Chapter 17
Jul 18, 2025
The ceremonial white gown felt like a burial shroud against my skin. Silver ribbons bound my wrists with ritual precision, the metal cold and unforgiving. My neck remained bare—exposed for whatever collar they intended to place there.
Guards flanked me as I entered the Trial Hall, their armor clanking with each measured step. The space had been transformed into something ancient and terrible. Torches blazed in iron sconces, casting dancing shadows across stone walls. At the center of the hall, a circle of polished obsidian gleamed like black ice.
The heirs stood arranged around the circle’s perimeter—predators awaiting their feast. Faces I’d once known, voices I’d once trusted, all transformed into strangers by hunger and ambition.
Darius smirked from his position near the eastern torches, his chest still bandaged from yesterday’s duel. “Well, well. The shadow finally steps into the light.”
Marcus waited with cold patience near the altar, his pale eyes tracking my every movement. “She looks appropriately… subdued.”
But the absence that carved through me like a blade was Hector. Nowhere to be seen. Vanished completely, leaving me to face this alone.
High Matron Ivera stepped forward, her voice echoing off stone. “Luna Bride Lyssira, you stand before the assembled heirs to complete the Moon Submission Ceremony. This ancient rite will bind you to the bloodline most worthy of your service.”
I said nothing. My chin remained high despite the silver chains.
“Kneel.” The command cracked like a whip.
I didn’t move.
“Kneel, child, and lower your head in proper submission.”
The obsidian circle waited at my feet like an open grave. Around me, the heirs leaned forward with anticipation. This was what they’d come to see—the breaking of the defiant one.
“You will recite the ancient vow,” Ivera continued, her voice growing sharper. “Say the words: ‘My body is yours. My will is yours. My bond is open.’”
The syllables hung in the air like poison waiting to be swallowed.
I took a breath that filled my lungs with fire and rebellion.
“My name is Lyssira Fowler,” I declared, my voice carrying to every corner of the hall. “And I will not be broken.”
A violent stir moved through the assembled crowd. Gasps echoed from the gallery. Several heirs stepped back as if I’d struck them.
“Impossible,” someone whispered.
“She dares—”
“Silence!” Matron Vex’s shriek cut through the chaos. “You will kneel! You will submit! The ritual demands—”
“The ritual demands nothing from me.” I turned to face each heir in turn, meeting their shocked stares with unwavering defiance. “I am not cattle to be branded. I am not property to be claimed.”
“Seize her,” Ivera commanded. “Force her to her knees.”
Guards moved toward me, their hands reaching for my bound arms.
The great doors exploded inward.
Hector stormed into the hall like a force of nature unleashed. His shirt bore fresh bloodstains, silver cuffs hung broken from his wrists, and his eyes burned with volcanic fury. Every step he took seemed to shake the very foundations of the building.
“Stop.” The single word carried the weight of absolute authority.
Every person in the hall froze. Guards halted mid-stride. Matrons stumbled backward. Even the torches seemed to flicker in response to his presence.
He strode to the center of the obsidian circle and threw something at Ivera’s feet—an ancient scroll sealed with crimson wax.
“The True Luna Records,” he announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the vast space. “Signed by the original Council of Elders, witnessed by the first Alpha Kings, sealed with royal blood.”
Ivera’s face went white as winter frost. “That’s impossible. Those records were destroyed—”
“Read it.” Hector’s command brooked no argument.
With trembling fingers, she broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. Her eyes moved across the ancient text, growing wider with each passing moment.
“What does it say?” Marcus demanded.
Ivera’s voice cracked like breaking glass. “It… it names the Fowler line as the last surviving Matriarchal heirs. Direct descendants of the original Luna Queens.”
Chaos erupted.
Shouts echoed from the gallery. Heirs turned to each other in confusion and rage. Guards looked between their commanders, unsure of their orders.
“The ceremony is invalid,” Hector declared above the din. “You cannot force submission from one who outranks you all.”
“This changes nothing!” Darius snarled, stepping forward with his hand on his blade. “Ancient bloodlines mean nothing if—”
His words died as power erupted between Hector and me.
The bond that had simmered beneath the surface for weeks finally broke free. Visible energy crackled in the air—silver threads of light connecting us like chains forged from starfire. My sigils blazed to life, burning through the ceremonial gown. His eyes shifted to molten gold, and I felt his wolf stirring just beneath his skin.
The connection was undeniable. Overwhelming. Complete.
Every person in the hall could see it, feel it, witness the raw power that bound us together.
But Hector didn’t move toward me. Didn’t reach out to touch me. Didn’t kiss me or claim me in the way the stories always told.
Instead, he stood perfectly still in the center of that obsidian circle and spoke words that changed everything:
“She’s mine. And she chooses me.”
