Chapter 6: The Luna Becomes a Servant

(Daciana POV)

Conri’s horse flew through the western woods while smoke swallowed Blackfang behind us, and every breath felt stolen from death itself.

I held the saddle with bleeding hands, too weak to shift, too broken to cry, and too angry to faint.

Behind us, Bardolph’s voice tore through the smoke, calling my name with the kind of panic that arrived after love had already been murdered.

I did not look back again, because looking back was how weak hearts returned to the knife that they first cut.

Conri’s arm stayed firm around my waist, not gentle enough to feel false, but steady enough to keep me from falling.

His warriors rode beside us in silence, their black armor flashing between trees like shadows sent by the moon herself.

“You said my mother did not die serving Blackfang,” I said, forcing the words through my dry and shaking throat.

Conri did not answer at once, and that silence made my wolf lift her head inside me with sharp suspicion.

“A truth spoken too early can kill faster than a lie spoken well,” he said, guiding the horse down a hidden path.

I hated the answer because it sounded like something powerful men said when they wanted women to wait for pain.

“I have been lied to by maids, elders, witnesses, guards, and the Alpha who swore he knew my soul,” I said.

My voice shook, but I held it steady enough for him to hear the warning beneath the hurt.

“If you saved me only to wrap truth in another cage, then you should have left me in Blackfang to die fighting.”

Conri looked down at me, and moonlight showed a scar crossing his jaw like an old story nobody had finished.

“You are not my prisoner, Daciana,” he said, and his voice carried a strange sadness I did not understand.

“Then tell me why you called me queen before the pack that had just watched me fall,” I demanded.

His hand tightened on the reins, and the horse slowed as we entered a valley hidden behind dark pine trees.

A stone fortress appeared ahead, carved into the mountain, with silver banners hanging from its towers like frozen moonlight.

“Northridge does not call blood by mistake,” Conri said, and his warriors lowered their heads as we passed through the gate.

I stared at the wolves watching from the courtyard, expecting hatred, suspicion, or cruel joy at seeing Blackfang’s rejected Luna brought low.

Instead, they looked at me with grief so old and deep that it frightened me more than anger.

A woman stepped forward from the crowd, tall and thin, with gray hair braided down her back and amber eyes full of tears.

“Princess Daciana,” she whispered, and the title moved through the courtyard like a ghost finally finding its body.

I tried to step down from the horse, but my knees gave way before my feet touched the ground.

Conri caught me before I fell, and several Northridge wolves gasped as if my weakness hurt them personally.

“Do not call me princess,” I said, pushing away from him because I could not survive another name being placed on me by strangers.

The gray-haired woman bowed her head, but her tears did not stop, and that made my chest tighten with unwanted fear.

“Your mother, Queen Rudina, carried you out of Northridge when traitors opened our gates to Blackfang spies,” she said.

The world tilted.

My mother had always been a quiet healer in Bardolph’s stories, a low-born woman who died cleaning wounds after a border war.

I had mourned a woman made small by other people’s mouths, never knowing they had buried a queen beneath servant cloth.

“That is impossible,” I whispered, but the word sounded weak because too many hidden pieces were suddenly finding each other.

Conri stepped beside me, his expression hard, though pain lived quietly behind his silver eyes.

“Your mother hid inside Blackfang as a servant to keep you alive, and Ashina’s bloodline has hunted yours for years.”

My wolf went still.

Not silent.

Still.

Like a beast crouching before the final door opened.

Before I could ask more, the fortress bell rang once, and the wolves around us dropped to one knee.

I turned in shock, thinking they bowed to Conri, but every lower head faced me instead.

“No,” I said, stepping back because I had just escaped one throne covered in lies, and another one was already reaching for me.

The gray-haired woman raised her face, and her voice trembled with both love and command.

“My name is Tala, and I served your mother when she wore the crown that was stolen from her.”

The name struck me gently because I remembered a childhood lullaby about a red wolf named Tala who guarded sleeping queens.

“You were my mother’s servant?” I asked, and the question came out smaller than I wanted.

Tala smiled through tears, and for the first time since the rejection, something warm touched the broken place inside me.

“I was her servant, her spy, her friend, and the coward who survived when she died saving you.”

The courtyard blurred, but I blinked the tears away because grief was another room I could not enter yet.

Conri ordered healers forward, but I lifted my hand before they could touch me with pity disguised as care.

“No,” I said, and every wolf around me froze as if my voice carried more power than I understood.

Conri studied me carefully, perhaps seeing the shape of the choice before I fully understood it myself.

“If I am truly Queen Rudina’s daughter, then I will not enter this house as a rescued victim waiting for answers,” I said.

Tala’s eyes widened, and Conri’s expression sharpened as he had just found the wolf beneath my wounded skin.

“I will enter as a servant until I learn who loved my mother, who betrayed her, and who still wants me dead.”

The courtyard broke into shocked whispers, but I stood taller because the word "servant" no longer tasted like shame to me.

Blackfang had tried to turn me into a servant to humiliate me, but Northridge would watch me use the role as armor.

Conri stepped closer, lowering his voice so the watching wolves could not easily hear what passed between us.

“You want to hide inside your own bloodline’s fortress while we search for the traitors who still serve Ashina’s house.”

“I want to know what servants hear when nobles think power has made them deaf,” I answered without looking away.

For the first time, Conri smiled.

It was not warm, gentle, or safe, but it carried respect, and respect felt better than Bardolph’s late regret.

“As you wish,” he said, then turned to the waiting wolves with a voice that filled every stone in the courtyard.

“Until she chooses otherwise, Daciana will serve in the lower house under Tala’s protection, and anyone who touches her answers to me.”

The wolves bowed again, but this time I did not feel like a queen, a Luna, or a woman running from ruin.

I felt like a blade being placed quietly inside a servant’s sleeve.

(Bardolph POV)

The smoke cleared from my courtyard long after Daciana vanished into the western woods, but her absence remained like a wound with teeth.

I stood near the broken gate while warriors searched the trees, knowing they would find nothing except the shame we deserved.

Hrolf shouted orders behind me, calling Conri a thief and Daciana a traitor who had planned everything from the beginning.

Every word he spoke sounded too clean now, too ready, too polished by a man who had rehearsed disasters before they arrived.

Farkas had been chained near the platform after helping her escape, yet he watched me with no fear in his old eyes.

“You should thank the moon she reached him before your pack reached her throat,” Farkas said, spitting blood onto the stone.

I turned toward him slowly, and the warriors around us stiffened because they expected my rage to answer his insult.

Instead, I looked at his bruised face and heard Daciana’s voice from the prison, telling me I had choices.

“You knew Conri would come,” I said, though it was not truly a question.

Farkas smiled through a split lip, and the sight made Hrolf curse beneath his breath.

“I knew someone with honor would come when Blackfang forgot what honor looked like,” Farkas answered.

Hrolf struck him hard across the mouth, but Farkas only laughed, and that laugh made my wolf turn against my own Beta.

“Touch him again without my order, and I will break the hand you used,” I said quietly.

The courtyard fell silent.

Hrolf looked at me with shock first, then something darker, something he hid too late for me to miss.

“My Alpha, this old man betrayed you before the entire pack,” Hrolf said, carefully measuring each word.

“No,” I answered, looking toward the western trees where the smoke had carried my rejected mate away.

“He betrayed my order, but I am no longer sure he betrayed my pack.”

Hrolf’s face hardened, and Boris stepped back as if he had suddenly remembered other places he needed to be.

I turned to the young warrior who had brought the shawl, the hair, the knife, and the feather before the pack.

“Lowell,” I said, and the young guard went pale as every eye shifted toward him.

He dropped to one knee at once, shaking so badly that his sword tapped against the stone.

“Where exactly did you find those things?” I asked, letting my Alpha power press gently but firmly against his fear.

Lowell swallowed hard, then looked once toward Hrolf before forcing his eyes back to mine.

“Elder Hrolf gave them to me and told me to say they came from the lower cell tunnel,” he whispered.

The courtyard changed in a single breath.

Hrolf moved.

Farkas shouted.

I turned too late.

A blade flashed from Hrolf’s sleeve, and Lowell screamed as silver cut across his chest before anyone could stop it.

I caught Lowell before he hit the ground, feeling warm blood spill over my hands while the pack erupted around us.

Hrolf ran for the eastern gate, and the same warriors who had shouted for Daciana’s death suddenly froze in horror and confusion.

“After him!” I roared, but my own voice sounded far away because Lowell’s blood carried the smell of truth.

The young guard grabbed my wrist, his eyes wide with pain and terror as he pulled me closer.

“Ashina is alive,” Lowell gasped, forcing the words through blood as my wolf went still inside me.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“Where?” I demanded, though part of me already knew every answer would destroy me further.

Lowell’s fingers tightened weakly, and his next words made the courtyard spin beneath my feet.

“She left with Hrolf before the smoke arrows came, Alpha, and she was laughing when they dressed her blood on your bed.”

The world became silent.

Every cheer for Ashina.

Every tear I believed.

Every touch I gave her.

Every command I used against Daciana.

All of it turned to poison in my hands.

Then Lowell coughed blood and dragged in one final breath before speaking the name that made my shame become war.

“Boris helped them.”

(Ashina POV)

I watched Blackfang from the ridge above the eastern road, wrapped in a dark cloak while Hrolf’s fastest horse waited behind me.

The pack house looked smaller from here, almost weak, almost breakable, almost unworthy of the pain I had spent years feeding into it.

Hrolf arrived breathless, blood on his sleeve and fury in his eyes, but I already knew something had gone wrong.

“You were supposed to make Bardolph execute her before Conri could reach the gates,” I said, keeping my voice soft enough to sting.

Hrolf glared at me, but even he knew better than to mistake softness for weakness when I used it.

“Conri moved faster than expected, and Farkas helped her before the final order could be sealed,” he said.

I looked toward the western woods and imagined Daciana riding away with a king who should have been dead years ago.

Jealousy burned through me, sharp and ugly, because even rejected, broken, and bleeding, she still had men crossing borders for her.

Bardolph had held me, touched me, and made me acting Luna, but his eyes had never followed me the way they followed her pain.

That was the truth I hated most.

Daciana did not need to steal power.

Power remembered her.

I turned away from Blackfang and faced the forest path leading toward the old ruins where our allies waited.

“Then we stop pretending she is only Bardolph’s rejected mate,” I said, removing the scarf from my neck.

Beneath it, the black mark of my hidden order burned against my skin, shaped like a feather dipped in blood.

Hrolf looked at the mark and lowered his head, not in love, not in loyalty, but in fear.

“My lady, if Northridge accepts her, the old houses may rise again behind Rudina’s blood,” he warned.

I smiled because fear was useful when it still remembered who held the leash.

“Then we will make Northridge hate her before they can crown her,” I said, already tasting the next lie on my tongue.

A rider emerged from the trees, wearing servant brown and carrying a folded Northridge apron across his arm.

He bowed before me and offered the cloth like a gift made for a queen who never bowed.

“Our spy inside the lower house is ready,” he said, keeping his face hidden beneath his hood.

I took the apron and held it against the fading moonlight, laughing softly at the beautiful shape of fate.

“So the stolen Luna wants to become a servant,” I whispered, thinking of Daciana’s proud eyes when she left Bardolph behind.

I pressed the apron back into the rider’s hands and let my smile become the blade I had always hidden.

“Good,” I said, looking toward Northridge as dawn began to bleed across the sky.

“Let her scrub floors while we prepare the blood oath that will make every servant in that fortress turn against her.”