Chapter One: The Shadow of the Moon

The moon was full tonight, casting its silver light over the spires of Eryndral Palace. The cool breeze drifting in through the open window carried the scent of autumn leaves and damp earth, but to Lyanna, it smelled like confinement.

This palace wasn't her home—it never had been. Not since her father's death.

Lyanna Aeloria stood by the window of her small chamber, her pale hands gripping the sill as if to anchor herself. Below her, the gardens stretched out, their pathways shimmering in the moonlight. Somewhere among the hedges, she imagined her younger self wandering hand in hand with her father, listening to his tales of the Moon Goddess's blessings and the ancient pack traditions.

"Lyanna," Mira's voice came from the doorway, soft yet insistent. "You must go down now. They're waiting."

Lyanna turned reluctantly, her long, dark curls cascading over her shoulders. Mira was her maid, her only friend in this treacherous household, though there was little the young woman could do to shield her from the venomous tongues and cold stares of her stepmother and stepsister.

"I don't see why they need me there," Lyanna muttered. "Calyra already enjoys parading herself in front of everyone. They'll hardly notice if I stay here."

Mira frowned, her brows knitting together. "You know how Lady Marenthea is. She'll find an excuse to punish you if you don't appear. Please, my lady. Let's not give her a reason tonight."

With a resigned sigh, Lyanna nodded. She smoothed the folds of her modest gown—a faded blue piece that once belonged to her mother—and followed Mira out of the room.

The descent down the grand staircase was always a walk of dread. The glittering chandeliers above seemed to mock her, their light illuminating every crack in her armor. She could already hear the laughter from the dining hall, the voices of the noble family mingling like the hiss of serpents.

Her steps faltered at the entrance, but Mira gave her a small, encouraging nod. Gathering what little courage she had, Lyanna stepped inside.

The dining hall was a vision of opulence, with its long oak table laden with golden platters of roasted meats, spiced wine, and candied fruits. The royal family sat at the head, a collection of dazzling smiles and thinly veiled hostility.

"Ah, our little Lyanna finally joins us," Calyra's voice rang out, sweet as poison.

Lyanna didn't respond, lowering her gaze as she took her seat at the far end of the table. She could feel their eyes on her—Calyra's sharp with jealousy, Lady Marenthea's cold and assessing, and the others' laced with varying degrees of disdain. She was an outsider in her own home, an unwanted omega among those who considered themselves alphas.

The meal began, and Lyanna forced herself to eat despite the knot in her stomach. Her thoughts wandered to the coming weeks—her eighteenth birthday, the night of the Moon Blessing Ceremony. She had clung to the hope that the Moon Goddess would finally reveal her mate, that she would be chosen by someone who could free her from this misery.

For years, she had believed that someone would be Daryn Velmont, her childhood friend and the man she thought loved her. But those dreams had shattered the day she caught him with Calyra, his lips on her stepsister's throat, his promises of devotion nothing more than lies.

"Foolish girl," Lady Marenthea's voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and cruel. "You're barely eating. Must you always look so pitiful?"

"I'm fine, my lady," Lyanna replied softly, keeping her tone even. It was a skill she had perfected over the years—swallowing her pride, suppressing her anger.

But the tension in the room shifted suddenly. The grand doors at the far end of the hall creaked open, and a silence fell over the gathering.

He had arrived.

Kaelion Draventh strode into the dining hall with the weight of centuries behind him. The room fell silent as all eyes turned toward him, but he was used to it. The stares of his family, the murmurs of the courtiers, the barely concealed contempt of his stepmothers—it was a symphony he had learned to endure.

He knew what they called him. The Hated Prince.

Kael's gaze swept over the room, his sharp features impassive. His dark hair framed a face that had been carved by hardship, his eyes cold and calculating. His presence was a weapon, and he wielded it with precision.

At the head of the table sat his father, King Vorthrin, his once-imposing figure softened by age. To his left was Alaric, the second prince—the golden child, beloved by all. Alaric met Kael's gaze with his usual smirk, the silent challenge simmering between them like an open flame.

Kael ignored him. He had no time for Alaric's games tonight.

As he took his seat, something caught his attention—a presence at the far end of the table. She was sitting quietly, her head bowed, her dark curls framing a face that was far too lovely for this den of vipers.

Lyanna.

He had heard her name before, though they had never spoken. She was the stepdaughter of Lady Marenthea, an omega with no wolf, no status. Yet there was something about her that intrigued him—a quiet strength beneath her fragile exterior, a beauty that seemed to defy the cruelty she had endured.

For a moment, their eyes met.

Kael felt a flicker of something unfamiliar, something dangerous. He dismissed it quickly, turning his attention back to the meal.

As the dinner progressed, Kael listened to the idle chatter around him with thinly veiled disdain. His stepmothers were plotting, as always, their words dripping with false sweetness. Alaric was basking in the adoration of the courtiers, his every word met with laughter and applause.

Kael knew what they wanted. They all wanted him gone. He was a threat to their carefully laid plans, a reminder of the woman who had once been queen—the woman who had died because of their jealousy.

But he would not fall so easily.

When the meal ended, Kael rose to leave, but he paused at the doorway, his gaze lingering on Lyanna once more. She was still seated, her hands folded in her lap, her expression unreadable.

He didn't know why he cared, but he did.

Lyanna's POV

Lyanna exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding as Kaelion disappeared from view. His presence had been overwhelming, his gaze like a fire that burned through her defenses.

She had heard the stories about him—the Hated Prince, the cold-hearted heir to the throne. But tonight, she had seen something else in his eyes, something that made her chest tighten with a strange, unnameable longing.

"Don't think about him," she whispered to herself, rising from her seat. "He's not for you."

The words felt hollow, but Lyanna pushed them aside. She had enough to worry about without adding Kaelion Draventh to the list.

As she made her way back to her room, she couldn't shake the feeling that tonight was only the beginning—that her life was about to change in ways she couldn't yet comprehend.