The Rejected Sister Who Became the Alpha King's Luna

"Hold the train higher," Vala snapped at a younger girl.

I stood in the corner of the preparation room, adjusting the stiff wool of my grey bridesmaid dress.

"She wants the silk perfect," Vala muttered, stepping back to inspect her work. "As if a long piece of fabric hides where she came from. The audacity of wearing crimson before the vows are even spoken."

"Let her wear what she wants," I said, keeping my voice low.

"The elders will tear her apart out there."

"Then we will clean up the mess."

The massive double doors swung open. Elara stepped through the archway.

She wore a heavy crimson gown. Thick gold embroidery wrapped around her waist, cinching her tight. The fresh bite mark on her neck remained fully exposed, a violent purple bruise against her pale skin. She wanted every Alpha in the room to see who claimed her.

"Do I look like a future Queen?" Elara asked. She didn't look at Vala. She stared right at me.

"You look exactly as you should," I replied smoothly.

"You think they will judge me because I am a commoner." Elara stepped closer, the heavy silk dragging across the floorboards.

"They will judge you because they are wolves," I said. "They look for weakness."

"I have no weakness. I have him."

"Then the ceremony will be effortless."

Elara narrowed her eyes, searching my face for a trap. Finding only a blank mask, she scoffed.

"Keep your eyes on the floor when we walk out," she ordered.

"I know my place."

"Make sure you remember it."

A royal guard struck his spear against the stone wall outside the room. Two sharp clangs. The signal.

We followed her into the cavernous Great Hall.

Hundreds of pack leaders lined the stone walls. Furs, polished steel armor, and sharp, calculating stares filled the immense space. The air felt thick with anticipation and the heavy musk of territorial predators.

I took my seat on the low wooden bench reserved for altar servants at the far edge of the room.

At the center of the dais stood Alpha Prince Kaelen.

He wore a black tunic lined with silver. I kept my gaze fixed firmly on the edge of his dark cloak. I refused to look higher. I refused to meet his eyes.

"The savior approaches," High Priestess Morwen announced from the altar. Her voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling, cutting through the low murmurs of the crowd.

Elara stopped at the base of the stairs.

"You claim the right to stand beside the future King," Morwen continued, her pale eyes locked on my sister. "You claim your blood is pure, your intentions true."

"I do," Elara said clearly.

"Then accept the Alpha's cup."

Kaelen moved forward. He held a massive gold chalice in both hands.

My stomach tightened.

I knew that chalice. In my past life, his hands had pressed that exact metal against my fingers. The cold gold. The rubies encrusted along the base. The wine had tasted like victory. I drank it, and the pack bowed.

But Morwen hadn't suspected me. Morwen suspected *her*.

Kaelen extended his arm. "Drink, Elara of the Thorne pack."

Elara reached out. Her fingers brushed his bare skin.

A sudden gust of wind swept through the massive open windows. It carried the scent of the chalice straight toward the servant benches.

I stiffened.

Underneath the sweet aroma of fermented berries lay something else.

Something sharp. Bitter. It burned the inside of my nose just from the vapor.

Crushed sun-root.

My pulse hammered a quick rhythm against my ribs. Sun-root was a brutal, ancient herb. A taboo ingredient used by inquisitors during the old wars. If a wolf spoke a lie, the root turned their throat to ash. It blistered the tongue and scorched the lungs. It stripped away deceit by melting the vocal cords of the liar.

Morwen had spiked the ceremonial wine.

Elara lifted the heavy gold cup. A victorious smile stretched across her face. She didn't know. She thought this was a simple toast. She thought she had already won the crown.

I sat perfectly still.

I needed her alive to distract Kaelen. The warning note under my pillow demanded I intervene. *Do not let her bleed.*

But I kept my mouth shut.

I folded my hands in my lap. Let her choke. Let her burn. I would find another way to survive the Prince’s madness. I owed this thief nothing.

Elara tilted the cup toward her face.

The golden rim touched her bottom lip.

She inhaled.

Her victorious smile vanished. Her eyes snapped wide open.

She recognized it. The sharp, bitter sting of sun-root hit her nose, entirely unmistakable to anyone trained in the pack apothecaries.

Panic seized her features. The color drained from her cheeks. Her hands trembled violently.

Instead of drinking, Elara jerked backward.

The heavy gold chalice slipped from her fingers.

It crashed against the stone floor.

A deafening clatter rang through the hall. Deep red wine splashed across the pale stones, pooling around the tips of Kaelen's black boots.

The entire hall went dead silent.

Not a single wolf spoke. The murmurs died instantly. The clinking of armor ceased.

I watched the dark liquid seep into the grout between the stones. It sizzled faintly. The sun-root reacting to the air.

"A terrible omen," an elder whispered from the front row.

"She rejects the bond," another muttered.

Kaelen stared at the spilled wine. Then, he slowly raised his head to look down at Elara.

The temperature in the room plummeted. The sheer weight of his anger pressed against my chest, suffocating the air out of the hall.

"You spill the royal toast," Kaelen said. His voice was dangerously quiet.

Elara stepped back, her crimson dress dragging through the puddle. "I... my hand slipped, my Prince."

"Your hand slipped."

"The cup was heavy." Her voice shook. She gripped the fabric of her skirt, her knuckles turning white.

Kaelen stepped off the dais. His boots crunched against a loose ruby that had popped off the fallen chalice.

He stopped inches from her.

"Explain yourself," Kaelen demanded, the command echoing through the silent hall. "Now."