หวานใจนายสิงหราช

Preface

Zara Fen POV

In Silvercrest, survival was determined by rank.

Those born strong were protected by the pack. Those who proved useful found their mistakes quietly forgiven. And those who possessed true power watched the rules bend around them without question.

For the rest of us, the pack made it certain that we understood exactly where we belonged.

My father was an Alpha warrior. He commanded patrols, guarded the borders, and fought rogues with unwavering loyalty to Silvercrest. When the Rogue War erupted along our territory, he answered the call without hesitation.

Along the line he never returned. The pack honored him for one night.

Torches burned along the courtyard walls while the pack elders spoke solemnly of sacrifice and courage. Warriors raised their glasses in tribute and swore his name would never be forgotten within the history of Silvercrest.

By the following morning, the pack had already begun to forget.

Whatever protection his title once afforded me vanished with him. I was no longer regarded as the daughter of a respected warrior.

I was merely what he had left behind.

My birth mother departed before dawn.

She did not wake me or take me with her nor did she say farewell.

No one tried to stop her or demanded an explanation. Wolves sometimes leave when they sense danger. That was the excuse whispered among the pack, even though no one could say what threat she believed was approaching.

Afterward, I was taken in by my father’s mate and her daughter, Elara.

The pack praised her for her generosity. They spoke admiringly of her kindness and devotion to family duty. Again and again, I was reminded that I should be grateful for the place she had given me in her home.

I soon learned that gratitude in Silvercrest was a debt that never truly ended.

From the beginning, I understood that fairness was not a privilege extended to wolves like me.

Elara was everything the pack admired. She was striking, confident, and naturally suited to the strength Silvercrest celebrated.

I existed quietly beside her.

When something went wrong, the blame arrived swiftly at my door. When something went right, my presence was forgotten just as easily.

By the time I was old enough to understand the customs of the pack, another word had already begun to follow me wherever I went.

Curse.

I had no reflection.

Whenever I stood before a mirror, nothing appeared. Not my face. Not my eyes. Not even the faint outline of a shadow where I should have been.

Polished glass reflected the empty room behind me. The same thing goes for water, they remain smooth and undisturbed. Silver surfaces returned nothing but absence also.

The elders insisted it was rare but harmless.

The priests watched me with a different expression but said nothing.

My stepmother quietly removed mirrors from the house and warned visitors never to mention the matter aloud.

Fear settled into the walls of that home long before anyone explained the reason for it.

Elara, however, had learned to smile whenever it happened.

The first time a priest truly noticed, he pulled my stepmother aside and spoke in a hushed voice. I was not meant to hear him, but I did.

“Some wolves are not recognized by the moon,” he murmured. “Zara case is something we have never seen before and it's raising concern among the pack.”

After that day, the watchful glances became more frequent with looks of anticipation.

As though everyone expected something about me to eventually prove dangerous.

Silvercrest hosted more mating ceremonies than any other pack in the region. Wolves traveled from distant territories in the hope that the Moon Goddess would finally reveal their fated partner.

The pack called it generosity. They claimed Silvercrest offered opportunities where others would not.

For me, it felt like standing before a silent crowd waiting to witness a failure.

Three months ago, I stood beneath the moon for the first time.

The priests chanted their ancient rites while the courtyard filled with anticipation. Around me, bonds ignited one after another. Wolves gasped as the invisible pull of fate snapped into place. Hands reached across the crowd the moment mates recognized one another. I felt nothing.

The moonlight rested briefly upon my skin.

Then it passed me by.

The silence that followed was heavier than ridicule would have been.

No one spoke the word curse aloud, yet I could feel it moving through the crowd like a quiet rumor carried in the wind.

Later that night, the Council summoned my stepmother for a private discussion.

“She will be granted one final ceremony,” they decided. “If fate does not choose her again, she will be declared unfit for union.”

Unfit.

The word carried consequences that required no explanation.

Wolves declared unfit rarely remained in Silvercrest. They were not protected or matched. Their names gradually disappeared from pack memory until it seemed as though they had never belonged at all.

Tonight was my final chance.

Silvercrest was preparing for a grand ceremony. High ranking Alphas were arriving from distant territories. Alliances would be strengthened and the pack wished to present perfection to the many outsiders who would be watching.

Elara would be honored during the ceremony.

Before we left the house, my stepmother stopped me at the door.

“Do not embarrass us tonight, she said coldly. If nothing happens for you again, the Council will act immediately.”

Elara stood beside her, radiant and composed, already certain of the future awaiting her.

At that moment, the truth burned down my throat like vinegar.

This ceremony was never meant to save me, it was meant to decide my fate.

When I stepped into the cold night air, the moon rising slowly above Silvercrest’s towering walls, a single thought echoed through my mind.

By the end of the ceremony, Silvercrest would either claim me or cast me aside.

There would be no third outcome.