Chapter 3

​​"Execution is the only logical choice, Your Majesty!" High Advisor Malakor slammed a heavy palm down onto the polished obsidian table, his voice echoing loudly across the high vaulted ceiling of the Royal War Room.

 ​The grand chamber of the Royal Palace of Nocturna was drenched in oppressive silence. High above the city of wolves, dark stained-glass windows cast deep crimson and violet light across the dozen pack elders, commanders, and noble lords gathered around the central table.

 ​At the head of the long table sat King Evander Draven.

 ​He rested his chin lightly on his gloved hand, his dark coat draped over his broad shoulders like a mantle of shadows. His striking, molten golden eyes—the very eyes that had watched me from the dark forest edges hours before—stared calmly at the trembling stack of reports lying before him.

 ​"Execution?" Evander repeated smoothly, his deep baritone dripping with dangerous quiet. "You speak of executing a girl who has committed no crime, Malakor."

 ​"She carries the Mark of the Eclipse, my King!" Malakor argued passionately, stepping forward, his gray beard twitching with fear. "The reports from the Mooncrest Pack are unmistakable! The High Priest verified it! She is the Cursed Luna! To leave her drawing breath is to invite ruin upon every pack in the realm!"

 ​"An eighteen-year-old girl, thrown out into the wild by her own adoptive parents," Evander said, leaning back into his obsidian throne. "A girl rejected by her own fated mate before thousands of witnesses. And you sit in my high council chamber, trembling in your fine silk robes, demanding her blood."

 ​"It is not out of malice, Your Majesty," Lord Vane, another senior advisor, chimed in, bowing his head slightly. "It is ancient law. The prophecy clearly states that any Alpha who claims her will bleed to death before the next full moon. Her existence threatens the political stability of Asteria, Mooncrest, and perhaps even Nocturna. If a rogue Alpha attempts to claim her—"

 ​"A rogue Alpha?" Evander interrupted, a sharp, cold smirk playing on his lips. "Lord Vane, look at the report. The entire kingdom believes she is a walking plague. No Alpha in his right mind will go near her. They threw rocks at her in Oakhaven just for trying to buy a loaf of bread."

 ​"Which proves my point!" Malakor pressed, leaning over the table. "The public is terrified! Panic is spreading across the southern borders like wildfire! If you do not issue a royal decree for her execution, the people will lose faith in the Crown’s ability to protect them! Order her death now, Sire! End this madness before the curse spreads to our borders!"

 ​"Enough," Evander said softly.

 ​He didn't raise his voice. He didn't slam his fist. Yet, the single word cut through the council room like a razor blade, instantly plunging all twelve advisors into total silence.

 ​Evander slowly leaned forward, his golden eyes scanning the room, locking onto each noble one by one until they lowered their gazes in deference.

 ​"I do not rule this kingdom through panic, Malakor," Evander spoke, his voice dangerously low. "Nor do I spill blood simply because a crowd of fearful sheep demands a sacrifice to feel safe."

 ​"Your Majesty..." Malakor swallowed hard, pulling back his hands. "The prophecy—"

 ​"The prophecy is a story," Evander cut him off cleanly. He turned his gaze toward the grand archway at the back of the room. "Commander Vance."

 ​The tall warrior in dark armor stepped forward from the shadows of the doorway, bowing respectfully. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

 ​"Clear the chamber," Evander ordered. "All of you. Out."

 ​"Sire!" Malakor gasped, looking horrified. "We have not resolved the matter of the Cursed Luna! The Council must vote!"

 ​"The Council advises," Evander said, rising to his full, imposing height, his shadow stretching across the obsidian table like a looming beast. "I decide. Leave us."

 ​The elders muttered nervously among themselves, but no one dared disobey the absolute command of the King. One by one, the noblemen gathered their scrolls and filed out of the heavy iron doors, leaving only Commander Vance and King Evander in the vast, echoing room.

 ​Vance waited until the heavy iron doors clicked shut before speaking. "You saw her last night, didn't you, Sire? In the woods outside Oakhaven."

 ​"I did," Evander replied, walking over to the high arched window overlooking the vast, dark kingdom of Nocturna.

 ​"Was she as dangerous as the reports claim?" Vance asked, stepping up behind his ruler.

 ​"She was cold. She was bleeding. And she was holding a wooden stick, ready to fight a shadow," Evander said softly, a subtle warmth touching his tone before it vanished into ice again. "She is no monster, Vance. She is a girl who has been stripped of everything she ever loved in a single night."

 ​"The mark on her neck..." Vance hesitated. "Was it real?"

 ​"It was real," Evander confirmed, staring out at the distant, moonlit mountains. "A black crescent moon bordered by silver thorns. Exactly as described."

 ​"Then the elders' fear is not entirely baseless, Sire," Vance pointed out carefully. "If the ancient text of Asteria is true—"

 ​"I don't care about Asteria's panicked gossip," Evander snapped mildly, turning around to face his commander. "Bring me the original records."

 ​Vance blinked. "The records?"

 ​"Every historical text, every ancient scroll, every royal decree mentioning the Cursed Luna or the Mark of the Eclipse in the Grand Archives of Nocturna," Evander commanded, his golden eyes blazing with absolute focus. "Bring them all to my private study immediately."

 ​"Sire, those archives haven't been opened in over three hundred years," Vance said, clearly bewildered. "Why spend time on old dust when the southern packs are calling for a hunt?"

 ​"Because," Evander said, stepping past him toward the private exit, "before I decide whether to execute a girl or protect her, I want to know why everyone is so damn afraid of her."

 ​The Royal Archives of Nocturna were vast, silent, and buried deep beneath the foundation of the palace. Towering wooden bookshelves reached up toward vaulted stone ceilings, packed with thousands of leather-bound manuscripts, dusty maps, and decaying scrolls from centuries past.

 ​The air was thick with the scent of old parchment, dried ink, and lingering ancient magic.

 ​Evander stood before a massive stone desk at the center of the room, illuminated only by the warm, flickering glow of a single brass lantern. Stacks of heavy, dust-covered books lay open around him.

 ​"Find anything, Sire?" Vance asked, walking down the narrow aisle between two towering bookshelves, carrying a thick wooden chest filled with yellowed parchments.

 ​"Inconsistencies," Evander replied, not looking up as his gloved fingers traced the faded Latin text of a two-hundred-year-old manuscript. "Endless inconsistencies."

 ​Vance set the heavy chest down onto the stone table with a dull thud. "What do you mean?"

 ​"Listen to this," Evander said, picking up a scroll tied with a faded red ribbon. "This is the official record of the First Eclipse War, written by High Scholar Eldon during the reign of King Malachi."

 ​He unrolled the parchment, holding it closer to the lantern light.

 ​"'And when the mark flared upon her skin, the moon wept silver tears. For she was not born to destroy the Alphas, but to...' " Evander stopped abruptly, his brow furrowing deeply.

 ​Vance leaned in closer. "To what, Sire?"

 ​Evander lifted the scroll, bringing it inches from his face. "The rest of the sentence is gone."

 ​"Faded by time?" Vance asked.

 ​"No," Evander said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming dangerously cold. "Look at the edge of the parchment, Vance. This wasn't faded by age."

 ​Vance leaned over the desk, examining the document under the lantern light. The parchment where the crucial sentence should have been was ragged, uneven, and slightly charred at the edges.

 ​"It was torn," Vance realized, his eyes widening. "Deliberately cut out."

 ​"Not just this scroll," Evander said calmly, turning toward the mountain of ancient books piled beside him.

 ​He reached out and flipped open a massive, iron-bound codex titled The Chronicles of the Moon Goddess: Vol. IV. He flipped past hundreds of densely written pages until he reached the chapter marked The Eclipse Mark.

 ​The entire page was missing.

 ​Only a jagged, yellowed stub remained bound to the leather spine.

 ​"Someone came into these archives," Evander whispered, his fingers running over the sharp cut mark left along the spine of the book. "Someone went through every single historical record regarding the Cursed Luna... and systematically erased the truth."

 ​Vance stared at his King in absolute shock. "Erased it? But why? Who would have the authority to alter the Grand Archives of Nocturna?"

 ​"Someone who wanted the world to fear her," Evander said, his golden eyes narrowing as the pieces of a dark puzzle began to align in his mind. "Someone who wanted every pack in Asteria to believe that the Mark of the Eclipse was a curse of death, rather than whatever it truly is."

 ​"Sire..." Vance stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. "If the prophecy was altered... if the Cursed Luna isn't a harbinger of doom... then what is she?"

 ​"She is a threat," Evander said, slamming the heavy iron codex shut, sending a cloud of ancient dust swirling into the lantern light. "Not to the kingdom. Not to the people. But to someone who profits from keeping the Alphas in power. Someone who is terrified of what happens when a girl with that mark comes into her full power."

 ​"Alpha Ashborne..." Vance muttered, his eyes darkening. "And High Priest Lucian. They acted so fast during the Mate Ceremony. They declared her cursed within seconds of the mark appearing. They didn't even consult the Royal Crown."

 ​"Because they didn't want anyone asking questions," Evander said, his voice laced with venom. "They stripped her of her name, broke her bond with their future Alpha, and threw her out to die in the woods before anyone could look closer at that mark on her neck."

 ​"They wanted her dead without having to spill her blood themselves," Vance realized, a dark scowl forming on his face. "If she dies in the wild from starvation or rogues, their hands remain clean, and the secret dies with her."

 ​"Precisely," Evander said, pulling on his black leather gloves, tightening the buckles with sharp, decisive snaps. "They lied to their own people. They turned an entire kingdom against an innocent girl to protect a lie that has been maintained for centuries."

 ​"What are your orders, Sire?" Vance asked, his stance shifting instantly into combat readiness. "Shall I assemble the Royal Guard? We can march on Mooncrest by daybreak and demand an explanation from Alpha Ashborne—"

 ​"No," Evander interrupted firmly, holding up a hand. "If we move openly, Ashborne will panic. He will send his assassins into the woods to eliminate Nyx before we can reach her, and then claim she was killed by rogues. We cannot give them a reason to hunt her faster than they already are."

 ​"Then what do we do?" Vance asked. "We cannot leave her out there alone, Your Majesty. She's weak. She has no pack, no food, and half the villages in the south are throwing stones at her."

 ​Evander walked over to the weapon rack on the wall, unsheathing a slender, dark steel dagger and sliding it into his belt.

 ​"We play their game for now," Evander said softly, turning to face his most trusted commander. "Until I have the full truth."

 ​The heavy iron door of the King’s private armory swung open, revealing Captain Rhory standing in the hallway outside.

 ​Rhory was the Captain of the Royal Guard—a young, deadly warrior with sharp silver eyes, dark braided hair, and a scar running diagonally across his left cheek. He stood at attention immediately, bowing deeply as King Evander and Commander Vance stepped out into the corridor.

 ​"You called for me, Your Majesty?" Rhory asked, his voice crisp and military.

 ​"Step inside, Captain," Evander ordered, motioning toward the quiet room.

 ​Rhory stepped into the armory, watching silently as Commander Vance closed the heavy iron doors behind them and locked them from the inside.

 ​"Is this a private matter, Sire?" Rhory asked, his eyes darting between the King and the Commander.

 ​"The most private matter in this kingdom, Rhory," Evander replied, stepping up to the young captain. "What I am about to tell you does not leave this room. It does not go to the High Council. It does not go to your fellow guards. If a single word of this assignment leaks to the noble lords, you will answer to my blade personally."

 ​Rhory didn't flinch. He placed his right fist over his heart, bowing his head sharply. "My life belongs to the Crown, Your Majesty. I swear my silence on my blood and my wolf."

 ​"Good," Evander said. He stepped closer, his golden eyes locking onto Rhory's silver ones with intense gravity. "You are to leave the palace tonight. In secret. Wearing no royal crest, carrying no official banners."

 ​"Where am I going, Sire?" Rhory asked softly.

 ​"To the borderlands," Evander commanded. "You are to track the girl who was exiled from Mooncrest last night. Nyx."

 ​Rhory raised an eyebrow, surprised, but kept his voice steady. "The Cursed Luna, Sire? The elders in the city are saying she carries a death sentence."

 ​"The elders are fools who believe whatever fairy tales keep them comfortable at night," Evander spat coldly. "Your mission is simple, Rhory. You will shadow her every step. You will follow her through the forest, through the villages, wherever she goes."

 ​"Do I bring her back to Nocturna?" Rhory asked.

 ​"No," Evander replied firmly. "She is broken, terrified, and trusts no one. If a royal captain suddenly appears and tries to drag her to the capital, she will fight or run straight into danger. You stay in the shadows, Captain. You keep your distance."

 ​Rhory frowned slightly, trying to understand the order. "If I am not to capture her, Sire... what is my objective?"

 ​"Protection," Evander said, the single word echoing through the cold armory. "You will protect her from every threat in those woods. If rogues attack her, you kill them. If Alpha Ashborne sends his assassins to hunt her down, you butcher them in the dark and leave no trace behind."

 ​Rhory's eyes widened slightly in shock. "Protect her? Against the wishes of the High Council?"

 ​"The High Council does not rule this realm, Captain. I do," Evander said, his voice dripping with authority. "No one is to know you are following her. Not the villages, not the Mooncrest Pack, and especially not the girl herself. She must believe she is alone."

 ​"Understood, Sire," Rhory bowed his head. "And if she gets close to the border of the Dark Forest? The rogue territories beyond our reach?"

 ​"Then you follow her into the dark," Evander said without a second of hesitation. "You do not let her out of your sight for a single second."

 ​Evander reached out, placing a heavy, firm hand on Rhory’s shoulder, his golden eyes blazing with an ominous intensity that made even the battle-hardened captain hold his breath.

 ​"Listen to me carefully, Rhory," Evander whispered, his deep voice carrying a dark, chilling weight. "If a single hair on her head is harmed... if she starves, if she bleeds, or if she dies out in those woods..."

 ​Evander paused, letting the silence hang in the air like a blade hanging by a thread.

 ​"We may lose far more than just one rejected girl," Evander finished, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. "We may lose the entire future of this world."

 ​Rhory swallowed hard, feeling the immense weight of the command crushing down on him. "I will not fail you, my King. She will live."

 ​"Go," Evander ordered, letting go of his shoulder. "Move through the eastern mountain pass. She was last seen heading toward the Whispering Pines. Do not fail me."

 ​Rhory bowed deeply, turned on his heel, and slipped silently out of the private armory, disappearing into the shadows of the palace hallway like a ghost.

 ​Evander stood in the quiet room, staring at his gloved hands as the night wind howled outside the tall stained-glass windows.

 ​"Sire," Commander Vance spoke up quietly from behind him. "What will you do while Rhory follows her?"

 ​Evander walked slowly toward the window, looking out across the vast, dark expanse of the forest stretching out beneath the moonlight—the very forest where a cold, abandoned girl was currently struggling to survive the night.

 ​"I am going to find out who tore those pages out of the archives," Evander said, his golden eyes narrowing into dangerous, lethal slits. "And when I find them... I will tear their world apart just as they tore hers."