Chapter 88

Chapter 88: Chapter 88

The afternoon sun was beginning its slow descent toward the horizon when Corvin gathered his allies in the potions laboratory.

The room was crowded—Lucian and Orion stood near the door, their expressions serious. Finn, Marek, and Jasper had squeezed in near the window. Even Ragnar had come, his scarred face unreadable as he leaned against the wall.

"I’ve prepared protective potions for everyone," Corvin said, gesturing to the neat rows of vials on his workbench. "They’re keyed to respond to specific threats. The blue vials are antidotes for common poisons, including wolfsbane. The green vials are healing accelerants—they’ll speed up your wolf’s natural regeneration if you’re injured. The silver vials—" He picked one up, and it glowed faintly in the dim light. "These are for Thorne. They’re designed to stabilize the Moonblood magic if her power becomes unstable."

"Why would his power become unstable?" Finn asked, his easy grin nowhere to be seen.

"Because the Moonblood lineage is tied to lunar energy. The showcase ball takes place during a full moon—the most powerful lunar phase. If Thorne’s emotions are heightened, if he’s under extreme stress, his power could surge. The potion will help him control it."

"Or it could amplify it," Lucian said quietly. "You said yourself the texts were unclear."

"The texts are unclear about many things. But I’ve tested this potion extensively. It’s stable. It’s safe. And it might save his life." Corvin handed the vials to each of them in turn. "Keep these on you at all times during the showcase. You never know when you might need them."

Ragnar pocketed his vials without a word. Finn tucked his into his training jacket. Marek nodded gravely. Jasper examined his with sharp, assessing eyes.

"What about you?" Finn asked Corvin. "Do you have one?"

"I have several." Corvin almost smiled. "I’m the one who brewed them, remember?"

"Just checking." Finn clapped him on the shoulder. "You’re a good friend, Eldritch. Even when you’re being creepy and mysterious."

"I prefer ’enigmatic.’"

"Same thing."

Lucian pushed off from the wall. "The King arrives at sunset. We should get into position. The welcoming ceremony is mandatory for all students."

"Then we’ll see you there." Corvin began packing up his remaining vials. "And Finn? Keep an eye on Thorne. He’s going to need all of us tonight."

"We’ll watch his back," Finn promised. "We always do."

The group filed out of the laboratory, their pockets heavy with potions and their hearts heavy with anticipation. Corvin watched them go, his whiskey-dark eyes troubled. He had done everything he could to prepare. He had brewed every potion, studied every text, anticipated every threat. But there were some dangers that couldn’t be countered with herbs and alchemy.

Protect her, he prayed silently to whatever gods might be listening. Whatever happens tonight, protect her.

Finn found Ragnar in the garden, near the old oak tree where so many important conversations had taken place. The scarred Alpha was staring at the horizon, where the sun was beginning its slow descent toward the mountains.

"You’re brooding," Finn said, slipping his hand into Ragnar’s. "You always get this little furrow between your eyebrows when you’re brooding."

"I’m not brooding. I’m thinking."

"Same thing." Finn squeezed his hand. "What are you thinking about?"

"Everything. The King. The showcase. Soren. Thorne. Us." Ragnar turned to face him. "I’ve been at Soren’s side since we were children. I’ve watched him carry the weight of the Crown on his shoulders without complaint. I’ve watched him fall in love with someone he’s not supposed to have. And tomorrow—" He paused. "Tomorrow, everything changes."

"For better or worse?"

"I don’t know. That’s what scares me." Ragnar cupped Finn’s face in his scarred hands. "But whatever happens—whatever the King says or does—I want you to know that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re annoying and reckless and you talk too much, and I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything."

Finn’s eyes glistened. "That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me."

"Don’t get used to it."

"Too late. I’m already emotional." Finn pulled him into a kiss—soft and warm and full of promise. "I love you too, you giant scarred idiot. And whatever happens tomorrow, we’ll face it together."

"Together," Ragnar agreed.

The sun continued its descent. The shadows grew longer. And somewhere in the distance, the first banners of the royal procession appeared on the horizon.

Selene stood at her window in the east wing, watching the same sunset paint the sky in shades of amber and rose. Her amber eyes were cold and calculating, her expression serene.

"Soon," she murmured to herself. "Soon, everyone will know the truth. And when they do, Nyra Astrlyn will wish she had never set foot in this academy."

Behind her, the door creaked open. Valeria slipped inside, her dark hair pulled back in its severe braid.

"The King’s procession has been spotted on the eastern road," Valeria said. "He’ll arrive within the hour."

"Good. Everything is in place?"

"Everything." Valeria’s smile was cold. "The pageantry will be the perfect stage. When the time comes, Nyra’s secret will be exposed in front of the entire realm."

"And Soren will have no choice but to turn away from her." Selene turned from the window. "By this time tomorrow, I will be the undisputed future queen of the Seven Packs. And Nyra Astrlyn will be nothing but a memory."

The two women exchanged a glance—cold, calculating, utterly without mercy.

"To victory," Selene said.

"To victory," Valeria echoed.

Outside, the sun dipped below the towers. The first stars began to appear in the darkening sky. And the King of the Seven Packs rode toward Shadowmoon Academy, unaware that the storm he had been warned about was already gathering within its walls.

The sun was setting over Shadowmoon Academy, painting the towers in shades of amber and crimson, when the final preparations began in earnest. The entire school seemed to hold its breath as servants rushed through the corridors with armfuls of banners and fresh linens, as instructors barked last-minute orders to their students, as the guards doubled their patrols and checked their weapons for the hundredth time.

The King was coming. The King was coming, and everything had to be perfect.

In the grand courtyard, Proctor Vesper Kane stood like a statue carved from granite, his iron-gray hair immaculate, his ceremonial robes pressed and pristine. His sharp eyes missed nothing not the slightly crooked banner near the eastern gate, not the scuff marks on the marble steps, not the nervous fidgeting of the junior instructors lined up behind him.

"Straighten that banner," he ordered, pointing. "And someone polish those steps. The Queen will notice if there’s a single speck of dust."

"Yes, Proctor," a harried servant gasped, scurrying away.

Lady Isolde appeared at his side, her silver hair gleaming in the fading light. "The Silvermoon students are assembled in the east courtyard. They’ve been briefed on the welcoming protocols."

"And the Shadowmoon students?"

"Gathered in the main hall. They’re... enthusiastic."

"Enthusiastic is a diplomatic way of saying they’re causing chaos."

"Indeed." A ghost of a smile crossed Lady Isolde’s lips. "But it’s the good kind of chaos. They’re excited. Proud. They want to make a good impression."

"They’d better." Kane turned to survey the courtyard. "The King hasn’t visited this academy in over a decade. The Queen has never attended a showcase. This is the most significant event in our history, and I will not have it marred by carelessness."

"Then we won’t let it be marred." Lady Isolde’s voice was calm, steady. "We’ve prepared for this, Vesper. The students have trained. The staff is ready. Whatever happens—"

A commotion near the gate interrupted her. One of the junior instructors came running, his face flushed with exertion.

"Proctor! The royal procession has been spotted on the eastern road! They’ve made camp for the night, but they’ll arrive by midday tomorrow!"

The news rippled through the courtyard like a stone dropped into still water. Students whispered. Instructors straightened their robes. The guards gripped their weapons a little tighter.

"Thank you," Kane said. "Inform the kitchen staff. We’ll need the welcome feast prepared by noon."

The instructor nodded and ran off. Kane turned to Lady Isolde.

"It’s really happening," he said quietly.

"It’s really happening," she agreed. "Are you ready?"

"I have to be."

He walked toward the main hall, and Lady Isolde watched him go with an expression that was difficult to read.

The royal encampment was a small city of silk and steel, pitched in a sheltered valley a half-day’s ride from Shadowmoon Academy. Dozens of tents stretched across the meadow in neat rows, the crimson and gold of the royal colors snapping from every pole. Guards patrolled the perimeter with torches and swords, their eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of danger. The horses had been fed and watered. The servants had prepared a modest dinner. And in the largest tent—a grand pavilion of crimson silk embroidered with gold thread—the royal family sat around a small table, picking at their food in contemplative silence.

King Aldric Thornridge was a man carved from stone and time. His dark hair was streaked with silver now, and deep lines etched the corners of his eyes, but his presence was no less commanding than it had been in his youth. He sat at the head of the table, his broad shoulders draped in a traveling cloak, his sharp eyes fixed on the map spread before him. He had barely touched his meal.