Chapter 8

The Snare

I knew I was walking into a trap. That feeling settled deep in my bones as the handmaids laced me into a dress the color of polished emeralds. It was heavy, restricting, and impossibly elegant. Every piece of fabric, every glittering diamond and emerald gem, felt like another weight pressing me down into the role of the True Luna, a role I didn’t deserve and definitely didn’t want.

This isn't clothing, I thought, staring at my reflection. It’s armor for a public execution.

The fear was a cold knot in my stomach. The humiliation of yesterday’s capture was one thing; today’s exposure was different. Today, I had to prove the King’s lie was worthwhile, or die. Rhys’s threat was still ringing in my ears: Do not overstep.

Commander Finn escorted me, moving with the silent efficiency of a shadow. He didn’t speak, and I was grateful. I didn’t need empty assurances.

We were led to a smaller, more formal hall known as the Gavel Chamber. It was used for minor rulings and accepting official petitions. When the huge oak doors opened, the sound was deafeningly loud in the sudden silence of the crowd.

The room was packed with nobles, generals, and minor pack leaders, all dressed in velvet and silks. Their scent hit me—a confusing, overwhelming mix of expensive perfume, old power, and sharp, immediate hostility. Every eye in the room drilled into me. They weren't seeing a Luna; they were seeing the omega trash the King had pulled from the gutters.

Standing near the front, away from the nobles, was King Demetrius Klein. He was positioned by a carved stone arch, watching. He wasn't ruling this event; he was observing me. His eyes were cold, assessing, and entirely focused on my performance. The Mate Bond pulsed weakly, a sad, lonely connection in the crowded room.

He’s waiting for me to fail, I realized. He’s waiting to see if his tool breaks under the pressure.

I walked slowly to the small raised platform. I kept my chin high, remembering the lesson of the kennel: never show fear.

The function was simple: petitioners would approach, give their request, and I was expected to give a brief, dignified acknowledgment before passing the papers to a secretary. It was ceremonial theater, designed to showcase the "Luna's Grace."

The line moved slowly. I accepted documents about land disputes, trade agreements, and resource distribution, nodding formally, feeling like a doll on strings.

Then came Selene Voss.

She approached the platform, moving with a practiced, predatory grace. She was dressed in shimmering gold—a color meant to outshine my emerald green and her smile was wide, sweet, and utterly venomous. She was accompanied by a nervous, older Lycan carrying a very thick scroll.

Selene bowed, but it was a mocking bow that lingered just long enough to be an insult.

“Luna Esmeralda,” she purred, her voice carrying across the silent chamber. “It is so wonderful to see you adjusting to your new duties. We are all so eager to see the grace you bring to the throne.”

I kept my face perfectly neutral. “Lady Voss. Your enthusiasm is noted.”

She waved her hand toward the nervous Lycan. “This is Lord Telos. He has a simple request concerning the ancient Decree of Lycan Succession, Article IX, Paragraph C-14. It’s a tedious, minor point, but it requires the wisdom of the True Luna to adjudicate.”

Lord Telos trembled as he held up the scroll. It was huge, covered in tiny, faded script, clearly an obscure, ancient legal text.

This is it. The snare.

Selene was asking me to interpret a law I couldn't possibly know. She wanted me to fumble, to look confused, to say the wrong thing, and prove that I was an illiterate omega unfit for the title. If I failed this simple test, the entire court would murmur, and Demetrius would have confirmation that my value was limited.

Panic flashed through me. I didn’t know Article IX. I didn’t even know Article I.

I stared at the scroll, the dense text blurring before my eyes. My mind raced, searching for any way out. I couldn’t lie and pretend I knew the law. I couldn’t ask the secretary for help; that would be an admission of ignorance.

Don’t answer the question they asked. Answer the question they didn't.

I took a deep, steadying breath, forcing the panic down. I let the silence hang for a moment, making everyone wait. I needed to look like I was consulting a vast store of inner wisdom, not scrambling for a distraction.

“Lord Telos,” I said, my voice quiet but clear. “Put the scroll down.”

He hesitated, looking at Selene, who was smirking slightly.

“I am the Luna. Put the document on the platform,” I repeated, injecting a thread of the authority Demetrius had forced onto me.

Lord Telos quickly placed the scroll on the wood.

I looked at Selene, my eyes narrowing. “Lady Voss, you claim this is a tedious, minor point requiring the wisdom of the True Luna. Yet you brought a decree that hasn't been referenced in nearly a century, one pertaining to land rights granted to packs dissolved after the last Great War.”

Selene’s smile twitched, just for a moment. She looked surprised I even recognized the topic.

“Indeed, Luna. It’s the complexity of the ancient language,” Selene said smoothly, recovering quickly. “We need your guidance on the final clause concerning the transfer of mineral rights—”

“No, you don’t,” I interrupted, cutting across her politely. The whole room gasped. A Luna never interrupts a noble.

I leaned forward, my hands resting on the platform. I addressed the entire hall, not just Selene.

“I spent four years watching packs fight over scraps of territory. I know the smell of a forced legal challenge,” I stated, my voice losing the formal Luna tone and gaining the raw, defiant clarity of the slums. “This decree is not about mineral rights, Lady Voss. It is about precedent. You brought this petition not for Lord Telos, but for the entire court to see if I would validate an old law that gives power to the highest bidder.”

My gaze fixed on Selene, demanding her attention.

“If I rule on a law I cannot read, I am a fool. But if I ask why this law is suddenly relevant, I am a ruler,” I challenged her. “Tell me, Lady Voss, why is a hundred-year-old law about dissolved packs more important than the current petition from the Southern Quarter regarding emergency silver-resistant housing?”

I pointed to the stack of simpler, modern petitions nearby. “My duty is not to ancient grammar. My duty is to the living needs of the Lycans under threat from the Hunters. We are at war. And you are here wasting the King’s time and mine, on a political game.”

I grabbed the obscure scroll and, with a swift, angry motion, pushed it off the platform. It fell to the floor with a loud, satisfying thump.

“This petition is irrelevant to the war effort,” I announced to the room, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would burst through my chest. “I will not waste the Lycan Kingdom’s energy on dead law. Denied.”

The silence in the Gavel Chamber was absolute. Selene’s elegant mask shattered. Her eyes went wide with pure fury and shock. She had been publicly, utterly defeated, not by knowledge, but by simple, defiant logic. She hadn't expected the omega to think like a general.

She managed a low, shaky whisper. “You… you cannot simply—”

“I can,” I cut her off again, feeling the rush of adrenaline and desperate, sweet victory. “I am the True Luna. And I prioritize survival.”

I turned to the secretary, my back to a defeated Selene. “Next petition. Focus on war-related matters only.”

Selene stormed out, her gold gown rustling with rage. The atmosphere in the room had completely changed. The nobles still hated me, but now they saw me as dangerous. The quiet, nervous pack leaders who had real problems looked at me with a flicker of hope.

I risked a glance toward Demetrius.

He was still leaning against the stone arch. His cold, strategic eyes met mine, and his massive form was completely still. He didn't smile. He didn't move toward me. He didn't speak a single word.

But then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth shifted. It wasn't a smile, or even an expression of approval. It was a slight, grudging nod. A minuscule movement that said: You survived the test. You proved your worth.

The nod felt heavier than the silver chain around my neck. It was my paycheck for the day.

I finished the remaining petitions quickly, my newfound defiance giving me strength. When the function ended, I retreated immediately, Finn guarding my back.

Back in my chambers, the adrenaline finally crashed. I leaned against the door, trembling violently, a few silent tears leaking down my face.

I won. I won because I chose the truth of the war over the lie of the title.

I looked down at the smooth silk of my emerald dress, no longer hating the clothes, but the purpose they served. I had just traded one day of life for the promise of two more.

The silence of the gilded cage felt just a little bit safer tonight. But the cost was immense: I had confirmed to Demetrius that I was not a gentle fool. I was a weapon he could not trust, but absolutely needed. And

that knowledge was the most terrifying thing of all.