[redith].
I barely slept.
When dawn finally crept through the tall palace windows, I was already awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint movent of servants preparing the grand halls below.
A few minutes later, a soft knock ca on the door, and Azul’s voice followed. "Your Majesty, may we enter?"
I smiled at the title, even though it still felt unreal. "Yes."
Azul, Kira, Deidra, Cora, and Arya entered, no longer as ordinary maids in my eyes. I had elevated them two nights ago to the rank of my Ladies-in-waiting.
Their faces glowed with pride and excitent. Arya’s eyes were already glassy with tears she was fighting not to shed.
"You will make us cry before the ceremony even begins," I warned lightly.
Deidra laughed softly. "Then we will cry beautifully, Your Majesty."
They moved with purpose.
The gown was already laid out, not overly lavish, but regal in its design. White and silver, structured at the shoulders, flowing at the hem. Power without excess. Authority without noise.
Kira fastened the inner layers. Cora secured the embroidered bodice, while Azul adjusted the fabric’s fall so it frad my height rather than swallowing .
anwhile, Deidra stood behind , comb in hand, preparing my hair. Today, it would be styled as a half-crown, the length flowing but anchored in place with silver crescent-shaped pins.
Arya knelt briefly to secure the soft leather footwear—ceremonial, and practical enough if I ever needed to move quickly. They knew too well.
"Turn," Azul instructed gently. I did, then they stepped back as one.
For a mont, none of them spoke. Then Cora whispered, "Stormveil will rember this day."
At the sa ti, Valmora stirred inside proudly. "This is what was promised," she said, her voice smooth through our bond. "Not just to you. To us."
I felt the weight of her words and exhaled slowly.
"I have no appetite," I admitted when Azul tried to hand a small tray of fruit and bread.
I felt like throwing up, and my head was half a ss. I was low-key hoping the coronation would run smoothly without any mishaps.
"That is expected," she said. "Even Queens are allowed nerves."
Valmora’s presence ward slightly. "Nothing will go wrong," she assured . "The Moon marked us herself. No force will overturn that."
She was right. The ritual still burned in my mory—the wind, the light, the way the Moon broke through the clouds.
I straightened. "Thank you," I told my ladies quietly. "For standing with ."
They bowed deeply this ti. "Always, Your Majesty."
Just then, a palace attendant knocked once. "It is almost ti, your majesty."
My heart skipped a beat. Then, Azul opened the doors, and I stepped out. And directly across the corridor, another door opened at the exact sa mont. Draven erged.
He wore black and silver—tailored, powerful, precise. The ceremonial mantle rested across his shoulders like it belonged there by birthright.
Behind him stood Randall, Dennis, Jeffery, and Oscar. They fell silent when they saw .
Draven did not move at first, and neither did I. From that distance, our eyes locked. He smiled first, then we began walking toward each other at the sa ti. Every step felt deliberate and asured.
When we t halfway, he looked at slowly from head to toe in admiration. "You look like you were born for this," he said quietly.
I tilted my head. "I was."
He chuckled softly under his breath.
"And you?" I asked, studying him. "Are you ready to carry Stormveil on your shoulders?"
"I am ready," he replied. "As long as you stand beside ."
Behind him, Dennis cleared his throat dramatically. "Can we proceed before I start weeping in public?"
Jeffery elbowed him lightly.
Oscar gave a respectful nod. Randall said nothing, but his gaze lingered on us with sothing thoughtful, sothing unreadable.
Then Draven extended his hand toward . I took it, and his fingers laced with mine, steady and warm.
"After today," he murmured, low enough that only I could hear, "they will never question you again."
I squeezed his hand once. "They will question us," I corrected gently. "But they will never underestimate us."
That made him smile.
Just then, the doors ahead opened, and light spilt into the corridor as trumpets sounded in the distance.
The sound alone was enough to still the air in my lungs.
---
Draven’s hand was firm around mine as we stepped forward together.
The coronation hall stretched wide before us—high ceilings carved with ancient wolves, silver torches blazing along the walls, banners of Stormveil hanging in solemn dignity.
Every noble house, every Alpha of the territories, every influential family was present. And they were all watching.
A ripple of murmurs spread after we entered. I kept my chin steady as I looked at the elders who had questioned my worth, the sa n who had demanded proof of my wolf. Their faces were tight, restrained, and carefully composed.
As Draven and I walked past them, they bowed.
The absence of Reginald Fellowes and his daughter went unnoticed. It seed like a quiet testant to their downfall.
anwhile, forr King Alderic sat among the dignitaries, thinner than I rembered, his once-commanding aura dimd by illness.
Draven and I finally reached the elevated platform where the sacred altar stood. Silver bowls of holy water. Ancient script etched into stone. The crowns resting on velvet cushions.
Then the female priest stepped forward, her robes shimring faintly under the torchlight. "Your Majesties," she said gently, though we were not yet crowned.
Draven and I released each other’s hands and knelt before the altar. The marble beneath my knees was cold, grounding.
For a fleeting second, I thought about the years I had endured being called cursed, being mocked for being wolfless, and standing alone while whispers followed . I thought of every insult swallowed, and of every tear shed in silence.
And now, here I was.
Just then, the priest gestured for Draven to speak first, and His deep, unwavering voice filled the hall.
Reviews
All reviews (0)