Chapter 83

Chapter 83: Chapter 83

Nyra was waiting for him in the garden, near the old oak tree where they had sat so many times before. She could tell something was wrong the moment she saw his face.

"What happened?" she asked.

"The King has ordered me to perform in the pageantry. With Selene. As the ceremonial King and Queen of the showcase." His voice was tight, controlled. "It’s a public display. Combat, dance, courtly presentation. The whole academy will be watching. The whole realm."

Nyra felt a sharp stab of jealousy, but she forced it down. "Then you’ll perform."

"I don’t want to perform with her. I don’t want to stand beside her and pretend—"

"I know." She reached up and touched his cheek. "But you don’t have a choice. Your father made sure of that. And if you refuse, it will raise questions. It will draw attention. It will make Selene more suspicious than she already is."

"I don’t care about Selene’s suspicions."

"You should. She’s dangerous, Soren. She knows something. I can see it in her eyes every time she looks at me." Nyra stepped closer. "So you’ll perform in the pageantry. You’ll stand beside her and smile and do what needs to be done. And I’ll be in the audience, watching you, and when it’s over, you’ll come back to me."

Soren looked at her—the silver hair, the steady eyes, the quiet strength that had carried her through so much. "You’re not jealous?"

"Of course I’m jealous. She gets to stand beside you in front of the entire realm. She gets to dance with you and hold your hand and pretend she’s yours. I hate it." Nyra’s voice was fierce. "But I’m not going to let jealousy cloud my judgment. We have bigger things to worry about than a ceremonial dance."

He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. "I don’t deserve you."

"No. You don’t. But you’re stuck with me anyway."

He laughed—a low, surprised sound—and pressed a kiss to her hair. "I love you, little moon."

"I love you too, my wolf. Now go rehearse. And try not to scowl at Selene the entire time."

"No promises."

The Astrlyn pack’s great hall was bustling with activity as the delegation prepared for departure. Lord Varek stood at the center of the chaos, his traveling cloak draped over his shoulders, his expression calm and controlled. Around him, servants hurried to load the carriages with trunks and supplies. Guards in the silver-and-blue livery of the Astrlyn pack stood at attention, their weapons polished, their expressions grim.

Elder Marric approached, his weathered face creased with concern. "The carriages are ready, Lord Varek. We depart within the hour."

"Excellent." Varek adjusted his gloves. "And the guards?"

"Twenty of our finest warriors. They will accompany us to the academy and remain there for the duration of the showcase."

"Good. We can’t be too careful. The King will be there. Every dignitary of note. The Astrlyn pack must present itself with strength and dignity."

Elder Lyssa appeared at his side, her silver hair pulled back in an elegant twist. "The other elders are already in their carriages. Elder Fenris is complaining about the road conditions, as usual."

"Elder Fenris complains about everything."

"True. But this time he might have a point. The mountain passes are treacherous this time of year."

"Then we’ll travel carefully." Varek turned to face the assembled delegation. "We represent the Astrlyn pack. The third largest pack in the Seven Realms. We will arrive at Shadowmoon Academy with pride and honor. And we will watch our prince compete with the best students in the kingdom."

The elders nodded their approval. The guards saluted. The servants finished loading the last of the trunks. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

Varek climbed into the lead carriage and settled into his seat. As the wheels began to turn and the academy-bound procession rolled out of the great hall’s courtyard, he allowed himself a cold, private smile.

Soon, he thought. Soon I’ll see my dear niece again. And this time, I won’t fail.

The royal palace was in chaos.

Servants rushed through the corridors with armfuls of luggage. Guards in the crimson and gold of the royal livery formed ranks in the courtyard. The royal carriages—gleaming black and gold, pulled by matched teams of white horses—stood waiting at the main gates. The King’s party was preparing to depart for Shadowmoon Academy, and the entire palace had been thrown into organized pandemonium.

In the Queen’s chambers, Seraphina Thornridge supervised the final preparations with calm efficiency. Princess Freya stood beside her, practically vibrating with excitement. At thirteen, she was on the cusp of womanhood, her dark hair braided in an elegant crown, her eyes—the same dark eyes as her brother’s—bright with anticipation.

"Mother, how long is the journey? Will we be there by nightfall? Do you think Soren will be surprised to see me? Do you think he’ll notice I’ve grown?"

"Freya." The Queen’s voice was gentle but firm. "Breathe."

Freya took a deep breath. "Sorry. I’m just excited."

"I know. But excitement must be tempered with patience. The journey will take two days. We’ll arrive the evening before the showcase. And yes, I think your brother will be very surprised to see you."

"Good." Freya grinned. "I’ve been practicing my sparring. I want to show him what I’ve learned."

"I’m sure he’ll be impressed."

The King entered the chamber, his traveling cloak billowing behind him. He was an imposing figure—broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, his dark hair streaked with silver. The years had weathered him but not diminished him. He was still every inch the Alpha who had united the Seven Packs.

"Is everything ready?" he asked.

"Nearly," the Queen replied. "The carriages are loaded. The guards are assembled. We leave within the hour."

"Good." He turned to Freya. "And you, young lady? Are you ready for your first journey to Shadowmoon?"

"I’ve been ready for weeks, Father." Freya straightened her shoulders. "I want to see Soren. I want to see the academy. I want to see the showcase."

"And you will. But remember what I told you—"

"Stay close to Mother. Don’t wander off. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t cause any diplomatic incidents." Freya recited the rules with the air of someone who had heard them many times. "I know, Father. I’ll be careful."

The King almost smiled. "See that you are."

A commotion in the corridor made all three of them turn. One of the royal guards appeared in the doorway, his face pale, his breathing ragged.

"Your Majesty," he gasped. "The seer. She demands an audience. She says it’s urgent."

The King’s expression darkened. "The seer? She hasn’t left her tower in years. What could be so urgent?"

"She says—" The guard swallowed. "She says she’s had a vision. A terrible vision. About the academy. About the crown prince."

The Queen’s hand flew to her chest. "Soren? What about Soren?"

Before the guard could answer, the seer herself appeared in the doorway.

She was ancient—older than anyone in the palace could remember. Her white hair fell past her waist in tangled waves. Her eyes were milky white, blind to the physical world but seeing things beyond mortal comprehension. She leaned heavily on a gnarled wooden staff, her gnarled fingers wrapped around it like claws.

"My King," she rasped, her voice like dry leaves scraping across stone. "My Queen. You must listen."

"Speak," the King commanded.

The seer’s milky eyes rolled back in her head. When she spoke again, her voice was different—deeper, resonant, as if something ancient was speaking through her.

"Something is coming. Something terrible. Something huge. Something this realm has not seen in centuries. It comes to the academy, drawn by the convergence of power and blood and fate. No one will see it coming. No one can stop it. And it will affect everyone, every student, every instructor, every soul within those walls. But most of all—" Her voice cracked. "Most of all, it will affect the crown prince. The Lycan heir. The first of his kind in generations. He stands at the center of the storm, and the storm will break him if he is not prepared."

The Queen’s face went white. "Soren? What do you mean, it will break him?"

"I see fire. I see blood. I see betrayal from within and danger from without. I see a silver-haired figure at his side—a woman of the old blood, the Moonblood, the power that was erased. She is the key. She is the catalyst. She is the salvation or the destruction. I cannot see which."

Freya grabbed her mother’s hand, her earlier excitement replaced by cold fear. "Mother? What does she mean? Is Soren in danger?"

"Hush, darling." The Queen’s voice was steady, but her hands were trembling.

The King stepped forward, his expression hard. "You speak in riddles, seer. Tell us plainly—is my son in danger?"

"Your son has always been in danger. He is the Lycan heir. The first in centuries. The realm has waited for him, and the realm will test him." The seer’s milky eyes fixed on the King’s face, though she could not see him. "But this danger is different. This danger is a crucible. If he survives it, he will emerge stronger than ever—a true king, worthy of the crown. If he fails—" She paused. "If he fails, the realm will fall with him."

The silence that followed was absolute.

The King’s jaw tightened. "Then we ride for Shadowmoon immediately. Whatever danger threatens my son, we will face it together."

The seer bowed her head. "Go, my King. Go with all haste. But know this—the danger cannot be fought with swords or strength alone. It will require sacrifice. It will require trust. It will require the Lycan heir to embrace the full extent of his power... and the power of those who stand beside him."

She turned and shuffled away, her staff clicking against the stone floor. The palace servants parted before her like water before a blade.

Freya looked up at her mother, her dark eyes wide with fear. "Mother? Is Soren going to be okay?"

The Queen pulled her daughter close. "Your brother is the strongest person I know. Whatever danger is coming, he will face it. And we will be there to help him."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

The King turned to the guard. "Sound the departure. We leave now. No more delays."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The guard ran to obey, and the palace erupted into renewed chaos. Within minutes, the royal procession was mounted and moving—carriages rumbling through the palace gates, guards riding alongside, banners snapping in the wind.

The King rode at the front, his expression carved from stone. The Queen sat in the lead carriage with Freya, holding her daughter’s hand and praying to the Moon Goddess for her son’s safety.

And somewhere in the shadows of the palace, the ancient seer stood at her tower window, staring out at the distant mountains with eyes that saw everything and nothing.

"The storm is coming," she whispered. "The storm is coming, and nothing will ever be the same."