All Chapters of The Wolfless Luna : Chapter 41 - Chapter 46

“Come here, Indra. What do you think I should do?” Mira’s voice was soft as velvet but carried the weight of a command. She stood tall before her most trusted maid, her gown sweeping the floor like spilled ink.Indra obeyed, her steps measured, her hands clasped neatly behind her back. She had just listened to her queen confess two things — that she carried a child, and that she intended to lay the blame, or rather the honor, upon Nicolas.Since helping Mira dispose of Seraphina, Indra had ascended quickly to a place of dangerous privilege. Now she was head of the royal maids — and Mira’s shadow in every dark scheme.But power came with peril. Indra bit her lip, weighing her answer. The truth — that Mira’s plan was wrong, treacherous — would only stoke her mistress’s wrath. Mira had no patience for honesty that did not flatter her. A queen such as she preferred lies that soothed over truths that stung.Finally, Indra spoke, her tone carefully crafted. “I think… you should sedate the k

Mira had her way with Nicolas right there in the banquet hall—brazen, unashamed, and before the very eyes of their guests, who were themselves lost in carnal indulgence. The air reeked of lust and wine, thick with the mingled scents of sweat, musk, and desire. Noble wolves writhed with their bonded mates, bodies tangling in a fevered display, while the mateless surrendered themselves to whichever hands they found pleasing.With a daring glint in her eyes, Mira drew up the skirts of her gown, her breath hitching as she straddled Nicolas’s lap. He sat slumped in his great chair, the crown of authority still upon his head though he was more asleep than awake—drugged into this helpless state. His chest rose and fell in deep, slow breaths, but beneath his robes, the hard line of his arousal strained against the fabric, thick and urgent.She hooked her thumbs into the band of her undergarments and tugged them down, baring herself to the dim torchlight. Sliding forward, she positioned her he

“Here—massage that place better,” Seraphina ordered, her voice a velvet blade as she stretched across the vast bed, her pale skin gleaming in the sunlight.“Yes, my princess,” Zara murmured, bowing low before pouring more marigold oil into her trembling palms. She worked it into Seraphina’s tense shoulders with practiced care.Every stroke sent a lance of pain through Zara’s own body. Her swollen feet throbbed from standing too long, her spine screamed as she bent over, and yet she gritted her teeth. She dared not falter. Complaints meant punishment—and she had learned that lesson the hard way.Her mind reeled back to that cursed day.She had only sighed—just once—when the princess had ordered her to brush her heavy, silken hair. Instead of compassion, Seraphina had summoned the guards. Bound and strung up in an X, Zara had tasted cruelty she thought no woman—no sister—was capable of. Sixteen lashes had rained upon her bulging stomach, each crack of leather a promise of death. Blood h