THE QUEEN’S WING
THE QUEEN’S WING
Freya
I wake to soft breathing on either side of me.
Finn’s hand is thrown across my waist, and Ivy is curled beneath my arm like a kitten, her lashes dark against her pink cheeks. For a moment, the world is beautiful. There are no whispers, no threats, no Izel. Only my children, and a soothing peace.
The curtains sway with morning wind. Dust motes dance in the pale light, streaming through stained glass.
This room hasn’t been used in centuries.
The Queen’s Wing—the oldest part of the keep, shuttered since the last High Luna died.
It is said to be naturally guarded—the walls themselves embedded with centuries-old protective magic.
Which is likely also the reason why the structure hasn’t collapsed or even seen the slightest of damage despite years of neglect.
I don’t want to think of why Kade let me come here, or why he let me keep Ivy and Finn with me.
Is his heart slowly changing? Is he seeing Izel for what she truly is?
No, I won’t let myself hope. At least nothing from him. I trusted and loved, and cared enough about that man. I don’t want to give him another piece of me, no matter how small.
I run a hand through Ivy’s soft curls. It smells of lavender and Brin’s salve, not of smoke or fear. The ugly burn on her shoulder is now a faint pink patch.
“How do you feel, sweetheart?” I whisper. “Ivy, does it hurt anymore?”
Ivy blinks awake, yawning. “Not hurting,” she mumbles.
Relief floods me so hard it makes my eyes sting. “Good. That’s Brin’s magic and the Moon’s mercy both.”
Finn stirs beside us, mumbling, “Mama, it’s bright.”
I laugh softly. “That’s what happens when the sun remembers this room exists.”
He squints around. “It’s big. And dusty.”
“Then we’ll clean it,” I tell him. “Piece by piece.”
◆◆◆
By breakfast, we’re sitting on the rug near the hearth. There’s a table, its legs carved with golden hooves, edges shaped into wolf heads, but Ivy insisted we sit on the floor that we just finished cleaning.
A tray of honey porridge and sweetened milk rests between us.
“Let me feed you,” I tell them, scooping a spoonful toward Ivy.
She shakes her head. “I can do it.”
For a moment, I think she’ll mention Izel, or cry about wanting to go to her, but that doesn’t happen. So, I quickly rush my words. “Allow me.” I smile. “Just once.”
She opens her mouth obediently. Honey sticks to her lip, and she giggles when I wipe it away with my thumb. Finn leans close, pretending disgust. “She’s sticky, Mama.”
“So are you,” I tease, dabbing a bit of porridge on his nose. He laughs softly in return.
Nyx hums in approval inside me. ‘This is what home sounds like.’
A knock interrupts us. Tamsin steps in, ducking under the arch. Her braid is wind-tossed, armor still dusted from training.
“You look alive again,” she says, glancing at the children. “And they look happier.”
“They should be,” I reply. “They finally slept next to their mother. No influence of any glamor.”
Tamsin’s jaw tightens. “About that—some of the household women came to me earlier. They want to see you. They say they owe you thanks.”
I blink. “Thanks?”
“For saving the little one. For standing up to Izel, and… to the Alpha’s misbehavior. You showed strength at the Hunt Display and proved your worth.” She pauses, lowering her voice. “They’re ready to swear to you, Freya.”
Finn looks up. “Swear? Like a promise?”
“Yes,” I say slowly. My witness circle for the Severance, I think, my heart burning with hope. “Like a promise that binds wolves.”
Tamsin nods. “They’re waiting in the outer hall.”
I set down the bowl and stand. “Then let’s not keep them waiting.”
◆◆◆
The outer hall still smells of moth and stone. Sunlight glimmers through open windows. Old portraits line the walls—Lunas of centuries past, their eyes proud and knowing.
A dozen women stand in a rough circle. Some wear aprons stained with flour, some leather guard tunics. Two warriors hover near the back, hands to hearts. When I step in, silence falls.
“Luna Freya,” one of the cooks says. “We heard the Queen’s Wing was opened again. We wanted to offer our help—if you’ll have us.”
“Why would I not?” I ask them quietly.
“You must hate us for following Izel,” another murmurs.
I sigh. “I don’t think you fully had control over who you followed then.”
Now that Nyx is unmuzzled, they understand my authority once again. Whatever glamour Izel used before no longer works on them.
Tamsin folds her arms. “They’re here for vows.”
I step forward. “Then say them.”
The eldest woman kneels first, pressing her palm to the floor. “By the Moon’s witness, I swear my service to the true Luna of Silvercrest.”
One by one, the others follow. Knees meet stone.
Something tightens in my throat. I kneel too, meeting their bowed heads. “Then I swear in return—to protect you as my pack, to lead you with honor, and to never let fear or treachery rule this house again.”
◆◆◆
Later, after the women scatter to clean and light fires, I wander deeper into the wing. The air grows cooler. The corridor narrows, ending at a locked archway. Ivy toddles beside me, clutching my skirt.
“What’s in there?”
“I don’t know, little moon.” I push the heavy door. It groans but yields.
Inside lies an old council chamber, long forgotten. The walls are shrouded in cobwebs, but a faint shimmer catches my eye. I brush dust away and freeze.
A mural stretches across the stone, dulled by age but intact.
Figures of women stand beneath painted moons, each haloed in silver.
High Lunas, the first of the pack, their eyes bright even through the grime.
Each bears a wide sword forged from Moonshard and a mark—variedly patterned crescents etched upon a shoulder, a palm, a throat.
I trace one near the center. The woman’s hair is light like mine.
Her crown bears the same sapphire pattern as my diadem, so does the Moonshard sword she holds in front of her.
But what makes my heart stop is the symbol glowing faintly at her collarbone—a silvered crescent identical to the scar on my own skin.
Finn edges closer. “That’s you, Mama.”
“No,” I whisper, but I know denial is useless. “That was long before me.”
Ivy tilts her head. “She’s smiling.”
“She is,” I say softly, fingers trembling. “Maybe she knew I’d find her.”
Nyx’s voice ripples through me. ‘The line never ended. It only slept—waiting for you to wake it.’
Tamsin approaches from behind, wiping her hand across another section of wall. More symbols emerge—wolves encircling moons, threads connecting each Luna’s mark to the next.
“What does it mean?” she asks.
“I don’t really know,” I whisper, dropping my gaze to my feet, feeling like an imposter. How would she react if she knew I bore the same mark?
The prophecy, I think. Rowan said the High Luna would unite empires. Now, as I glance up at the mural again, a strange feeling settles in my chest, something that feels very much like determination.
Once, this place belonged to forgotten queens. Now it belongs to me. And if the Moon Goddess truly marked me, then let the world remember what a Luna can become when she finally stops bowing.