MOONSHARD
Freya
Brin’s fingers move precisely, dabbing salve over Finn’s shoulder. The scent of crushed mint and lace-moss stings the air. My son hisses, his small fists clenching at the sheets.
“I know, pup,” Brin murmurs. “Almost done.”
I hate that werewolf pups can’t heal on their own. They must be eighteen and have to merge with their wolf minds to gain the healing ability. Seeing him in pain breaks my heart.
Finn’s skin is blotched where the shadows had burned him. Thin marks—blackened veins that fade and pulse faintly. Ivy curls tighter in my arms, half-asleep, her thumb between her lips. I stroke her hair, soft and damp against my palm, as if the rhythm could soothe all of us.
Brin glances up from his work. “Tell me what happened, Luna Freya.”
I exhale slowly, feeling Nyx’s restless energy pacing inside my ribs. “It wasn’t an attack from rogues. It wasn’t even real wolves.” My voice shakes. “They were shadows. Like living smoke. They rose from the ground and—burned.”
He stills. The color drains from his face. “Shadows that burn?”
I nod. “They multiplied when I tried to fight them. I—I couldn’t touch them without blistering. Even the guards froze. Only Rowan’s sword could cut through them. I think it’s made of Moonshard.”
Brin sets down the salve pot with a sharp click. “That sounds…” He trails off, brow furrowed, eyes wide with a dawning horror.
“Sounds like what, Brin?” I press.
He hesitates only a heartbeat before speaking. “Something similar happened about fifteen years ago.”
My heart races. “Go on.”
He swallows. “Alpha Draven—Alpha Kade’s father—was attacked by shadows exactly like you described. It happened in the courtyard, in daylight. No one knew where they came from until the investigation traced the magic back to a woman. A blood-witch named Nyssa.”
Finn hisses again, turning. I pat his head to comfort him. “Mama,” he whispers.
“I’m here, darling,” I tell him, then turn my gaze back to Brin, urging him to continue.
“Draven had been using her,” Brin says grimly, “for covert dealings. Spellwork, poisons, control charms—things he didn’t want his own Small Council or even the High Council to know. But she turned on him. Wanted to take the pack for herself.”
“And?”
“He ordered her execution.” Brin’s hand trembles as he wipes the salve from his fingers. “But… there were rumors. That the fire they used couldn’t touch her. That she never died, because her bones were never found.”
The chamber feels colder. The torches spit and crackle. Ivy stirs restlessly in my arms.
Brin’s gaze grows distant. “The Alpha weakened after that. His health failed slowly—like he was rotting from the inside. We thought it was guilt or old age, but now…” He pales, connecting the dots aloud. “Now I think it might have been silverdew poisoning.”
I stammer, “Poisoned—by who?”
He nods faintly. “It fits. And—” Brin stops himself.
I lean forward, heart hammering. “And what?”
“Nyssa had a daughter. A child born in secret. But the girl vanished before the execution. That girl could be…”
For a long moment, all I hear is the faint crackle of fire and Ivy’s soft breathing.
I don’t need Brin to finish the sentence. My mind already does it for him.
Izel.
I taste her name like venom. Rowan was the first one to tell me—witch blood, he’d said.
That she’d trained under a witch before her arrival in Silvercrest. And hadn’t we already found proof?
The black-market ledger with her signature beside the silverdew purchases.
The glamor that made my children forget me.
The green witchfire that almost killed Ivy. The attempt on Finn’s life.
Anger surges hot and wild through my chest. How blind can Kade be? How much evidence does he need before he sees the rot he welcomes into his bed every night?
Nyx’s growl thrums through me, low and deadly. ‘End them. End them both.’
“Not yet,” I whisper back to her. “We wait for the Blood Moon Conclave.”
My wolf snarls, but I steel myself. There will be a reckoning—but not tonight. Tonight, my children breathe, and that is enough.
◆◆◆
By dawn, the keep is alive with whispers. The gates open, and a line of dark-cloaked riders enters the courtyard. Rowan rides at the front. He’s tall, unbothered by the stares that follow him. His rogues dismount silently; their presence causes a ripple of unease through Silvercrest.
Kade greets him at the steps, standing too rigidly. Jax is beside him, alert and prepared to defend his Alpha at command. “Nightfell stands under truce,” he announces, loud enough for all to hear. “You will be treated as honored guests.”
The pack bows, but not deeply. Their eyes flick to me, uncertain. Later, they find me in the hall, one after another—warriors, omegas, even elders—murmuring their worries. Rogues inside the keep. What if they turn? What if the Alpha loses face?
I answer the same way each time: “King Rowan is the only reason my son is alive.” They heard it before, but only after hearing it from me do they believe it. And they may not like it, but there’s nothing they can do but obey.
Lunch is tense with roasted meat, polished silver, and unspoken accusations. I sit beside my children, across from Izel, whose smile gleams as false as her pearls. Rowan sits at the far end beside Jax, speaking little, watching everything.
“So,” Izel says sweetly, “Correct me if I’m wrong. But Freya, weren’t you friends with King Rowan since childhood? Before Alpha Draven cast him out of the pack?”
I don’t let her claim any satisfaction. “I was,” I answer simply.
She persists, “And I don’t know how far it is true, but wasn’t the reason for his banishment because he refused to stop loving you, even though you were promised to Kade, the Alpha’s son?”
Rowan answers for me, his voice so hard and cold that it makes Izel flinch. “I’m right here, so you may ask me any questions directly. But to answer the one you already raised: yes, that is very true.” Then his brows furrow, and he asks condescendingly, “Forgive me. Who are you?”
Izel hesitates. “Lady Izel.”
“The infamous mistress?”
I hear Jax muffle a snicker.
Kade’s jaw tightens. “Know your bounds, King Rowan. You are our guest—don’t make me forget that.”
Rowan lifts his goblet, smirking. “Apologies, Alpha Kade. I have been drowning in nostalgia since my arrival here. It’s a dangerous thing.
Reminds us of who we were… before. I just remembered I never offered my condolences for your father’s death.
Alpha Draven’s death was quite a mystery, wasn’t it? ”
Izel’s hand freezes midway to her wine. Color drains from her face.
Rowan tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “What’s wrong, Lady Izel? Old stories unsettle you?”
Kade looks between them, confusion flickering into alertness, but he says nothing. The rest of dinner proceeds in brittle silence.
When it ends, Rowan declines the guest wing and requests quarters beneath the Queen’s Wing instead, claiming that royalty like him deserves no less.
Kade hesitates, but then his honour overpowers him—or maybe, since the conversation was witnessed by so many, he just couldn’t afford to disrespect the man who saved his child. So, he agrees.