The Rejected Sister Who Became the Alpha King's Luna

"I remember everything, sister."

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.

Elara’s face contorted. The smug triumph vanished from her features, replaced instantly by a twisted mask of pure, unadulterated hatred. She kicked my hip, the pointed toe of her bare foot digging sharply into my ribs.

"I knew it," she hissed.

I stayed on the floor. The blood from my temple dripped onto the collar of my grey dress, soaking into the cheap wool. I didn't wipe it away.

When I fell earlier, a folded piece of linen had slipped from my apron pocket. It rested on the ornate rug between us, a stark white square against the dark crimson threads of the carpet.

Elara’s gaze snapped to the fabric. She snatched it up. Her fingers trembled slightly as she shook it open.

My stomach tightened.

It was a handkerchief I had been stitching by the hearth last night. A foolish, lingering habit from my past life. I thought I had hidden it well enough beneath my plain clothes.

"What is this?" Elara demanded. She shoved the linen inches from my nose.

Red thread formed a blooming flower wrapped in thick, jagged thorns. The Blood Rose.

"A flower," I said, keeping my voice entirely flat.

"Don't play stupid with me!" She threw the cloth at my chest. It fluttered down to rest on my lap. "This is the Royal Crest. The crest of the Luna Queen. No commoner is allowed to stitch this. Where did you see it?"

"In an old tapestry," I lied. I looked up at her, keeping my expression perfectly blank. "In the pack archives. I thought the pattern was beautiful."

"Liar!"

She lunged at me. Her fingers tangled violently in my hair, gripping the roots tight. She dragged me upward with a vicious jerk. My scalp burned as she forced me to my feet.

"You didn't see it in a book," Elara snarled. Her breath was hot against my cheek. "You wore it. I saw it embroidered on your silk gowns. I saw it stamped in red wax on the letters you sent."

She stepped closer, her eyes manic.

"The same letters that signed my death warrant."

"You signed your own warrant," I replied quietly. "Treason carries one penalty. You tried to poison the King."

She yanked my head back. A sharp sting brought water to my eyes, but I refused to blink. I stared straight into her furious gaze.

"Admit it," she demanded, her voice rising to a frantic pitch. "You sat by the fire and stitched your little crowns in secret. You thought you could wait for an opening and steal him back. You want to be Queen again."

"I don't want him."

"You will never have him!" She shoved me backward with both hands.

I stumbled. My hip slammed hard against the edge of the heavy oak bed frame. I gripped the thick wood to steady myself, my knuckles turning white.

"Listen to me very carefully, Lyra," Elara said. She advanced on me, her bare feet silent on the rug. "You are nothing. You are a dirty altar servant. I am the savior of the Alpha Prince."

She stopped a foot away. Her chest rose and fell in rapid, angry jerks. The fresh bite mark on her neck looked raw and angry in the flickering candlelight. The heavy scent of Kaelen's musk clung to her skin, a sickening reminder of what she had already done to secure her place.

"If I catch you looking at him," she whispered. Her tone dropped to a venomous hiss. "If I catch you walking down his corridor, or speaking to his guards, I will have your tongue cut out."

"You are the future Princess," I said. "You have the power to do so."

"I will tell Kaelen you are a spy," she continued, ignoring my response. She pointed a trembling finger at my face. "I will tell him you plotted against the crown. He tore three rogues apart today with his bare hands. He will snap your neck before you can even scream."

"I understand."

"Do you?" she asked. Her eyes were wide, wild with a paranoia that I recognized all too well. It was the same paranoia she had in the dungeon, right before she drank the poison.

"I will never approach the Alpha Prince," I said.

I kept my expression entirely submissive. I bowed my head, staring at the polished floorboards.

It was exactly what I wanted.

Let her isolate herself with him. Let her lock the heavy oak doors every night. When the madness took Kaelen, when the curse began to rot his mind and turn him into a monster, she would have no allies. No escape.

She thought the Blood Rose was a symbol of ultimate power. She didn't realize it was a target painted directly on the Queen's back.

*Wear it proudly, sister,* I thought. *Bleed for it.*

"Swear it," Elara commanded.

"I swear on the Moon Goddess," I said, my voice smooth and unwavering. "I will never stand between you and your Prince. I will fade into the background. You won the prize, Elara. Keep him."

She stared at me. She searched my eyes for deceit, for a hidden dagger, for a trap.

Finding none, she scoffed.

"Pathetic," she muttered. She crossed her arms over her sheer silk robe. "You had a crown, and now you scrub floors. Get out of my sight. Go clean your silver."

She turned her back to me. She walked toward her vanity, picking up the gold-bristled brush to fix her ruined hair.

I turned toward the exit.

I took two steps before I stopped.

The heavy double doors weren't completely shut. A gap the width of a hand revealed the dark hallway outside.

A shadow blocked the flickering torchlight.

A tall figure stood just beyond the threshold. A large, gloved hand rested flat against the wood. They had pushed the door open silently. Broad shoulders filled the frame. A flash of silver armor gleamed in the dim light.

Someone was standing there.

Someone who had heard everything. The threats. The brutal slap. The unhinged cruelty of the sweet, innocent savior who supposedly rescued the Prince out of pure goodness.

My pulse gave a single, hard thump against my ribs.

I didn't speak. I didn't call out for help. I simply stood frozen, staring at the gap in the door.

Elara noticed my hesitation. She spun around, her silk robe flaring around her ankles.

"I said get out!" she shrieked, her face twisting in ugly rage.

Then she tracked my gaze.

She saw the open door. She saw the imposing figure standing perfectly still in the shadows.

The brush slipped from her fingers.

It hit the stone floor with a hollow, echoing thud.

Elara’s face drained of all color.