Chapter 2

Maera

Kael’s voice cuts the hall clean. “Where is her family? Before I give my final verdict, let them step forward.”

Cold licks my knees where they press into the stone. The guards hold my shoulders like clamps. I turn, searching the rows of faces, desperate for the one place that should still be mine.

I find them in the torchlight. My father’s shoulders are square, jaw locked. My mother twists her apron strings until they bite her fingers. Liora stands beside the boy who claimed her an hour ago, her braid neat, her eyes wide. His hand sits firm at her waist, already protective, already claiming. Banners hang still. Smoke threads the air. The hall doors yawn open to the night, letting in the cold breath of the forest. Torches spit and pop. Far off, festival drums thud like a pulse. The baker still dusted with flour stands near the midwife; both keep their eyes on the dais, pretending not to see me kneeling.

“Father,” I call. My voice shakes, but it carries. “Mother. Liora.”

My father looks at me, then at Kael. The look he gives the Alpha is the look a man gives a cliff. He swallows. Silence stretches thin. Someone points; murmurs rise.

“She must be mistaken,” he says at last, voice low and tight. “She is not our daughter.”

The words hit harder than the guards’ hands ever could. I jerk against the grip on my arms. Rope burns over my wrists.

“Not your daughter?” I choke. “You taught me letters at the table. You held me through fevers. I don't understand what you're saying when I've lived my entire life under the same roof.” Faces in the crowd turn away. Someone coughs to fill the space my life leaves. All eyes avoid me. It is as if I have already been erased.

My mother raises her chin, eyes shiny. For a moment her mouth opens, the start of a yes, of a hand reaching. Then she looks at Kael too, and I watch the small hope harden and die. “We must think of the house,” she says softly. “Think of Liora. We cannot risk it.”

Liora steps back until the boy’s arm tightens to stop her. Her voice is barely a breath. “We can’t help you.” She doesn’t meet my eyes. The ring on her finger flashes when the torchlight hits it, a thin bright circle that says she belongs somewhere I do not.

A murmur moves through the nearest rows, people hungry to be on the safe side. “The guards found wolfsbane,” a woman says, not unkindly, only certain. “If the spoon blackened, it was there.” One of the guards lifts the darkened spoon.

“I didn’t do it,” I say, the words shredding. “I saw the serving girls hide something; I—”

“Quiet her,” Kael says, almost bored. The guard’s palm presses my shoulder down. Stone grinds my kneecaps. The iron taste in my mouth won’t leave. My wolf, small and stunned, whimpers somewhere deep where I cannot reach.

Kael lifts a hand and the room stills. “Her own family denies her. The testing spoon marked wolfsbane. We hold the line for the safety of the pack.” His eyes slide to me, cool and unreadable, then past me like I am already a decision made. His voice isn’t loud; the room brings it to me as if it belongs to it.

I want to explain willow bark and bitter roots, the bite of herbs that stain metal, the vial I glimpsed in a servant’s sleeve. I want to say I can show him, I can prove it. The guard’s fingers push under my jaw and the words die there, trapped behind my teeth. Speech becomes breath. Breath becomes a tremble I cannot hide.

“Exile,” someone calls. Others follow, voices rising, eager to be part of the chorus. “Send her out.” “Traitor.” “Let the forest have her.” The rhythm of it catches. It settles into the walls and into the people who want not to think.

Kael turns slightly, and the noise drops as if pulled on a string. He gestures left.

Lira steps from the shadows of the dais. Silk whispers with her movement. The Thornvale crest gleams at her shoulder. She bows to Kael, precise and perfect, then tips her chin to the hall. Eyes cling to her like she is already crowned. Lira’s gown drinks the torchlight, tiny stones stitched along the hem winking as she moves. People lean toward her without noticing. I feel it, a tide turning under my knees.

“This one is worthy,” Kael says. “Lira of Thornvale shall be Luna beside me.”

The cheers break like a wave against stone. Palms slap, voices ring. Lira’s smile is small and polished. Kael doesn’t smile, but the decision sits easy on him. My vision blurs with the press of hot tears I refuse to let fall.

I look back at the only faces that matter and find strangers wearing my family’s skin. My mother has covered her mouth with trembling fingers. My father’s gaze fixes on the floor in front of his boots, as if that square of stone contains his whole world. Liora clutches her mate’s sleeve. He bends his head and murmurs something to her that I cannot hear, and she nods without looking at me.

“I didn’t do it,” I say again, small now. “You know me. Please.”

One of the elders, a man who always has me running around for him whenever he needs someone, stands and smooths his robes. “We cannot let feelings cloud judgment,” he says. “The Alpha must be protected.” He will go home tonight and sleep well. He will tell himself he served justice. The thought scalds me.

People murmur agreement. It is easier to agree than to stand alone.

I meet my mother’s eyes across the hall. Old winter nights live there. Thin soup. Counting coins. Choosing what to keep. She loves me, and she is still stepping away. The step is tiny. It is everything. She turns her face, hiding it behind her veil.

“No,” I say, louder. Then it rips from me. “No.” It is not a word anymore. It is a wound.

My father does not move. He has a soldier’s stillness without ever being a soldier. The crowd shifts, closing him off from me like a door.

The guards push me lower until my forehead kisses the cold floor. I can hear the heart of the hall: the steady drum of celebration for a new Luna, the rustle of clothes, the scrape of a chair leg. Kael’s shadow crosses my cheek. Lira’s soft laugh is a bright ring somewhere high above me. The braziers hiss as resin spits.

I curl my fingers on the stone as if I could anchor myself here by grip alone. The grit under my nails stings. I stretch my hand toward where my family stands. I find only air and the brush of someone’s hem as they step away. My throat feels scraped raw. If I close my eyes, I can still smell home, soap from the tub, the onion stew that always burns at the edges.

“Please,” I whisper first to no one, then force the word forward. “Please, Mother. Father. Liora. Don’t leave me like this.”

My sister finally looks at me. Her braid swings forward, a familiar line against her shoulder. She shakes her head once. A single tear slips and she wipes it fast, as if even that is dangerous. My mother faces the wall. My father’s fists flex and close.

The grip on my shoulders tightens. Kael speaks again, voice steady, carried by the hall’s bones. I don’t catch every word; they are about order, about strength, about what keeps us safe. Around me the pack hums, pleased to be told they are safe. Pleased to be on the side that wins.

I am held to the floor by more than hands. I am pinned by small choices, by fear, by pride, by the convenience of believing the worst when it costs nothing. I breathe in dust and blood and the clean spice of Lira’s perfume. My wolf curls tight, silent now.

I haul my head up as far as the guards allow and fix my eyes on my parents and my sister. My voice is hoarse and young and stubborn. “Please,” I say. “Please. I am your daughter. I am her sister. Don’t do this.”

The hall doesn’t bend. It is stone and law and the Alpha’s will. My plea falls and breaks at my knees.

I draw one more breath and try anyway, because I do not know how to stop. “Please.”

The guards bear down. The hall roars for its Luna. Hands clap. A few faces in the crowd look away. Most do not.

And there, on the floor, in front of Kael and his new Luna, with guards pressing my shoulders into the stones, I plead with the only people who should have saved me.