Chapter Two: The Heartless Oath

Helena’s POV 

“This is a mistake.”

My fingers curled around the edge of the wooden table, my knuckles white as I watched the warriors gather outside.

Across from me, Elara, one of the older healers, exhaled sharply as she tied the last bandage around a wounded soldier’s arm.

“You think anyone here doesn’t know that?” she muttered, not bothering to look up. “But it’s not about what’s right. It’s about what’s necessary.”

I swallowed hard, my gaze drifting back to the open infirmary doors where the entire pack stood in uneasy silence.

The coronation was about to begin.

And at the center of it all, Liard stood like a man already carved from stone.

It was the coronation of a man without a heart.

He wore no ceremonial robes, no crown of silver as tradition demanded. Instead, he was dressed for war. A black armor still smeared with the blood of battles lost.

It wasn’t just his clothes that spoke of war.

It was his eyes.

Hollow. Cold. The eyes of a man who had buried his father and all emotions alongside him.

Rhider stood at his side, just as unreadable, just as distant.

The Elders moved forward, their expressions severe, and Elder Garron stepped to the front.

“This pack needs more than just an Alpha,” Garron’s voice cut through the silence. “It needs a Luna.”

I stiffened.

The warriors shifted uneasily. I could hear the whispers already.

He will refuse.

The pack needs a Luna.

An Alpha who doesn’t love is an Alpha who doesn’t last.

Liard’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained steady when he answered.

“I will not fall as my father did.”

His words were a blade to the past. A final rejection of everything Stormbane had been.

A rejection of love.

A rejection of weakness.

Elder Garron studied Alpha Liard for a long moment, then slowly nodded. But there was something dangerous in his silence.

His gaze flickered toward the warriors gathered, toward the people watching.

And then a messenger arrived.

The man was breathless, his clothes torn, his face smeared with dirt. He dropped to his knees in the clearing, his voice raw as he spoke.

“A message from Alpha Dane.”

The air turned to ice.

Alpha Dane, The leader of the Blackridge Pack, our strongest neighboring territory.

Elder Garron stepped aside as the warrior lifted a parchment with trembling fingers.

Liard took it, his fingers steady as he unrolled the letter and read aloud.

“Your pack is weak. Either submit or be conquered.”

A sharp inhale rippled through the crowd.

I gripped the edge of the table harder. No. No, this is too soon.

Liard’s fingers curled around the parchment, crushing it. He didn’t hesitate.

His voice was death itself.

“Then let him try.”

The pack dispersed after the ceremony, but the tension clung to the air like storm clouds waiting to break.

I had gone to the palace to deliver some healing herbs for the warriors, but as I passed through the dimly lit halls, voices stopped me in my tracks.

Liard’s voice. Low, firm. Unyielding.

And Elder Garron’s.

The door to the war room was slightly ajar, and I hesitated for only a second before pressing myself against the wall, listening.

“I will not take a Luna,” Liard’s voice was calm, but edged with warning. “You can repeat the law to me as many times as you like, Elder Garron, but I will not change my decision.”

Elder Garron exhaled slowly. “You are the Alpha now, Liard. That means your choices affect more than just you. The pack needs stability. A Luna ensures that stability.”

Liard scoffed. “A Luna is nothing more than a political symbol.”

“A Luna is a foundation. Without one, the walls of your rule will crack.”

“My father had a Luna,” Liard said bitterly. “And it made no difference in the end.”

There was silence. Then, Garron’s voice dropped, quiet and calculating. “Stormbane was a strong Alpha, but even he could not escape the laws of the land. And neither can you.”

I sucked in a breath.

Liard’s voice hardened. “I rule this pack, not tradition.”

Garron chuckled, the sound dark and knowing. “You think yourself above the old ways? You may be Alpha now, but Crescent Moon does not bow to just any leader. If you do not take a Luna, the pack will begin to doubt you. Your enemies will see an opportunity. And then… your rule will crumble before it ever truly begins.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then, Liard spoke, his voice lethal and final.

“I would rather let this pack burn than bind myself to something I do not believe in.”

My heart clenched at the coldness in his tone.

Garron sighed, the weight of centuries in his voice. “Then I fear you are already walking toward the fire.”

I quickly headed back to the infirmary, after I handed the herbs to the guard.

Back at the infirmary, Elara and I worked in silence, tending to the injured wolves who had barely survived the dragon attack.

But even in the infirmary, I heard the whispers.

“He should take a mate.”

“Alpha Stormbane was strong, but even he fell in the end.”

“What if Dane is right?”

I ground my teeth, forcing my hands to stay steady as I wrapped fresh bandages around a warrior’s shoulder.

“Helena,” Elara muttered beside me, low enough that only I could hear. “They’re losing faith.”

I knew that. I had known it before Liard even spoke his first words as Alpha.

A leader who refuses love is a leader destined to rule alone.

And a leader without trust… was a leader on the edge of losing his pack.

Sleep evaded me that night, I tossed and turned till my head began to throb. I stood up and walked to the window.

The full moon hung low in the sky, casting pale silver light across the ruins of Crescent Moon.

I stood and watched the Alpha’s house from a distance.

I wondered if Liard slept at all. If he even remembered how.

A soft rustling behind me made me turn sharply.

Seer Althea.

The old woman moved like a shadow, her silver hair catching the moonlight as she stepped closer.

She stopped inches from me, her presence unsettling as always.

And then, in a voice that barely touched the wind, she spoke.

“Something lost will soon be found.”

My heart lurched.

I knew better than to ignore Althea’s words. Her prophecies were never direct, never simple. But they were always, always true.

I swallowed. “What do you mean?”

Althea’s pale, unseeing eyes locked onto mine, her fingers brushing against my wrist just for a moment.

But it was enough.

A chill swept through me, curling around my spine like an omen I could not see.

And then she whispered, “The past always finds its way home.”