Chapter 93

Chapter 93: Chapter 93

The hall was filled now with the great and powerful of the Seven Packs—pack kings and queens, elders and advisors, nobles and warriors. The air hummed with conversation and music and the clink of silver on porcelain. It was a celebration of power and prestige. It was a reminder of everything Nyra stood to lose.

And then Lord Varek Astrlyn arrived.

Nyra felt him before she saw him—a cold prickle at the back of her neck, a sudden tightness in her chest. She turned toward the entrance, and there he was. Her uncle. The man who had poisoned her brother. The man who had sent assassins to kill her. The man who had smiled at her family’s funeral and plotted to steal her throne.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair streaked with silver, his eyes cold and calculating. He wore the colors of the Astrlyn pack—silver and deep blue—and he moved through the crowd with the confidence of a man who believed he belonged among the powerful. Behind him came the elders of the Astrlyn pack—Elder Marric, Elder Lyssa, Elder Fenris—and their wives and attendants.

"Lord Varek Astrlyn," the herald announced. "Acting ruler of the Astrlyn pack. Accompanied by the elders of the Astrlyn council."

The King nodded in acknowledgment. Varek bowed deeply, his expression one of perfect, practiced deference.

"Your Majesty. It is an honor to be welcomed into your presence."

"Lord Varek. We are pleased that the Astrlyn pack could join us." The King’s voice was neutral. "I understand your nephew is among the students here. Prince Thorne."

"Indeed, Your Majesty. I look forward to seeing him. It has been too long since we last spoke." Varek’s eyes swept across the crowd, searching. "Is he present?"

Nyra couldn’t breathe.

Her chest was too tight. The walls were too close. The noise of the hall was too loud. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribs like a caged bird, could feel the silver light of her Moonblood magic pulsing beneath her skin. Her uncle was here. Her uncle was looking for her. Her uncle was going to find her and expose her and destroy everything she had worked for—

"Thorne."

Corvin’s voice was quiet but firm. His hand closed around her elbow, steadying her.

"You’re having a panic attack," he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "I need you to breathe. Slowly. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Can you do that?"

She shook her head. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. All she could see was Thorne’s face as the poison took him. All she could hear was his voice, begging her to avenge him.

"Yes, you can." Corvin stepped closer, blocking her from view of the crowd. "Focus on me. Just me. Don’t look at him. Don’t think about him. Think about the lake. Think about the water. Think about Soren. Think about anything except that man."

Nyra gripped his arm like a lifeline. She forced herself to inhale—shaky, shallow—and then exhale. Again. Again. The roaring in her ears began to fade. The tightness in her chest loosened, just slightly.

"I can’t do this," she whispered. "Corvin, I can’t face him. He’ll know. He’ll see right through me."

"He won’t. You’ve been fooling this entire academy for months. You can fool him for one night." Corvin’s whiskey-dark eyes were steady, grounding. "You are Nyra Astrlyn. You are the heir to your pack. You are the Daughter of the Moon. And you are not going to let a murderer see you break."

She looked at him—at the sharp features and the steady eyes and the quiet, unshakeable strength. And slowly, inch by inch, she pulled herself together.

"There you are," Corvin murmured. "Now. He’s coming this way. Can you face him?"

Nyra straightened her shoulders. Raised her chin. Summoned every ounce of Thorne’s arrogance and confidence and charm.

"I can face him."

Varek approached with the easy smile of a doting uncle, his arms open in greeting. The elders trailed behind him, their expressions warm and expectant. To anyone watching, it was a touching family reunion—the acting ruler of the Astrlyn pack, come to see his beloved nephew.

"Thorne!" Varek’s voice was warm, almost affectionate. "My dear boy. It’s been far too long."

Nyra forced herself to smile. "Uncle Varek. Welcome to Shadowmoon."

He embraced her—a brief, formal gesture that made her skin crawl. His hands were cold. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

"You look well," he said, pulling back to study her. "The academy has been good to you. We’ve heard such impressive reports. The Sword Sovereign’s personal student. A survivor of the Mistwood. You’ve become quite the young warrior."

"I’ve had excellent training."

"I’m sure you have." Varek’s eyes flickered—just for a moment—with something dark and calculating. "We have so much to discuss. The pack. The succession. Your future. But that can wait until after the showcase. For now—" He smiled again. "I’m simply proud of you, nephew. Your father would be proud too."

The words were poison wrapped in honey. Nyra felt Corvin’s hand press against the small of her back—a silent reminder. Breathe. Stay calm. Don’t let him see.

"Thank you, Uncle," she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "I look forward to speaking with you."

Varek nodded and moved on, the elders following in his wake. Nyra stood frozen, her smile still fixed in place, her heart still hammering against her ribs.

"You did well," Corvin murmured. "He didn’t suspect anything."

"Are you sure?"

"I’m sure." He turned her gently away from the crowd, shielding her from view. "But you’re shaking. Do you need to leave?"

"I can’t leave. If I leave, he’ll notice. He’ll ask questions."

"Then we’ll stay. Together." Corvin’s hand found hers and squeezed. "I’m not going anywhere."

Nyra held onto his hand like a lifeline and stared at the back of her uncle’s head, the man who had murdered her brother and tried to murder her.

Soon, she thought. Soon, I’ll make you pay for what you did. But not tonight.

Tonight, she would survive.

The grand hall had grown warm with the heat of a thousand candles and the press of bodies in silk and velvet. The feast was winding down, the final courses being cleared away by servants who moved like ghosts between the tables. But the political theater was far from over. At the high table, the King held court like a patriarch surveying his domain, his sharp eyes missing nothing.

Soren sat rigid at his father’s right hand, his jaw tight, his fingers curled around the stem of his wine glass with enough force to crack the crystal. He had been watching Nyra all evening—watching her stand in the shadows with Jasper, watching her face go pale when her uncle entered the hall, watching Corvin step in to steady her when she trembled. Corvin. Always Corvin. Corvin who was there when Soren couldn’t be. Corvin who had his hand on her back, his lips near her ear, his presence a shield against the man who wanted her dead.

She’s our mate, Kael growled in his mind. Not his. We should be the one at her side. We should be the one protecting her.

I know.

Then why are we sitting here while he touches her?

Because my father is watching. Because if I leave this table without permission, he’ll ask questions. Because Selene is waiting for any excuse to destroy her. Soren’s grip on the wine glass tightened. Because I can’t protect her if I’m exposed.

Excuses.

Truth.

Across the hall, Nyra swayed slightly on her feet. Corvin’s arm was around her now, steadying her, guiding her away from the crowd. She looked pale—too pale—and even from this distance, Soren could see the tremor in her hands. Her uncle had done this to her. The man who had murdered her brother, who had sent assassins to kill her, who had smiled and called her "nephew" while plotting her destruction.

Soren half-rose from his chair, ready to abandon protocol and go to her—

"Soren."

The King’s voice stopped him cold.

"There is someone I would like you to greet." King Aldric gestured, and a figure emerged from the crowd. Selene glided toward the high table in a gown of pale gold that caught the candlelight like captured sunshine. Her dark hair cascaded down her back in elaborate waves, and her amber eyes sparkled with triumph. Behind her, Lord and Lady Silverwood—her parents—watched with barely concealed pride.

"Lady Selene," the King said warmly. "Come. Sit beside your betrothed. It has been too long since I last saw you."

"Your Majesty." Selene curtsied with perfect grace. "You are too kind. I’ve been looking forward to this reunion." She turned to Soren, her smile sharp and knowing. "Darling. May I?"

There was no way to refuse. Not without causing a scene. Not without raising questions. Soren nodded stiffly, and Selene settled into the chair beside him, her hand immediately finding its way to his arm.

"You look tense, darling," she murmured, low enough that only he could hear. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing at all."

"Good. Then smile. Everyone is watching."

Soren forced his lips into something that might have passed for a smile. Across the hall, he saw Nyra turn away, her face pale and drawn. She said something to Corvin—I can’t stay here—and began moving toward the side entrance.

"Prince Thorne."

The King’s voice rang out across the hall, stopping Nyra in her tracks.

She froze, her back to the high table, her heart hammering against her ribs. Slowly, she turned. The King was looking directly at her, his sharp eyes curious and assessing.

"Your Majesty," she said, bowing.

"Come. Join us." King Aldric gestured to the high table. "You are the heir to the Astrlyn pack—the third largest in the realm. You should be seated among your peers. And you—" His gaze shifted to Corvin. "Young Eldritch. I’ve known your father since before you were born. Where is he? Lord Eldritch, come join your son. And Ragnar Blackfang—I see you lurking in the shadows. You were never one for politics, were you? Come anyway. I want the children I watched grow up at my table."

Nyra stood frozen in the middle of the hall, her escape route blocked, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain everyone could hear it. Corvin’s hand found the small of her back again—a gentle, steadying pressure.

"You can do this," he murmured. "One step at a time."

She nodded and began walking toward the high table. Each step felt like wading through water. The eyes of the entire hall were on her—the King, the Queen, Selene, her uncle, the elders of her pack. She could feel their gazes like weights pressing down on her shoulders.

Lord Varek smiled as she approached. "That’s my nephew," he said, his voice dripping with false pride. "The heir to the Astrlyn pack. I’ve raised him well."

Nyra’s stomach churned. You murdered my brother. You tried to murder me. You are not my family.

She sat down at the high table, Corvin taking the seat beside her. Ragnar appeared a moment later, his scarred face unreadable as he settled into a chair near Soren. Lord and Lady Eldritch had joined the table as well, Lady Eldritch smiling warmly at her son while Lord Eldritch regarded the assembled royalty with cool, assessing eyes.

"Well," the King said, looking around the table with something approaching satisfaction. "This is as it should be. The future of the realm, gathered in one place."

Selene leaned closer to Soren, her hand still resting possessively on his arm. "Isn’t it lovely, darling? All of us together. Just like old times."

Soren didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on Nyra, who sat rigid at the far end of the table, her face pale, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.