seven

Vaelira

I didn't sleep a single second.

I spent the entire night sitting on the edge of the massive, feather-soft bed, my knees pulled tightly against my chest. Every shadow on the wall looked like a crouching monster. Every creak of the heavy oak floorboards made my stomach twist into a knot. I kept waiting for someone to drag me back to the cold kitchen, or worse, to tell me the Lycan King’s mercy was all a sick joke.

When the first morning light filtered through the velvet curtains, a soft, polite knock sounded at the door.

I flinched, pulling the thick blanket up to my chin. "W-Who is it?"

The heavy door creaked open. A young maid with a warm smile stepped inside, followed by two others carrying armfuls of silk, silver combs, and steaming brass pitchers of water. Outside in the hallway, two massive guards in black armor stood rigidly at attention, keeping their eyes trained on the corridor.

"Good morning, my Lady," the head maid said, bowing her head deeply. "I am Sarah. His Majesty instructed us to help you prepare for the day."

My Lady.

The title sounded completely unnatural, like a heavy crown placed on an unworthy head. Back home, the only things I was called were maid, ugly, or useless.

"You... you don't have to call me that," I stammered, shrinking back slightly as they set the heavy brass tub near the hearth. "I can wash myself. I know how to scrub—"

"It is our honor, Lady Vaelira," Sarah interrupted gently, her voice smooth and respectful. "The King ordered that you be treated with the utmost care. Please, allow us."

Every hair on my body remained on high alert. I couldn't relax. Even as they poured warm, rose-scented water over my skin and gently washed my long hair, my muscles remained locked tight. I kept expecting a trap.

When they finished drying me off, Sarah held up a sweeping gown made of deep navy velvet. The sleeves were long and fitted, trimmed with intricate silver thread that shimmered like stars.

I stood frozen as they laced the dress around me. It didn't pinch or tear like my old, patched brown wool. It fit my broad frame comfortably, the heavy fabric falling elegantly over my hips.

"Look, my Lady," Sarah whispered, guiding me toward a tall, gold-framed mirror in the corner.

I turned slowly, looking at my reflection—and my breath caught in my throat.

I barely recognized the girl staring back at me. My dark hair fell over my shoulders in soft, shiny waves. The dark navy velvet made my skin look pale and radiant, and the silver jewelry around my neck highlighted my collarbones. I had never worn anything remotely luxurious in my entire life.

Yet, as I stared at the mirror, the old voices instantly flooded my head.

Look at how thick your waist is, my mother's harsh voice whispered in my mind. You look like a giant sack, Elodia’s cruel giggles echoed. Built like a plow horse, Torren had mocked.

I pressed my hand against my stomach, my eyes stinging. The dress was gorgeous, but it couldn't change reality. I was still fat. I was still broad. I was still miles away from the slender, delicate beauty standard of a true Luna.

"The King is waiting for you in his private study, my Lady," a guard announced from the doorway, bowing respectfully.

My heart instantly hammered against my ribs. The brief moment of shock vanished, replaced by a fresh surge of suffocating fear.

I followed the armored guards down long, quiet corridors lined with grand portraits and golden banners. My hands trembled so violently that I had to hide them in the thick folds of my velvet skirt.

The guards stopped before a set of massive carved wooden doors. One of them knocked twice before pushing the heavy doors open. "Lady Vaelira has arrived, Your Majesty."

I took a shaky breath and stepped into the room.

The study was warm, filled with the rich scents of parchment, old leather, and crackling pine wood. High King Malakor stood near the arched window, looking out over the mountains. He wore a simple dark tunic that broad-shouldered frame perfectly.

When he turned and saw me, he stopped completely.

His bright amber eyes swept over me, lingering on the navy dress, my styled hair, and my pale, terrified face.

The silence between us felt thick and heavy. I lowered my eyes to the floor, unable to handle his intense gaze.

"You look breathtaking, Vaelira," Malakor said quietly, his deep voice smooth and steady.

I squeezed my hands into tight fists, a self-conscious blush burning my cheeks. "It's... it's just the dress, Your Majesty. The maids did a wonderful job hiding my... my size."

"It is not the dress," Malakor corrected gently, stepping away from the window. His boots clicked softly against the rug as he closed the distance between us.

"You don't have to lie to make me feel better," I whispered, staring down at his boots as he stopped right in front of me. "I know what I am. I am broad. I am fat. A proper Luna is supposed to be slender and graceful, like my sister. I don't look like a Queen."

Malakor reached out, his warm, calloused fingers gently catching my chin and lifting my head until my eyes met his glowing amber gaze.

"Your sister is a hollow shell painted in green silk," Malakor said, his tone leaving zero room for doubt. "You have always been beautiful, Vaelira. You just needed an opportunity to shine without cruel people dragging you into the dirt."

My breath hitched in my throat. The sincerity in his eyes was almost overwhelming, making my heart race violently against my chest.

Malakor took my shaking hand in his broad palm. His touch was warm, solid, and protective. He looked deeply into my eyes, his aura wrapping around me like an unyielding shield.

"Forget your old pack," he commanded softly, his thumb gently brushing over my knuckles. "Forget the fools who tried to make you feel worthless. Stand beside me. Be my mate. Be my Luna."