her skirts, and she forced herself to stare straight ahead as platters were passed down. Meat, bread, fruit—all suddenly tasteless in her mouth. Her fingers shook so badly she could hardly hold her cup.

The hall roared back to life. Wolves drank deeply, slamming goblets onto tables. They tore meat from the bone with sharp teeth, their laughter booming, their voices filling the room like a storm. Bella tried to disappear among them, shrinking into herself. But she couldn’t—not when every sneer, every sideways glance burned across her skin.

And then she saw her.

Lilith Duskbane.

She sat at the high table beside Lucian as though she had always belonged there. A noble-born wolf, tall and impossibly elegant, her dark hair shining like ink, her icy blue eyes glinting like sharpened glass. She wore deep crimson silk, the fabric clinging to her perfect form, her lips painted the same shade.

She leaned close to Lucian, her laugh light and silvery, her hand brushing his arm with practiced intimacy. Lucian didn’t move away.

Bella’s stomach twisted.

Lilith’s gaze slid lazily across the hall until it landed on Bella. For a moment, their eyes locked. Then Lilith’s lips curved into a smile—slow, deliberate, victorious.

It was not the smile of a friend. It was a declaration of war.

The elder at Lucian’s side rose, calling for silence. He lifted a goblet high. “To the Alpha, and to the Luna!”

The hall cheered, goblets lifted, wine spilling onto the tables.

Bella forced herself to stand, her hands trembling as she lifted her own cup. But as she raised it, her fingers slipped against the slick metal. The goblet wavered, nearly toppling, and though she caught it just in time, the wine sloshed across her hand and sleeve.

Laughter erupted.

“She can’t even hold a cup!”

“Fragile little thing.”

“Pathetic.”

Bella’s throat burned as she slowly set the goblet back down, her hands shaking harder than ever.

At the head table, Lucian finally lifted his cup. He did not look at Bella. He turned instead to Lilith, his voice low but carrying easily across the room.

“To Stormfang,” he said.

Lilith’s goblet met his with a clear, ringing chime. Her smile widened, her icy eyes flashing triumph as the hall echoed the Alpha’s toast.

Bella’s chest ached so badly she thought it might shatter. She lowered herself back onto the bench, her head bowed, her heart hammering in her ribs.

The feast roared on around her—wolves eating, laughing, clinking goblets—but all Bella heard was the sound of her own humiliation ringing in her ears.

She could feel the tears burning at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill. Not here. Not in front of them.

She clenched her fists beneath the table until her nails bit into her palms. Her gray-green eyes lifted, steady despite the storm inside her. She would not cry. She would not break.

If they wanted her to crumble, they would wait forever.