Rejected Luna's Final Curse

The day I died, the entire Silver Moon Pack mourned.

Only Lukas Reynolds, the Lycan King, felt no sorrow—just a lingering irritation.

Irritation that, two weeks prior, when he’d tried to make my sister, Leona Reynolds, his chosen mate, I had argued with him fiercely and never apologized.

Irritation that the pack’s Omega, Samson Stewart, knelt outside the Moonlit Hall, unsure how to assign me a title, write my life story, or arrange my burial in the royal crypt.

Reports piled up like snow on the roof, each one filled with flattering words trying to guess the King’s mood.

They called me wise and compassionate, but I had once chased a corrupt Omega across three streets with my claws after he dared to withhold Lukas’s meals.

They said my life was one of ease and privilege, but after Lukas became King, we argued more than we spoke, and I seemed to cry often, always crying.

As for my burial, Lukas, in a rare moment of generosity, decided to grant me the honor of resting beside him in the crypt.

But before the decree could be finalized, Eleanor Mitchell, the Omega in charge of the Moonlit Hall, knelt outside and delivered my final wish.

Lukas probably guessed what it was.

Surely, it was an apology, a plea for a grand title, a demand that Leona never be allowed into the pack.

“Your Majesty,” Eleanor said, her voice steady, “the Queen did not wish to be buried with you.

“She said this life was too painful, and she did not want to see you again, even in the afterlife.”

---

Before I left the pack, there were still many things I needed to settle.

I instructed the healers to prepare for spring plagues and disasters, warning them that this winter’s mildness could bring trouble. I reminded the Omegas not to let my funeral disrupt the plans of the pack’s young women to leave and find their mates.

After finishing two final decrees, I knelt to wipe my eldest son Wade’s tears, telling him not to break the legs of crickets for fun—that a true gentleman avoids cruelty, even in small things.

Wade, too young to understand, only stared at the torn paper lantern in his hands.

Samson Stewart, standing nearby, hesitantly spoke up:

“Your Majesty… what should I tell the King?”

I paused, thinking carefully.

Two weeks ago, Lukas and I had argued bitterly, and we hadn’t spoken since.

He insisted on making Leona his chosen mate, even going so far as to send me a rejection decree and a vial of wolfsbane, hoping to force me to bend.

In the past, I would have torn up the decree, smashed the vial, and stormed into the hall to confront Lukas face-to-face.

But now, with my time running out, I no longer wanted to fight.

Calculating that I had less than three days left, I rubbed my temples and smiled softly:

“Tell the King that I agree.

“In three days, let Leona enter the pack as his chosen mate.”

Samson, an experienced Omega, looked at my pale, sickly face and hesitated before offering advice:

“Your Majesty, you needn’t worry about Leona’s arrival. Focus on recovering your health.

“You are the Lycan Queen, after all. If you wish, you can raise any child in the pack as your own.”

Wade, hearing Samson’s voice, peeked out from behind me and held up the lantern:

“It’s broken… fix it, please…”

Samson quickly set down his staff to comfort him, but his eyes caught sight of my decrees on the table, and he knelt in alarm:

“Your Majesty, these words are too ominous…

“Forgive me for saying so, but the King was initially promised to Leona. It was only out of pity for your hardships that he chose you instead.

“Recently, the healers selected a new batch of apprentices. The King intended to have them treat you after Leona’s arrival, so you could recover and give birth to the future heir…”

At the mention of medicine and the past, I felt a wave of nausea.

During the first five years of Lukas’s reign, I had taken countless bitter potions to improve my health, but nothing worked.

The healers said I had been too stressed in my youth and suffered from a cold, and that with time, I would conceive.

But I knew enough about healing to understand that my body was beyond repair.

The stress came from the early days of our mating, when Lukas was falsely accused by his siblings and cast out by his father. He was neglected by the pack, left to suffer even when he was burning with fever.

I was grateful to Lukas for choosing me as his mate. The title of Luna made my father acknowledge me, bringing me to the city and fulfilling my mother’s dying wish to be buried in the Reynolds family plot.

So, still in my mate ceremony dress, I grabbed a knife from the woodpile and pressed it to my neck, forcing the Omegas to call the healers to treat Lukas.

Later, to help Lukas recover, I saved my meals for him, often going hungry myself.

His father’s reign of terror, killing five of his own children, left me in constant fear, and my health deteriorated, my cycles irregular.

The cold came from the time Lukas was hunted by his brothers. I wore his clothes and rode his horse to lure the pursuers away.

When Lukas found me, I had been lying in the snow for three days and nights.

The best healer, Raiden Andrews, said if the King had arrived half a day earlier, my body wouldn’t have been so damaged.

For the first two years, the potions made me vomit until I could only stomach a little broth.

Lukas, heartbroken, held my thin hands, his eyes red with guilt:

“Coraline, we’ll stop. It’s too bitter.

“It’s my fault. If I’d gotten to you sooner…”

He was so remorseful that he drafted a decree, promising to adopt a child from the pack rather than see me suffer.

But I was determined, so I endured the nausea, swallowing each bitter dose, hoping for a miracle.