Chapter 134

Chapter 134: Chapter 134

The fire in the cave had burned low, casting long shadows across the faces of the gathered survivors. Nyra sat at the center of the group, her silver hair pulled back, her expression serious. Around her, the others listened in silence as she laid out the plan.

"The festival is in two weeks," she said. "The King will announce Soren’s survival to the entire realm. Every pack will be there. Every noble, every dignitary, every student. It’s the biggest gathering of the year."

"And the most dangerous," Darian added grimly. "Varek will be there. The witch will be there. And you’re still wanted for murder."

"I know. But it’s also our best opportunity." Nyra leaned forward. "If I can reach Soren—if I can talk to him—he’ll help us. He’ll vouch for me. He’ll demand a proper investigation into Thorne’s death. With the crown prince on our side, Varek’s lies will fall apart."

"You’re assuming Soren will believe you," Corvin said quietly. "You’re assuming he’ll even remember you."

Nyra looked at him. "Why wouldn’t he remember me?"

Corvin hesitated. He knew about the poison’s effects—he had researched Nightshade Essence extensively since the showcase. He knew that Lycans who survived it often suffered... complications. Memory loss. Personality changes. But Nyra didn’t know that. None of them did, except perhaps the royal family, who had kept Soren’s condition a closely guarded secret.

"No reason," he said finally. "I’m just being cautious."

"Soren will remember me," Nyra said, her voice firm. "He has to."

Does he? Luna whispered in her mind. The bond is still there, but it’s faint. Stretched. Something has changed on his end.

I know. But I have to try.

Ragnar cleared his throat. "So what’s the plan? We can’t just walk into the Palace City and knock on the palace gates."

"We’ll need disguises," Finn said. "The festival is the perfect cover. Thousands of people from every pack, all gathered in one place. No one will notice a few extra travelers."

"The city will be crawling with guards," Jasper pointed out. "Varek’s men will be watching for Nyra. Her face is known now—the silver hair, the eyes. Even with a hood, she’ll draw attention."

"Then I’ll dye my hair," Nyra said. "Or cut it. Or both."

The group stared at her.

"Cut your hair?" Finn repeated. "Your beautiful silver hair? The hair that identifies you as the Moonblood heir?"

"It’s just hair, Finn. It’ll grow back."

"It’s not just hair. It’s part of who you are."

"Who I am is a woman who’s been hiding her whole life. I can hide a little longer." Nyra’s voice was steady. "We’ll travel in small groups, same as before. Disguised as merchants and festival-goers. We’ll meet at a safe house in the city—one of the resistance’s contacts. From there, we’ll figure out how to reach Soren."

"And if we can’t reach him?" Marek asked.

"Then we try something else. But we don’t give up." She looked around the group. "This is our best chance. Maybe our only chance. We have to take it."

The group exchanged glances. Then, one by one, they nodded.

"Alright," Ragnar said. "Let’s get ready to move."

The Palace City was already transforming for the festival.

Banners in crimson and gold hung from every building. The streets were crowded with merchants selling charms and candles and offerings to the Moon Goddess. The inns were packed with travelers from every corner of the realm. The festival was still two weeks away, but the city was already alive with anticipation.

And everywhere, people were talking about the crown prince.

"Did you hear? Prince Soren is alive! The Sword Sovereign himself, risen from the dead!"

"Everyone said he was killed at the showcase. An arrow through the chest. How did he survive?"

"He’s a Lycan, that’s how. The first Lycan in centuries. They can’t be killed by ordinary means."

"It’s a miracle. A sign from the Moon Goddess herself."

"The festival is going to be enormous this year. Everyone wants to see the prince."

In the streets, in the markets, in the taverns and the temples, the news spread like wildfire. The crown prince had returned. The heir to the Seven Packs was alive. And the realm was desperate to see him.

At the royal palace, Soren sat in the garden, his golden eyes fixed on the fountain in the center of the courtyard.

The fragments were coming more frequently now.

He would be walking through the corridors and suddenly remember the way Ragnar had laughed at a joke he’d made years ago. He would smell a particular flower and think of Corvin’s laboratory, the shelves of vials and bubbling cauldrons. He would hear a song and recall sitting in the great hall of Shadowmoon Academy, watching the students train.

Stop pushing, Kael warned. The healer said it would take time.

I don’t have time. The festival is in two weeks. I can’t stand in front of the realm as the crown prince if I can’t even remember who I am.

You know who you are. You’re Soren Thornridge. The Sword Sovereign. The Lycan heir. The memories will return when they’re ready.

And if they don’t?

Then we make new memories. We move forward.

Soren stared at the fountain. The water sparkled in the afternoon sun, casting rainbows across the stone. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice whispered—a woman’s voice, soft and fierce, calling him "my wolf."

But when he tried to grasp it, it slipped away.

In the Shadowwood, far from the celebrations of the Palace City, Morgath stood before a dark altar.

The ritual was nearly ready.

She had spent weeks preparing gathering the ingredients, etching the runes, channeling the dark energies that had sustained her for centuries. The altar was a slab of black stone, carved with symbols that pulsed with an eerie, sickly light. Around it, candles of black wax burned with flames that gave no warmth.

"This is the final piece," she murmured, holding up a small vial filled with silver liquid. "The essence of the Moonblood. Taken from the girl’s own blood, spilled at the mill."

Varek’s soldiers had collected it from the battlefield—the blood Nyra had shed when the witch’s shadow bolt had struck her. It was exactly what Morgath needed.

"With this, I will complete the binding ritual," she said. "The princess’s power will be sealed away—not just suppressed, but destroyed. She will be nothing more than an ordinary wolf. A weak, pathetic girl with no claim to the throne."

Her dark eyes gleamed with anticipation.

"And then, when she is powerless and broken, I will kill her. Slowly. Painfully. And the Moonblood line will finally be extinguished."

She placed the vial on the altar and began to chant. The black candles flared. The runes pulsed. The shadows in the chamber writhed like living things.

The ritual was ready.

And it would be performed at the festival, where the entire realm would witness the fall of the Moonblood heir.

Selene stood at the edge of the group’s camp, her pack slung over her shoulder, her amber eyes fixed on the distant horizon.

"I’m leaving," she said.

The group fell silent. Nyra looked up from the map she’d been studying. "What?"

"I’m leaving. I’ve done enough. I helped save Corvin. I fought at the mill. But my place is not with you." Selene’s voice was cool, composed. "The crown prince is alive. He’s my betrothed. I should be at his side, not hiding in the forest with fugitives."

"Selene—"

"Don’t try to stop me. You and I are not friends. We will never be friends. We have a temporary truce, nothing more." She turned to face Nyra, her amber eyes hard. "But know this: I’m not done with you. When the festival is over—when Soren is safe and the realm is stable—I will come for you. And I will make you answer for everything you’ve done."

Nyra held her gaze. "I didn’t kill my brother."

"So you’ve said. But the evidence says otherwise." Selene’s jaw tightened. "Goodbye, Princess. Try not to get yourself killed before I have the chance to defeat you properly."

She turned and walked into the forest, her figure quickly swallowed by the trees.

Valeria watched her go, her expression unreadable. Then she turned back to the group.

"I’m staying," she said. "For now."

"Why?" Ragnar asked, suspicion in his voice.

"Because I have my own reasons. But also—" She paused. "Because I want to see how this plays out. The festival. The prince’s return. The confrontation with Varek. It’s going to be quite a show."

And because I need to stay close to Nyra, she thought privately. To gather information. To find her weaknesses. To ruin her the way she ruined me.

She smiled a cold, calculating smile and settled back against a tree.

Nyra watched her warily. She didn’t trust Valeria. She never had. But for now, the woman was useful. For now, she was an ally of convenience.

But for how long? Luna asked.

I don’t know. But I’ll be watching her.

We’ll both be watching.

The group packed up their camp and began the long journey toward the Palace City. The festival awaited. And with it, the reckoning that would determine the fate of the realm.