Lyra
The first thing that returned to me was the feeling of warmth—soft linen beneath my skin and cool night air drifting gently over my shoulders.
I stretched lazily, pulling my arms over my head and letting the tension drain out of my back, taking in a deep, clean breath.
When I opened my eyes, the morning sun was just beginning to pierce the window, painting the stone walls in pale amber light.
The room felt different.
Lighter.
Peaceful.
It was a new day.
The final day.
My birthday.
“Happy birthday, Lyra,” I murmured into the quiet room, the sound barely a breath against the morning stillness.
A small, genuine smile touched my lips.
It was my private tradition, my quiet way of asserting that I existed, that my life mattered, even if only to myself.
I always wished myself well first, because no one else ever would.
No one ever remembered.
No one ever cared.
So I learned to claim my own worth before the pack had the chance to steal it away.
I pushed myself up onto the edge of the mattress, preparing to start the long day ahead, when a quick movement caught my attention near the wardrobe.
My chest tightened, and I jumped back against the pillows, heart pounding.
A figure was standing near the center of the room.
“Happy birthday, Lyra!”
Bella stood there, her face lit up with an affectionate, radiant smile that completely cut through the chill of the morning.
I sat frozen, completely caught off guard.
In her hands, she held a tiny, crude honey cake, slightly lopsided and covered in uneven glaze, but to me, it was more precious than a royal banquet.
Tucked under her arm was a small package wrapped in plain paper, bound with a piece of dark silk ribbon.
My throat constricted.
My eyes burned with sudden heat.
I fought to keep the tears from falling.
Through all the years of isolation, through every single forgotten milestone, Bella was the only soul who had ever looked at me and seen a human being.
She had shown up when everyone else looked away.
The weight of my plan hit me like a physical strike: I am going to miss her.
More than anything else in this place, leaving her behind was going to tear a piece of my heart out.
Before I could stop myself, I sprang off the bed and threw my arms around her, pulling her into a tight, desperate embrace.
I held on as if she were the anchor keeping me from washing away entirely.
Her arms instantly closed around my back, warm, solid, and steady.
That was all it took.
The tears spilled over, slipping hot and fast down my face, dampening the cloth over her shoulder.
“Hey, what is this?” Bella asked gently, stepping back just enough to look at me, her brow furrowing with sudden worry.
She reached up with a thumb, carefully brushing the moisture from under my eyes.
I let out a breathless, shaky laugh, shaking my head as I wiped my face with the back of my hand.
“It’s nothing, really,” I lied softly.
“I just…
I didn’t expect it.
Thank you, Bella.
For everything.”
For remembering.
For seeing me.
For treating me like a sister when my own flesh and blood wanted me erased.
Bella scoffed softly, though her own eyes looked suspiciously bright.
“Stop it,” she grumbled affectionately, tossing her head back.
“You’re going to make me cry, and someone around here has to stay sensible.
That’s what friends do.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded.
If she only knew what those words meant to me today.
I closed my eyes for a single second, drew in a breath sweet with honey and wax, and made my silent request to the heavens.
Let me make it beyond the border tonight.
Bella clapped her hands together as I blew out the small wick, and we sat on the floor, sharing the little cake piece by piece.
It tasted sweet and comforting, warmed by the quiet care she had poured into making it.
We ate in easy silence, treasuring the moment.
But as soon as the last crumb was gone, the real world returned to claim me.
There was still a feast to prepare.
I slipped down to the grand kitchens, where the clatter of iron pots, steam, and sharp orders filled the humid air.
I fell into line with the rest of the staff, peeling roots, dressing cuts of meat, stirring heavy bronze kettles, and wiping down prep tables.
My hands worked automatically—a rhythm built from years of labor.
Slice, mix, serve, carry.
Once the food was set to roast, I hurried up to the main hall.
I spent the next two hours setting out heavy silver goblets, adjusting cloth runners, polishing crystal decanters until they reflected the torchlight, and arranging evergreen boughs along the stone walls.
By mid-afternoon, the hall was immaculate.
All that remained was to await the evening feast.
The afternoon melted away.
Servants scurried in every direction.
Musicians tuned their strings in the outer courtyard.
When evening finally fell, I went back to my room to change.
It was my birthday, my absolute last evening under this roof, and I allowed myself one small piece of vanity.
I pulled out the dress I had kept hidden at the bottom of my trunk—a simple, flowing garment of deep twilight blue, light as silk and free of any pack insignia.
I pinned my hair up into a neat braid and put on the stone pendant my mother had left me.
When Bella walked through the door to fetch me, she stopped dead in her tracks, letting out a sharp gasp.
“Look at you!” she breathed, her eyes widening in genuine delight.
She bowed dramatically, extending a hand toward me.
“My lady Lyra, will you grant me the honor of accompanying you to the hall?”
A real laugh escaped my lips, bright and unburdened.
“Lead the way, Bella,” I smiled, taking her arm.
“Let’s go see the grand spectacle.”
Together, we walked down the wide stone staircase toward the courtyard.
The hall was stunning.
The high arches echoed with laughter, gold thread and silk gleaming under hundreds of floating lanterns.
But within moments, the chatter died down to a low murmur.
The doors swung wide.
Selene stepped into the hall like a queen taking her throne, radiant and striking.
Flanking her were the three Alphas—Kael, Lucien, and Ronan—their presence looming large, their expressions fiercely possessive as they escorted her into the center of the room.
The traditional gift-giving began immediately.
Lucien stepped forward first, clasping a heavy collar of emeralds around her neck to gasps of admiration from the elders.
Ronan bound a band of polished silver around her upper arm, the crowd murmuring in approval.
Kael presented her with a ceremonial blade crafted from starlight steel, his dark eyes fixed on her face with quiet pride.
The pack cheered.
The noblewomen watched with undisguised envy.
The three brothers stepped up to the dais together, turning to face the assembled pack.
“People of the sun and moon!” Lucien announced, his voice carrying clearly to every corner of the vast room.
“We bring an official declaration!”
“The binding ceremony will take place tomorrow at dusk!” Ronan added, his tone booming over the quieted hall.
“Selene will take her place as our Luna,” Kael finished, offering a hand to her.
Selene stood tall, drinking in the adoration of the crowd.
Her eyes swept across the room until they found me standing near the edge of the pillar—and a small, triumphant smirk touched the corners of her lips.
Before the applause could begin, a cold, heavy voice cut straight through the music and chatter.
“That union will not be taking place.”
The hall went dead silent.
Every eye pivoted toward the high archway at the entrance of the courtyard.
And in an instant, Selene’s arrogant smirk vanished, her skin draining of all color as if the breath had been stolen straight from her lungs.