Chapter 3

Lane Conlay’s POV

The heavy silk of the velvet robe felt like a layer of armor against the chill seeping through the stone walls. Maya was already moving around the chambers with quiet, practiced efficiency, pulling open drawers and sorting through the silver-trimmed jewelry boxes. Every single piece inside had been brought from the Silvermoon vaults. Nothing in this room, save for the bedframe itself, belonged to the Blackwood Pack.

"We won't take everything tonight," Lane murmured, watching her maid neatly fold a heavy winter cloak.

"Just the essentials. My family’s personal journals, the ledgers, and the remaining coin pouches. The rest can be hauled out by the Silvermoon merchants once the formal paperwork is filed."

"But milady," Maya whispered, pausing as she held up a set of sapphire hairpins. "Will the Alpha even let us leave? He spoke of the Alpha King's approval. If Alpha Ethan has the crown's backing to change the pack laws for this... this *Maris* woman, what is to stop him from using force to keep you here as a captive financier?"

A cold, sharp smile touched Lane’s lips. "Ethan thinks he is the only one who has the Alpha King's ear because he swung a sword on the northern front. He forgets that my father was the King’s chief strategist for three decades. The crown owes the Conlay lineage more than a few battlefield favors."

She walked over to the vanity, her fingers tracing the polished mahogany surface. "We will appeal directly to the Alpha King for a formal dissolution of the mate bond based on political alienation and gross negligence of fated vows. The King is a traditionalist. He tolerates a lot of things, but he will not tolerate an Alpha who brings instability to the high houses by attempting to legally bind two Lunas. It creates a precedent for fractured successions. The King will grant my release."

Before Maya could respond, a timid, hurried knocking rattled the heavy chamber door.

Maya immediately stood straight, dropping the cloak back into the trunk and smoothing down her apron. She stepped over to the door and pulled it open just an inch, her expression shifting into a stern, protective glare.

"What is it?" Maya demanded. "The Luna is resting."

A young pack servant stood in the corridor, wringing her hands nervously, her eyes darting past Maya to try and catch a glimpse of Lane. "I-I am sorry to disturb the Luna, but the Alpha’s mother, the Dowager Luna Brenda, requests her presence immediately in the eastern wing. She says it is urgent."

Lane closed her eyes for a brief second, letting out a slow, controlled breath. She didn't need a seer to know what this was about. Ethan had undoubtedly gone straight from her bed to his mother’s quarters to report her defiance. Brenda was a master of emotional manipulation, a woman who had spent the last year playing the fragile, dying widow while silently draining Lane’s sympathy and, more importantly, her vault.

"Tell her I am on my way," Lane said, her voice carrying clearly across the room.

The servant bowed hurriedly and scurried down the hall.

Maya closed the door and turned around, her face pale with fury. "She’s going to corner you, milady. She’s going to use her illness to guilt you into accepting this outrage. Don't go. You don't owe that ungrateful leech another second of your time."

"Oh, I am going, Maya," Lane said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register as she loosened her robe and began pulling on a structured, dark green traveling gown. "But not to beg. I want to see exactly how far their shamelessness goes before I cut the life support to this entire pack. Keep packing. I will be back shortly."

Ethan Blackwood’s POV

The wind howling through the courtyard felt alive, but it couldn't cool the irritation burning beneath Ethan's skin. He strode back toward Lane’s chambers, his heavy boots echoing off the stone floor. In his right hand, he clutched a heavy, brass-capped glass jar.

Inside the jar was a thick, coarse grey sand.

It had taken him three days of tracking through the treacherous, jagged ravines of the northern border—the exact site where the Silvermoon vanguard had been ambushed and slaughtered—just to scoop this dirt into a container. Lane had written to him months ago, begging him to bring her a piece of the earth where her father and five brothers had taken their final breaths. She had been too frail, too hidden away by her mother’s orders, to ever travel to that bloody, rogue-infested wasteland herself.

He had brought it. He had carried it through the final weeks of the campaign, protecting it like a sacred relic.

He pushed open the door to her outer chamber, fully expecting to find her weeping into her pillows, or perhaps waiting on her knees to apologize for the insane demand she had made earlier. End the mate bond? It was pure madness. A woman's emotional outburst.

But the outer room was empty.

Ethan walked into the main bedroom, his eyes scanning the space. The bed was unmade, the silk sheets tangled from their passionate hours together, but Lane was nowhere to be seen. He noticed a few wardrobe doors were slightly ajar, but his mind didn't register the subtle missing items. He simply assumed she had fled to the gardens or the library to sulk.

With a heavy sigh, he walked over to her vanity and placed the jar of grey sand right in the center of the polished wood, right next to her expensive crystal perfume bottles.

"There," Ethan muttered to himself, staring at the jar. "I kept my promise, Lane. I always keep my promises."

He leaned his palms against the edge of the vanity, looking at his own reflection in the glass. His jaw clenched. He knew he had handled the conversation poorly. He knew the timing was brutal—announcing a second marriage right after claiming her fated mark was a low blow. But what else was he supposed to do?

He loved Lane. She was his fated mate, a delicate, beautiful creature who represented the peace and high-bred honor he had always craved for his lineage. She was his Luna, and he had no intention of stripping her of that title. But he loved Maris, too. Maris was fire and steel. Maris had pulled him from a pile of burning corpses on the battlefield, had bled with him, had commanded his men when his own throat was choked with black dust. A pack like Blackwood, recovering from a brutal war, needed a warrior companion at the Alpha's side. They needed Maris's blade just as much as they needed Lane's quiet, administrative grace.

*This is necessary,* he told himself, hardening his heart. *She is just a sheltered high-born lady. She doesn't understand the realities of a warrior's heart. Yes, I've done her dirty tonight, but she will realize that she still has everything she could ever want here.*

He would give her time to calm down. He would let the wedding with Maris pass, and after the wedding night, once the pack structure was legally secured, he would come back to this room. He would buy her more jewels, he would hold her until she stopped crying, and he would make her understand. Right now, Lane just had to bear it. She had no other choice anyway. Without him, she was nothing but a target for the rogues.

Turning on his heel, Ethan walked out of the room, completely oblivious to the fact that the woman he thought he owned was already cutting the strings.

Lane Conlay’s POV

The eastern wing of the Blackwood estate was noticeably warmer than the rest of the castle, heated by expensive, imported charcoal that Lane had purchased from the southern merchant guilds. As she walked down the long, arched corridor, the heavy fabric of her dark green dress swept against the floor, the only sound accompanying her steady, unhurried footsteps.

Up ahead, near the linen closets, a group of three young pack maids were huddled together, their heads bent in whispered, frantic gossip.

"...saw the Alpha storming out of her room looking absolutely furious," one whispered, her voice carrying down the hall. "They say he spent the whole night on the battlefield with Maris Duffy, and now he’s bringing her back to be Alpha Luna alongside her. Poor Lady Lane. She’s so delicate, she’ll probably just lock herself away and cry."

"What can she do?" another sneered softly, shaking her head. "Her family is dead. She has no pack left to back her up. She’s entirely dependent on the Alpha’s charity now. If she wants to keep eating our bread, she’ll just have to shut her mouth and accept the second Luna."

*Our bread,* Lane thought, a cold, venomous amusement bubbling up in her chest. *The very flour used to bake that bread was bought with Silvermoon gold, transported on wagons I commissioned, and baked in ovens I paid to repair.*

As Lane drew closer, the sound of her steady footsteps finally registered. The maids stiffened, their faces draining of color as they whirled around. They immediately dropped their heads, bowing deeply, their bodies trembling slightly as they acknowledged her.

"Luna Lane," the first one stammered, her voice tight with terror.

Lane didn't pause. She didn't look at them, nor did she lower herself to acknowledge their pathetic attempts at flattery. She simply walked past them, her posture regal and unyielding. Let them gossip. Let them think she was a victim. Within forty-eight hours, the supply lines would cut off, the merchant contracts would freeze, and these very maids would find out exactly whose "charity" had been keeping them fat and warm all winter. All of this would be over soon.

She reached the heavy, carved doors of the Dowager Luna’s private chambers. Before she could knock, the sharp, shrill voice of Ethan’s younger sister, Sharon, pierced through the wood.

"...completely ridiculous that Ethan is even worried about her reaction!" Sharon was scoffing loudly inside. "She should be grateful she’s even being allowed to stay here. She’s a useless, weak wolf who hasn't contributed a single day of glory to this pack. Maris is a hero! Lane should be on her knees thanking Maris for keeping her precious fated mate alive during the war!"

Lane’s hand gripped the brass handle. Without knocking, she pushed the heavy door open, stepping into the lavishly heated room.

The conversation died instantly.

Sharon stood near the velvet-curtained window, a silver goblet in her hand, wearing a stunning, fur-lined violet gown. Propped up against a mountain of goose-down pillows on the massive canopy bed was Brenda, Ethan’s mother. Brenda looked pale, her skin thin and translucent, but her eyes were sharp, calculating, and cold.

Seeing Lane enter, Sharon immediately let out a loud, dramatic sneer, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Well, speak of the devil. Don't you know how to knock, Lane? Or did they forget to teach you basic manners in the ruined halls of Silvermoon?"

Lane ignored the brat entirely, her eyes locking onto Brenda.

A year ago, when Lane first arrived, Brenda was on her deathbed, coughing up black fluid from a localized lung rot. The Blackwood pack healers had already given up, telling Ethan to prepare for a funeral. It was Lane who had refused to let her fated mate lose his mother. Lane had used her personal fortune to hire high healers from the Royal Capital, paying them triple their standard rate to travel north. She had purchased rare, crushed moon-lily bulbs from the eastern marshes—medicine that cost a thousand gold pieces a single ounce—and had personally sat by Brenda’s bedside, wiping the sweat from her brow for weeks until the woman’s lungs finally cleared.

Yet, as she looked at Brenda now, there was no gratitude in the older woman's eyes. Only a patronizing, smug satisfaction.

"Lane,m," Brenda said, her voice dripping with a forced, sickeningly sweet warmth as she gestured toward a chair near the bed. "Come in, sit down. Don't mind Sharon, she’s just passionate. Come, let us talk about this little... misunderstanding between you and my son."

Lane remained standing, her hands folded neatly in front of her dress. "There is no misunderstanding, Brenda. Ethan made his intentions perfectly clear."

Brenda’s smile tightened slightly at the lack of the title 'Mother,' but she maintained her gentle facade. "Oh, Lane, you must look at the bigger picture. Ethan is an Alpha, and the Blackwood Pack has just survived a brutal war. Maris Duffy is a political necessity. She commands the loyalty of the military faction. By elevating her, Ethan secures the stability of our borders. It has nothing to do with his love for you. You are his fated mate, his first Luna. You will still run the household, handle the keys, and manage the internal affairs. Surely, you can be big-hearted enough to share the title for the sake of the pack's future?"

"No," Lane said. The single syllable was flat, heavy, and absolute.

Brenda blinked, her faux-warmth instantly fracturing. "What did you say?"

"I said no," Lane repeated, looking directly into Brenda’s eyes. "I will not share my title, I will not share my estate, and I will not recognize a second Luna. I have already demanded that Ethan dissolve our mate bond. I am leaving."

Sharon let out a loud, screeching laugh from the corner. "Leaving? To go where? You have no family left, you pathetic, weak creature! You think you can survive out there alone? You’ll be begging to come back within a week!"

But Brenda didn't laugh. Her face flushed a deep, angry crimson, her frail chest heaving as pure rage took over. "How dare you!" she shouted, slamming her fist against the mattress. "How dare you be so selfish and ungrateful! My son honored you by marking you the moment he returned! He protected you from the vultures who wanted your land! And you repay his kindness by throwing a tantrum and threatening to abandon the pack in a time of transition? You are a disgrace to the title of Luna! You—"

The strain of her shouting caught in her throat, and Brenda suddenly broke into a violent, hacking cough. She clutched her chest, her face turning from red to a sickly blue as she gasped for air, the old lung rot protesting the sudden exertion.

"Mother!" Sharon shrieked, dropping her goblet and rushing to the side of the bed. She began rubbing Brenda’s back, glaring at Lane with venomous, hateful eyes. "Look what you've done, you miserable bitch! You're trying to kill her! You come in here with your arrogant attitude and your pathetic jealousy and you bring her to the brink of death! You are completely toxic! If anything happens to her, I will make sure Ethan flays you alive!"

Lane stood perfectly still, watching the dramatic display with a cold, detached sense of disgust. *What is this delusional bitch telling me?* she thought, looking at Sharon as if she were a piece of garbage scraped from the bottom of her shoe. The sheer audacity of these two women, sitting in a room paid for by her gold, wearing silks bought by her coin, yelling at her for refusing to be humiliated, was almost comical.

"Sharon," Lane said, her voice cutting through Brenda’s heavy coughing fits like a sub-zero wind.

Sharon snapped her head up, her mouth open to scream another insult, but the absolute, chilling authority radiating from Lane made the words freeze in her throat.

"Take off the dress," Lane said flatly.

Sharon blinked, utterly bewildered. "What?"

"The fur-lined violet gown you are wearing," Lane said, pointing a single, elegant finger at her. "Take it off. Right now. And the sapphire necklace around your throat, and the diamond rings on your fingers. Strip them off and leave them on the floor."

"Are you insane?!" Sharon screamed, her voice cracking with indignation. "This is my clothing! How dare you command me in my own home!"

"It is not your clothing," Lane replied, her voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register as she took a single step forward, her presence suddenly filling the room with the suffocating weight of an Alpha’s true heir. "That velvet was imported from the southern guilds on my personal credit. Those sapphires were mined from the Silvermoon vaults and gifted to you because I felt pity for an Alpha's sister who had nothing but rusted iron to her name. Every single thread on your back, every ounce of medicine currently keeping your mother from suffocating on her own fluids, was bought and paid for by me."

Brenda’s coughing slowed down as she stared at Lane in absolute shock, her eyes wide with a sudden, creeping terror.

"You call me weak," Lane continued, looking down at them both with a gaze of pure, unadulterated royalty. "You call me ungrateful. Yet you sit here, draped in my wealth, alive because of my healers, telling me I should be grateful for your son's scraps. You want a warrior Luna? You want Maris Duffy? Then let her army weave your silk. Let her sword buy your medicine. Strip off my clothes, Sharon, or I will have Maya come in here with a pair of shears and cut them off your body myself. Because as of this exact moment, the charity of the Conlay family is officially revoked."