Chapter 49 — Rhiannon
The doors of the Seers Hall are solid oak, ancient and heavy, but the narrow window set into the stone beside them gives me a sliver of the world outside.
Under normal circumstances, my wolf would bristle at a crowd this size, interpreting every unfamiliar face as a potential threat.
Instead, she’s at peace, knowing Ethan stands behind me without me having to look.
The rest of the world can fuck off. Tonight is our night.
The sky above holds a full moon so bright it bleaches the stone courtyard white, surrounded by thousands of stars that glitter like crushed glass flung across the velvet black, their cold light competing with the warmth of the firelight below.
Torches line both sides of the center aisle in iron sconces, their flames guttering and snapping in the cool night air, throwing restless orange light across the rows of wooden benches draped in garlands of white wildflowers and trailing ivy.
Swaths of pale linen hang between the torch posts, catching the breeze like ghostly sails, and clusters of dried lavender bundles tied with silver cord mark every third row, their scent strong enough to drift to me even through the glass.
Council members in formal robes descend the main aisle first, their strides long and unhurried as they process to claim the front benches arranged at the base of the Seers Hall steps.
Lady Gemma settles into her seat in the front row with the practiced ease of someone who has attended a thousand ceremonies, though I still catch her scanning the crowd with sharp, assessing eyes.
Xander takes his place beside her, the torchlight carving shadows beneath his jaw.
Behind the Council, the Seers file in wearing their midnight robes, the five of them moving with that preternatural unison they always share, like a single organism made up of multiple bodies.
Nobles follow in clusters, some laughing, others whispering.
Candles held in glass vessels sit along the base of each step, their small flames doubling in the polished stone.
After the nobility comes the rest of the pack.
My eyes find Conan, Branson, and Jayme among the crowd, along with the rest of my guards in their ceremonial leather, torchlight glinting off their buckles and insignia.
The kitchen staff are still dusted in a faint layer of flour.
The stable hands carry a lingering aroma of hay and horse musk.
Families with whelps perched on their shoulders point at the decorated steps where white petals are scattered across the dark stone, mirroring the stars above.
Our packmates fill the benches row by row, and when space runs out, they stand along the edges of the torch-lined paths, pressed shoulder to shoulder on both sides of the outer aisles, their voices converging into a low, rising hum that vibrates through the glass under my fingertips.
“Our moonlit wedding,” I whisper, using the moniker Ethan called it earlier.
Cinnamon cuts through the lavender when he gets close enough, warm and familiar, and my wolf leans into it like it’s as vital as sunlight.
“How many are out there?” his voice comes from behind me.
I step back from the window, but the flutter in my stomach only spreads into my ribs, into my wrists, into the bond humming under my skin. “Many.”
He stands near the center of the hall, tugging at the knot of fabric at his throat.
A tie, Thea called it. I gather that it’s meant as a sign of respect for the occasion, but it seems uncomfortable.
His suit is charcoal gray, fitted in sharp lines across his shoulders in a way that makes his frame look broader, more pronounced.
The collar of his white shirt sits crisply against his neck.
He looks polished. Devastatingly handsome.
“Stop messing with that.” Thea swats his hand away and smooths the tie back into place. “You’re going to wrinkle it before we even get out there.”
“It’s choking me.”
“It’s silk. It doesn’t weigh anything.”
“Tell that to my windpipe.”
Thea steps back to inspect him, her hands on her hips.
The lavender dress she chose — a human bridesmaid’s dress she insisted on — flows over her pregnant belly in soft waves of fabric, cinched with a ribbon just below her bust. She looks radiant.
She also looks like she might strangle Ethan if he touches the tie again.
I turn to the long mirror propped against the far wall and study my reflection.
The gown is traditional Lycan. Long, beige linen pools at my feet.
The hem and sleeves are alive with embroidered silver thread tracing patterns of crescent moons and interlocking wolves.
The fabric is simple, but the needlework is certainly not.
Every stitch was placed by the elder seamstresses who have dressed every Luna and bonded female in this pack for three generations.
When Thea first saw it, she tilted her head and smirked, “It looks just like the christening gown Lady Gemma made me wear to my wedding.”
Akila appears at my shoulder in the mirror’s reflection, her formal guard uniform gleaming: blackened leather overlaid with chainmail, the Crescent Pack sigil stamped into the shining chest plate.
She reaches past me and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, then adjusts where the embroidered sleeve has folded over itself.
“There.” She meets my eyes in the glass. “Perfect.”
“Are you ready for this?” Akila leans in close enough that only I can hear. Her question carries no trace of doubt, but the tone of a fellow warrior checking another’s footing before the charge.
I hold her gaze in the mirror. “I’m sure.”
Everyone was surprised when I told them I wanted the full pack present.
Bonding rituals between high-ranking wolves are usually intimate affairs, held in private chambers with only a handful of witnesses, the High Seer’s blessing spoken in low tones behind closed doors.
When I announced that the ceremony would be held on the steps of the Seers Hall, open to every member of the Crescent Pack and every remaining Shaman guest, the silence that followed could have swallowed the room.
Xander asked me twice if I was certain.
I was. I still am.
There will be no room for doubt about the strength or the source of this bond. No speculation traded in shadowy corridors about whether the Moon Goddess truly sanctioned what everyone thought impossible.
They will see it with their own eyes. They will hear the words spoken aloud, out in the open.
They will witness my mark, already healed to a tinted scar just above Ethan’s collarbone, and they will know that the Moon Goddess herself ordained this bond in the continuum of time before any Lycan had a say in it.
I will not hide it from the Council, the nobles, or a single soul in this pack.
Warm fingers brush the small of my back, and Akila slips away without a word.
Ethan’s reflection appears beside mine in the mirror. His jade-green eyes travel the length of the gown, lingering on the silver embroidery at my collarbone before settling on my face.
“You look...” He swallows. “Stunning.”
His tie is already crooked again.
“So do you.” I turn to him and smooth it down. “You’ll look even better out of this suit tonight.”
“Oh?” He grins. “Be careful, Commander.” His breath is warm against my ear. “Keep talking like that and we’ll end up skipping the ceremony altogether.”
He kisses my cheek.
The sound of measured footsteps draws my attention. Mahal comes to a stop beside us, his dark robes pooling on the stone floor, and inclines his head gracefully.
“It is time.”
The oak doors swing open, and light floods the hall, too bright and radiant for typical nightglow. It’s like the moon herself has decided to come in closer.
I move forward, Ethan at my side, his fingers lacing through mine as we step into the night together.
When our hands embrace, his heartbeat registers mine like an echolocation finding its target.
Our rhythms differ for just a second. Then, they align, as though they’ve always known their link to each other.
The wash of moonlight swallows us, and for a moment, all I can see is the pale glow in the sky before the world sharpens into focus. A sea of faces stares up from the benches and the paths and the grass beyond. There are hundreds of them. Every pair of eyes locked on us.
Try not to trip over anything. I wink at Ethan.
Your support is truly touching. He grins back.
Mahal glides to his place at the center back of the landing, his dark robes still against the breeze.
Ethan and I stop in front of him, shoulder to shoulder.
Thea takes her position at Ethan’s right, one hand resting on her belly, trembling with emotion.
Akila flanks my left, standing at attention with a smile on her lips.
A ripple of last-minute murmuring passes through the crowd.
I don’t care.
Ethan and I are bathed in the Moon Goddess’ light.
The night air carries the scent of pine resin and torch smoke mingled with the sweet decay of wildflowers crushed underfoot, but beneath all of that is Ethan’s warm, cinnamon musk.
Mine. The scent of him wraps around me like an embrace as I breathe it in.
His heartbeat thrums with mine. It’s not pounding. Not desperate. Just there, steady as gravity, inevitable as the tides.
And I am the happiest I have ever been.
Mahal raises his hands, and the crowd falls silent. He lowers his hands and gestures to us.
“Face one another. Join hands.”
I turn to Ethan as he turns to me. Our already-linked fingers tighten, and I slide my free hand into his open palm. His thumb traces across my knuckle, just once, and his green eyes hold mine.
“We are here to join these two under the light of the Moon Goddess...” Mahal begins.
Ethan smiles. It’s not his usual smirk, but a quiet, intimate expression that belongs only to me.