Esmira (Enora)
I gathered myself, pushing the lingering haze of the vision aside, and turned to face the High Priestess.
She was watching me with an expression stripped of warmth and deference.
But I managed to hold her gaze.
“What do you mean?” I asked, keeping my voice level despite the hammering in my chest.
“Your wolf,” she said.
“It is not of Ceranthian blood. A lot of people do not know this, but every wolf, whether Blood right or common, is peculiar to the kingdom and the pack it is from.”
The hammering in my chest picked up pace; it was so loud now that I could hear it.
But I tried to maintain my composure.
If the High Priestess decides to expose me right here and now, in front of the entire court, I am doomed.
“I don’t understand what you’re—”
“I’ve performed the blessing rites on every royal from the four kingdoms for the last four decades,” she continued quietly, her dark eyes never leaving mine.
“I know the signature of their bloodline the way a musician knows the key of a song. Your wolf carries great power, perhaps more than any I’ve encountered, but it does not sing in the key of House Eldarion.” She paused.
“You are not Esmira.”
“And before you tell me that I made a mistake or something else,” she interrupted with her hands raised.
“I was one of the people who met Princess Esmira when she first arrived in Valdren, so that I would know.”
My mind raced in frantic circles, grasping for a response — any response — that would undo what she’d just said.
But the words tangled in my throat like thread pulled from both ends, and nothing came.
I turned towards the crowd; King Eldric was in a deep conversation with a few courtiers, and they were laughing heartily.
Roderic and Lysara were hand in hand, talking to another group of royals.
Think, Enora.
Think.
“I hope I’m not interrupting.”
At that moment, Lord Aven showed up and stood beside me, with his hands clasped behind his back, his pale eyes moving from the High Priestess to me and back, trying to read our emotions.
The High Priestess turned to him, and I watched her expression shift.
Her directness retreated behind a mask of smiles.
Whatever she had been about to say next, Lord Aven’s presence had sealed it shut.
“Not at all, Lord Aven,” she said.
“I was simply advising the Luna Queen that she will need to complete the mate bond with His Majesty eventually. When she falls pregnant, she’ll need the combined life force from both parents to carry a Bloodright pup to term. The only way to achieve that is through a completed mate bond, which requires Roderic’s mark on her.”
Lord Aven nodded thoughtfully.
“I’ll speak to the King about it in due course. As you can see, he’s rather occupied with celebrating his new mate at the moment.”
“Of course.” The High Priestess inclined her head.
“There is no urgency. But the bond should not be delayed indefinitely. The goddess is patient, but not infinitely so.”
She bowed to me, and then excused herself, her violet robes sweeping across the platform as she descended the steps and disappeared into the crowd.
The moment she was gone, I exhaled.
I hadn’t realised I’d been holding my breath.
Lord Aven turned to me, his eyes piercing into my soul.
“What happened?”
“The High Priestess,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“She knows I’m not Esmira. She said my wolf isn’t of Ceranthian blood. She said it directly.”
Lord Aven regarded me for a moment before replying.
“And what did you say?”
“She caught me off guard and I couldn’t—”
Lord Aven turned to face me fully, an incredulous look tightening his features.
“Are you mad?” he said through gritted teeth, his voice low enough that only I could hear as he interrupted me.
“She confronted you with a direct accusation, and you said nothing? You stood there like a mute and gave her silence to interpret however she pleases?”
I lowered my head immediately, wringing my hands.
“I was caught by surprise, my lord. I had the vision, and then she was there, and I went blank—”
“Stop acting like a frightened cat.” He said coldly.
“Haven’t I told you — repeatedly — to carry yourself like a queen? What will people think if they see you cowering and stammering every time someone challenges you? A Luna Queen does not go blank. She redirects, she deflects, she makes the other person question their own certainty. Do you want to really die?”
“No, my lord,” tears formed at the back of my throat, but I pushed them down.
“I was overwhelmed today. I’m so—”
“Stop saying sorry!” he screeched, taking a step towards me.
“One more sorry excuse and weakness from you, I’ll wrench your tongue from your mouth. What did she say when you didn’t respond?”
“Nothing,” my head was still bowed.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
I raised my head and looked at him.
He was about to say something else; I could see the words forming on his mouth, but something in my eyes made him stop.
He sighed, looked away and straightened his cuffs.
“I’ll handle the priestess,” he said after a moment.
“You focus on playing your role. Can you do that?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“If there’s any situation like that in the future, I need you to give a response. Silence is as good as agreeing to whatever is being said about you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” I nodded.
We stood in silence for a while, watching the celebration unfold below the platform.
Roderic and Lysara moved through the crowd together, her hand on his arm, his smile visible even from this distance.
Lords and ladies pressed forward to congratulate them while casting furtive, pitying glances in my direction.
“Don’t let it bother you,” Lord Aven said stiffly, following my gaze toward Roderic and Lysara.
“The Luna Solace arrangement was the only way to keep Roderic in line.” He paused.
“There is an old saying that, give a child what he desires most, and you put him in a position of greater vulnerability. A man who has everything he wants has everything to lose.”
He turned to me.
“Avoid conflicts with Lysara from this point forward. No matter the provocation, no matter what she says or does, you do not engage. Let her have her victory. Let her have her mark and her title and her celebration.” His pale eyes held mine.
“Your role is still what I told you from the beginning, Esmira. You must get pregnant. That is your shield. That is your purpose. Everything else is noise. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
He studied me for a moment longer, then turned and walked away, descending the platform to join a group of Sorvane lords near the wine tables.
Later that evening, I sat alone in my chambers by the window, watching the last light fade behind the palace walls.
The celebration was still going.
I could hear it distantly — laughter, music, the clinking of glasses — a kingdom toasting its Alpha King and his new Luna Solace while the Luna Queen sat alone, trying to make sense of a dead woman’s memories.
I got tired of the pitiful gazes and whispers directed at me.
I excused myself from the hall and returned to my room, still thinking about Esmira.
No matter how much I turned it over, I couldn’t explain what had happened in the great hall.
The vision had been too vivid, detailed, and physically real to be imagination.
I had felt Esmira’s pain in my own body.
The sting at her neck, the warmth of blood flowing, the world going dark.
But I wasn’t Esmira.
I had never been Esmira.
And yet now, sitting in the quiet of her chambers, wearing her crown, living inside the wreckage of her life, I felt I knew her better than I had any right to.
The vision had given me something no amount of etiquette lessons or diary entries could, a window into who Esmira truly was.
She had been obsessive.
Fixated on Roderic since childhood, willing to destroy herself to force her father’s hand.
The Witch Luna who terrorised her maids.
The best friend who betrayed Lysara or was betrayed by her.
A princess who carried so much rage and desperation inside her that the only way she knew to be heard was to use herself as a tool.
And her father had loved her anyway.
Despite the tantrums, despite the threats, despite the shattered plates and the shard of glass at her neck.
Eldric’s terror in that memory — his roar, his arms catching her, his voice breaking apart — that was real.
The man who had done monstrous things to Roderic’s family would tear the world apart for his daughter.
From his reaction today, asking me not to hurt myself, it was clear Esmira had tried more than once.
The pattern was established.
Every time she wanted something, she threatened destruction.
And every time, her father gave in.
But why Roderic?
Of all the men in all the kingdoms, why this fixation?
Eldric had said it was a childhood obsession.
And then there was the friendship with Lysara — two women who both loved the same man, who had once been close enough to call each other best friends.
At some point, all three of them must have known each other.
That was the only explanation that made sense.
I rose from the chair and crossed to the drawer where I’d hidden the diary beneath a stack of linen.
I drew it out and ran my fingers over the cracked leather cover.
The faded gold initials — E.E.
— caught the candlelight.
“I need to understand who you were,” I murmured to the book, as though the dead woman could hear me.
I opened the diary to the first page, mulling over how I would tackle my lack of education in the old tongue, but the moment my eyes caught the words, I stopped breathing.
The page that had been blank to me, that had stared back at me in unintelligible symbols and scratches just days ago, was no longer blank.
The old tongue was still there, the same strange symbols covering the parchment in Esmira’s hurried hand.
But now, as my eyes moved across the page, the symbols shifted and settled, rearranging themselves into words I could understand, as though a veil had been lifted from my mind.
I could read it.
I didn’t know how.
I didn’t know why, but I could read the words.
My eyes found the first line.
The ink was old, but the words were clear, written in the hand of Princess Esmira.
I want to marry Roderic Valdren.
She wrote.
And I will destroy anyone who tries to stop me.