The Servant Luna Goes Home to Her Throne

“You want to go to Starfall Valley?” Stanley didn’t even look up.

He sat on the sofa, casually cleaning his dagger.

It was my forty-fifth birthday.

But there was nothing to celebrate in this luxury mansion, the heart of the Darkhollow pack.

I was the Luna in name only. Lower than the lowest Omega.

My only purpose now was to cook dinner for the family.

I had no place here.

“You promised me. Over twenty years ago, when we ran away.” I stood in the middle of the living room, my hands twisting the fabric of my apron. “You said when the pack was strong, you’d take me to the sacred spring. For our bonding ceremony.”

Stanley stopped cleaning the blade.

He let out a short, harsh laugh.

He looked up, his Alpha eyes sweeping over me with pure disgust.

“A bonding ceremony?” He slammed the dagger on the table. His voice dripped with contempt. “Millie, your wolf is dead. Tell me, can you even hold your form for half an hour anymore?”

My breath hitched. My nails dug into my palms.

“Our pack rules the North now. And you,” he pointed at my faded apron, “you’re an embarrassment next to me. You can't even shift. Did you really think I'd make you my true Luna?”

His words were a death sentence. “The sacred spring of Starfall Valley doesn’t accept the weak. Its waters would burn your pathetic skin right off. Only a she-wolf in her prime, like Selene, deserves a ceremony like that.”

A knife twisted in my heart.

Forty-five was nothing for a wolf.

My own mother had led Silvermane's warriors into battle at sixty. I wasn't old. I was just invisible to him—and I'd let myself become that, year after year.

Selene. His dead brother’s mate.

Lately, she’d been everywhere, showing up at pack meetings in tight dresses that hugged her curves. I’d heard the whispers. Selene is more of a Luna than Millie ever was.

But this was the first time I’d heard it from him. From my own mate. The way he said it… so casual. Praising her as he ground me into the dirt.

Before I could swallow the taste of blood in my throat, footsteps thundered from the second floor.

The four-year-old twins, Jax and Jace, came running down.

They saw me and jumped back, pinching their noses dramatically.

“Ew, she stinks! She really stinks!” Jax yelled.

“Grandma smells like a Rogue!” Jace made a face at me. “The garbage cans outside smell better!”

These were my grandsons.

And they had zero respect for me.

“What’s all the noise?” My twenty-five-year-old son, Zane, strode into the room.

He threw a wad of clothes directly in my face. They were caked in mud and the foul stench of blood.

The rough fabric scraped my cheek before falling to my feet.

“Wash these.” Zane walked to the bar and poured a glass of whiskey. “These are my full moon hunting clothes. Hand wash them. Don't ruin the fabric.”

I bent down, my body trembling as I gathered the heavy, bloody clothes.

“Zane, I’m your mother.”

“Mother?” Zane took a sip of whiskey and snorted. “A useless waste who adds nothing to this pack’s strength? You think you have the right to call yourself that? What good are you anymore?”

“If I hadn’t been attacked by Rogues while giving birth to you, if I hadn’t spent my life raising you and your sons, my wolf wouldn’t be like this!” The words finally tore out of me.

The room went silent for a second.

Then it exploded with cruel laughter.

Zane doubled over, howling. Stanley shook his head with a smirk. Even the twins were clapping and laughing.

“Enough with the victim act, Millie.” Stanley’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Weakness is weakness. It’s my generosity that lets you stay in this house at all. Now go do your job. Wash the clothes, cook the food, and stay out of my sight.”

Their laughter was like a thousand poison-tipped needles.

I looked at Stanley’s cold face, at Zane’s arrogant sneer.

No anger. No tears.

I had hidden my bloodline for so long. So long they really thought they could step on me forever.

I just felt a wave of exhaustion roll through my stomach.

To this family, I was nothing but a slave.

I didn’t say another word. I clutched the stinking pile of clothes and walked toward the cold, dark basement.

The air was thick with the smell of mildew.

I looked at my hands, the skin rough and cracked from years of cold water and herbal solutions.

Over twenty years ago, these hands held the sharpest battle blades.

I was once the pride of the Silvermane Pack. The oldest, most feared royal bloodline in the country.

I threw the scrub brush aside. I walked to the bottom of a storage cabinet and dragged out a dusty old leather suitcase.

Hidden in a false bottom was a stack of cash. I’d earned it by secretly selling rare herbs to rogue witches over the years.

There was also a fake human ID. A ticket to the outside world.

I’d leave in three days.

I was so tired.

I thought if I just endured, if I just gave in, Stanley would eventually come back to me. I was wrong. To them, I wasn't even worth as much as a dog.

I felt something deep inside me begin to burn. A twenty-year slumber was ending. A great wolf was opening its golden eyes.

Escape. That would be my birthday gift to myself.