Chapter 6 - THE RETURN TO CRESCENT MOON’S EYE
The Grand Ballroom of the Obsidian Citadel was a masterpiece of royal splendor. High vaulted ceilings carved from white quartz reflected the light of thousands of floating crystal candles. Cascading fountains of scented ice-wine flowed along the marble walls, and the room was packed with over a thousand noble guests, elders, and Alpha leaders representing every pack across the seven territories.
Near the center of the grand hall stood the delegation from the Crescent Moon Pack.
Alpha Dominic stood tall, sipping wine, while beside him stood Beta Arthur—Lyra’s father—looking noticeably aged and anxious. Lyra’s mother, Lady Evelyn, wore an elaborate emerald gown, though her fingers constantly fiddled nervously with her silk fan. Standing slightly behind them, dressed in sleek gray warrior armor and looking proud and arrogant, was Callum Thorne.
Callum sneered as he watched the urban nobles dance. "A lot of glittering stone and useless formality," he muttered to his fellow warriors. "They dance like humans. Give me a good battle or a hunt any day."
"Watch your tongue, Callum," Beta Arthur warned quietly, his voice tight. "We are in the Alpha King’s house. He called this assembly for a major announcement. Show respect."
"I am showing respect," Callum scoffed, crossing his heavy arms. "I just don't see why King Damon made such a fuss about us coming. He hasn't visited our territory since he dragged away that useless girl two months ago."
Evelyn winced slightly at the mention of Lyra, her eyes darting nervously toward the floor. "Callum... please. Do not speak of Lyra tonight."
"Why not?" Callum laughed coldly. "She was weak, Lady Evelyn. She couldn't even stand up to a basic bond rejection without sleeping for three days. The King probably dumped her in a servant’s quarters or sent her to an asylum in the low country once he realized her wolf was useless."
Suddenly, a deafening blast of brass trumpets echoed from the grand balcony above the ballroom floor.
The chatter of a thousand guests died instantly. Every head turned toward the grand staircase lined with royal guards wearing polished silver armor.
"Announcing His Royal Sovereign Majesty, King Damon of the Royal Sovereign Line!" the Royal Herald’s voice boomed across the vast hall. "And presenting His Sovereign Guest... Her Royal Highness, Lady Lyra of the Lost House of Frost-Fenrir!"
Callum froze, a half-mocking smirk dying instantly on his lips. Beta Arthur dropped his glass of wine; it shattered loudly against the marble floor, splashing red liquid across his boots. Evelyn gasped, clutching her chest as her face turned ash-white.
At the top of the grand staircase stood King Damon, majestic and imposing in dark silver royal robes. And resting her hand lightly upon his offered arm was Lyra.
She was breathtaking. She wore a floor-length dress forged of shimmering, silver dragon-scale silk that clung to her sculpted form like moonlight. A delicate silver tiara sat atop her long dark hair, which fell in luxurious waves punctuated by bright, shimmering silver strands. But it was not her dress or her jewels that made the entire ballroom hold its breath—it was her aura.
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She was no longer hiding her wolf. She was radiating a pristine, crushing wave of ancient Alpha authority that filled every corner of the massive room. Her posture was regnant, her expression cool and serene, and her hazel-silver eyes shone with a terrifying, ethereal brilliance.
"No..." Callum whispered, his face draining of all color, his eyes wide with absolute horror and disbelief. "No... that's... that's impossible. That can't be Lyra."
