The Rejected Sister Who Became the Alpha King's Luna

The heavy oak door swung outward, revealing the dark corridor. The figure stepped fully into the flickering torchlight.

High Priestess Morwen. Kaelen’s aunt.

Her silver robes swept the stone floor. Her iron-gray hair was pulled back into a severe braid. She didn't look at Elara. Her sharp, pale eyes locked entirely on me.

"Out," Morwen commanded.

I didn't hesitate. I stepped over the threshold and pulled the heavy door shut behind me, cutting off my sister's pale, terrified face. The latch clicked loudly in the silent hall.

The corridor was freezing. I kept my hands folded over my blood-stained apron.

"Show me the fabric," Morwen said.

She extended a pale, unyielding hand.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out the folded linen, and placed it onto her palm.

Morwen smoothed the edges with her thumb. She studied the jagged thorns and the blooming red petals of the Blood Rose. Her jaw tightened. A muscle jumped beneath her cheekbone.

"The knotting is northern," Morwen observed, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The Thorne pack resides in the south. You stitch like a royal seamstress, altar girl."

"My mother traded with northern merchants," I lied smoothly. "I practice what I see."

"A dead Queen's crest," Morwen stated, ignoring my excuse. "No commoner knows this pattern. Where did an altar servant learn this stitch?"

"The sanctuary archives. I saw it on the moth-eaten tapestries in the western wing."

Morwen took a half-step closer. The scent of burning sage and old parchment radiated from her robes.

"Those tapestries burned to ash twenty years ago," she said.

I didn't flinch. I didn't drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness. Instead, a short, quiet laugh slipped past my lips.

Morwen’s eyes narrowed. She had expected terror.

"Then I must have found a surviving sketch in the margins of a hymnal," I replied.

"You lie without a single tremor in your pulse," the High Priestess noted. She handed the linen back to me. "Most girls would be weeping on the floor by now."

"Tears do not clean silver, Priestess. Nor do they heal head wounds."

Morwen’s gaze flicked to the dried blood crusted along my temple.

"You are too calm," Morwen said. "Your sister wears the scent of a freshly mated Alpha, yet you stand here with a cracked skull, guarding a piece of linen as if it holds the kingdom's secrets."

"I guard my own business."

"Your sister claims divine intervention," Morwen pressed, her pale eyes searching my face. "She claims the Moon Goddess guided her feet to my nephew. She claims she bound his wounds with her own hands."

"She saved the Prince."

"The elders swallow her story whole. They see a pretty face and a heroic rescue, and they plan a wedding." Morwen stepped past me, her shoulder brushing mine. "I do not."

I turned my head, watching her back as she moved down the hall. "The Alpha Prince has already made his choice."

"A choice made in the haze of blood loss and adrenaline." Morwen paused at the top of the stone staircase. She looked back over her shoulder. "Tomorrow at noon, the elders will summon her to the Moon Basin. The ancient bloodline test."

My fingers tightened around the linen in my pocket.

In my past life, I bled into that basin. The water turned pure silver, confirming my pure intentions and my right to the throne.

"What does the water prove?" I asked, playing ignorant.

"The Moon Basin was carved from a fallen star," Morwen said. "It does not tolerate deception. It requires a single drop of blood. If a liar bleeds into the basin, the water turns black as pitch. And the penalty for deceiving the Royal House is immediate execution."

"Then she has nothing to fear."

"We will see. I have survived four Alpha reigns, Lyra of the Thorne pack. I know the stench of ambition. Your sister reeks of it. And you..." She tilted her head. "You smell of ash and secrets."

She didn't wait for my response. She descended the stairs, her robes swallowing the shadows.

I stood alone in the corridor.

Elara was going to bleed into the basin tomorrow. She had stolen the rescue, but she didn't have the pure spirit of a savior. Her soul was rotted with ambition and spite. The water would expose her instantly.

Unless she found a way to cheat.

I turned away from the Alpha's wing and navigated the winding, drafty corridors back to the servants' annex.

The castle was dead quiet. Only the distant howl of a perimeter guard dog broke the silence. My boots made soft thuds against the stone floors.

I reached my temporary quarters at the end of the lower hall. The wooden door groaned as I pushed it open. The room was tiny, holding nothing but a narrow cot, a washbasin, and a single flickering candle on a small wooden stool.

I pushed the door shut and slid the iron bolt into place.

My skull throbbed. The adrenaline from the confrontation with Elara was finally fading, leaving a dull, rhythmic ache behind my left eye. I walked to the washbasin, dipped a rag into the freezing water, and pressed it against my temple. The sharp sting cleared my head slightly.

I needed sleep. Tomorrow, the pack would tear itself apart when the basin turned black. I needed to be rested to play the shocked, grieving sister. Let Kaelen execute her. It would save me the trouble of plotting her downfall.

I tossed the bloody rag onto the floor and walked over to the narrow cot.

I pulled the scratchy wool blanket back.

I froze.

A small object rested dead center on the mattress, hidden exactly where my head would have laid.

I reached out and picked it up.

It was a silver needle.

But it wasn't empty. Threaded through the eye of the needle was a long, thick strand of crimson silk.

The exact shade of red I used for the Blood Rose.

My heart hammered a sudden, violent rhythm against my ribs.

Someone had been in this room. Someone had bypassed the royal guards, picked the lock, and left this on my bed while I was upstairs bleeding on Elara's floor.

I ran my thumb over the sharp point of the needle.

Morwen had just interrogated me about the thread. But she had been in the corridor the entire time. She couldn't have placed this here.

Someone else knew.

Someone else in this castle recognized the dead Queen's crest. And they wanted me to know they were watching.

I looked down at the mattress again. A small piece of parchment sat tucked beneath the edge of the pillow. I hadn't noticed it at first in the dim candlelight.

I snatched the rough paper and unfolded it.

Four words were scrawled in sharp, black ink.

*Do not let her bleed.*

I stared at the warning. The needle bit into my thumb, drawing a tiny bead of blood, but I barely felt it.

The message shifted everything.

If Elara bled, she died. If she died tomorrow, Kaelen would have no anchor. His madness would consume the kingdom years earlier than it did in my past life. The slaughter would begin before I could prepare my escape.

I needed Elara alive. I needed her to wear that collar and distract the monster.

The game hadn't just changed.

Someone else was playing it with me. And they knew exactly what was at stake.