Chapter 6

Luna Celestine’s POV

The moment the messenger staggered into the throne room, I knew something was wrong. His face was pale, his breathing erratic, and the crimson staining his hands sent a sickening chill through my veins.

I rose from my throne, my grip tightening on the armrests. The nobles and advisors around me fell into an uneasy silence, their whispers dying down as all eyes turned to the trembling man before me.

“Speak,” I commanded, my voice sharp and unwavering, though dread coiled deep in my stomach.

The messenger dropped to his knees, his head bowed. “My Queen… It’s the Alpha King. He has been wounded.”

The world tilted for a fraction of a second. A cold, suffocating pressure clamped around my chest, but I did not let it show. I had long mastered the art of hiding weakness.

“How bad?” I asked, my voice steady.

The messenger swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “The battle was brutal. Darren was stronger than we anticipated, and he had forces with him—unfamiliar ones. The Alpha King fought valiantly, but he was struck. His side and shoulder… deep wounds, My Queen. He lost a lot of blood before we could pull him out.”

I took a slow breath, reigning in the fury simmering beneath my skin. My son, my son, wounded at the hands of a traitor.

Still, I did not react. I would not allow anyone to see the storm rising within me. Instead, I focused on the one thing that made my blood turn to ice.

“Why has he not healed yet?” I asked coldly.

The messenger hesitated. “His wolf… it refuses to mend.”

Silence.

A slow, unnatural silence filled the grand hall. My nails dug into my palms, but I did not break my composure. Not yet.

“Prepare my carriage,” I ordered. “I will see him at once.”

One of the nobles, Lord Everett, stepped forward, his thin, vulture-like face lined with concern, though I knew better than to mistake it for genuine worry. “My Queen, should we not discuss the implications? If the Alpha King does not recover quickly, the other packs—”

I turned to him sharply, my eyes locking onto his with a glare that could cut through steel.

“Speak of my son’s weakness again, and I will personally see to it that you never speak another word,” I said, my voice quiet but laced with undeniable menace.

The color drained from his face. He bowed his head immediately. “Forgive me, Your Majesty.”

I had no time for cowards who only thought of power plays and shifting alliances. My son was injured, his wolf refusing to heal—something unnatural was at work. And I would find out what.

I did not waste another second. My guards hurried to keep pace as I swept out of the throne room, my gown billowing behind me like the storm brewing inside me.

The Healing Chambers

The air was thick with the scent of blood and burning herbs by the time I arrived. The healers had already begun their work, but I could see the strain in their expressions.

Lucien lay in the center of the vast chamber, his powerful frame too still, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He was pale—too pale. Sweat beaded along his forehead, dampening the dark strands of his hair. The wounds on his side and shoulder were deep, the torn flesh resisting the magic-infused salves the healers had applied.

My stomach clenched.

I had seen my son wounded before, but never like this. Never so… still.

The lead healer, an elder woman with silver-threaded hair and kind but tired eyes, bowed as I stepped forward.

“My Queen,” she murmured.

“What is happening?” I asked, my voice devoid of emotion. I refused to let my concern show.

The healer hesitated. “His wounds should have begun closing by now, but… there is something resisting our efforts. His wolf is… dormant.”

Dormant.

A foreign sensation clawed at my chest. Lucien’s wolf had never been dormant before. Even as a child, his wolf had always been strong—defiant. The only way it would resist healing was if…

If it was losing its will to fight.

I stepped closer to the bed, ignoring the murmured protests from the healers. I sat beside him, my sharp eyes scanning his wounds. The gashes were deep, too clean to be simple battle wounds. The edges were dark, tinged with something unnatural.

Magic.

Rage burned through me, but I kept my voice even. “Leave us.”

The healers hesitated.

“My Queen—”

“I said, leave.”

They did not argue again. One by one, they shuffled out of the room until the doors shut behind them, leaving me alone with my son.

The firelight cast flickering shadows across his face, making him look almost peaceful. But I knew better. I could feel the battle still raging inside him—the silent war between his wolf and whatever poison had tainted him.

I reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead.

“Lucien,” I murmured, my voice quieter than I intended. “Wake up.”

Nothing.

I curled my fingers into a fist.

“Do not do this,” I whispered, my tone harder now. “Do not let them win.”

Still, he remained motionless.

Memories I had long buried surfaced against my will.

Lucien, a boy of ten, standing before me, his fists clenched, blood dripping from his knuckles. He had been knocked down during his first sparring session. The other boy had laughed.

He had looked at me then, his golden eyes burning with unshed tears.

I had crouched before him, gripping his chin firmly. Pain is weakness leaving the body, Lucien. Do not let it consume you. Consume it instead.

And he had.

From that day forward, he had never stayed down.

But now… now he was lying still, his wolf silent.

I leaned closer, my forehead pressing against his.

“You are my son. A king does not fade away in silence,” I whispered, my voice shaking with quiet fury. “A king does not break.”

His fingers twitched.

My breath hitched.

A low, ragged growl rumbled from his throat.

His golden eyes fluttered open, blazing with something dark—something furious.

For a moment, I only stared. Relief warred with a thousand other emotions I refused to name.

Then, I straightened, my expression returning to one of icy control.

“Finally,” I muttered, folding my arms. “I was beginning to think you had gone soft.”

Lucien exhaled shakily, shifting slightly. “Not… dead yet.”

“Clearly.” I studied his face. He was awake, but the battle was far from over. The poison—the magic—still clung to him, festering in his veins like a sickness.

He must have realized it, too, because his expression darkened.

“This wasn’t a normal attack,” he said, voice hoarse. “Darren used something. His blade—it was coated in magic.”

A cold silence stretched between us.

Magic.

A chill ran through me, but I did not let it show. Instead, I turned away, my hands clasping behind my back.

“Then we will find whoever helped him,” I said. “And we will burn them to the ground.”

Lucien pushed himself up with visible effort, his body still weak. “He wanted to break me.”

I turned back to him. “Then make sure he regrets trying.”

His golden eyes met mine, and for the first time since I entered this room, I saw it—the fire. The unyielding, merciless hunger for vengeance.

He was still weak. Still healing.

But he would rise again.

And when he did, Darren would learn exactly what it meant to wound a king.