The White Luna: Claimed By The Cursed King

The flowers at my feet were still fresh when Roland looked me in the eye and chose someone else.

Three hundred pack members watched. Three hundred witnesses to the moment Alpha Roland of Ironveil Pack pressed his hand to the chest of Cecile Voss, a woman who had never held a sword, never bled for this pack, never done anything except exist softly in Roland's peripheral vision for the last six months.

Three hundred people watched him sever our mate bond in front of the Moon Goddess altar.

And not one of them said a word.

"I, Roland Voss, Alpha of Ironveil, hereby reject you, Nadia Ashford, as my Luna and my mate."

The words hit like a blade between the ribs. Not metaphorically. The bond snapping felt exactly like being stabbed, a white-hot tear that started in my chest and ripped outward to my fingertips. My knees wanted to buckle. I had taken silver-laced arrows in battle. I had fought three rogues bare-handed in the Northern Woods and walked out with my throat still intact. I had bled for this pack more times than I could count.

I did not buckle.

I locked my knees and I breathed through it.

"Nadia Ashford." Roland's voice dropped lower, shaped for ceremony but stripped of any warmth. "You are released from your bond, your title, and your place in this pack. By pack law, you have seventy-two hours to vacate Ironveil territory."

Cecile stood beside him in ivory silk, her eyes cast downward with practiced modesty. She wasn't gloating. She didn't need to. The altar flowers, the guests, the ceremony, all of it had been arranged around her while I was still wearing the Luna crest on my chest like it meant something.

I had been the last to know.

That was the part that burned worse than the bond snap. Somewhere behind me, I heard a soft sound, half sob, half gasp. Probably Mara, my second-in-command, the only woman in this pack who had ever actually watched my back. The rest of them were silent in that particular way that meant they had known too. Or suspected. Or simply hadn't cared enough to warn me.

Roland finally looked at me directly. I had loved that face once. Strong jaw, grey eyes, the kind of authority that made younger wolves stand straighter when he entered a room. Now I catalogued it the way I catalogued an opponent before a fight. Searching for weakness. Finding plenty.

"This doesn't have to be difficult," he said, quiet enough that only the front rows could hear. "You've served Ironveil well. Leave with your dignity."

My dignity.

I almost laughed.

Instead, I reached up and unclipped the Luna crest from my chest. The silver was cold in my palm. I had worn it for two years. I had earned it in blood and strategy and night patrols while Roland slept warm in the Alpha house. I looked at it for exactly one second.

Then I set it on the altar, gently, like it meant nothing.

"Keep it," I said.

My voice didn't shake. I was proud of that.

I turned and walked back down the aisle. Every face I passed was a study in avoidance. Pack warriors I had trained. Omegas I had protected. Elders who had called me the strongest Luna in a generation six months ago at the winter ceremony. Now they found the ground, the sky, their own hands extremely interesting.

Mara fell into step beside me at the door. She didn't speak. She knew me well enough to know that speaking would crack something open that I needed to keep sealed for exactly as long as it took to get out of this building.

We made it to the tree line before my legs finally registered what my pride had been overriding for the last four minutes.

I pressed one hand against the nearest pine and breathed.

"Nadia." Mara's voice was low, urgent. "I didn't know. I swear to the Goddess I didn't know until this morning and by then the ceremony had already"

"Stop." I held up my other hand. "Not yet."

She stopped.

I stood there with bark under my palm and pine resin sharp in my nose and I let the physical reality settle over me. Rejected. Exiled. Seventy-two hours. Everything I had built in Ironveil, gone between one breath and the next.

And underneath all of it, the one fact I had been carrying alone for eleven days.

The one fact that changed everything.

My free hand moved without permission, dropping to my lower abdomen. The gesture was small. Instinctive. Mara's eyes followed the movement and I watched her face change as understanding arrived.

"Nadia." Her voice had gone very quiet. "Are you"

"Seventy-two hours," I said, pushing off the tree. "That's how long we have. So we need to move."

I started walking north, into the dark between the trees, away from Ironveil, away from Roland, away from everything I had bled to build.

Behind me, Mara whispered, "Where are we going?"

I had one name in my head. A name that most wolves only said in warning. A name attached to a king who had not been seen in public in three years, who ruled his territory through fear and silence, who was called cursed by every pack elder from here to the coast.

But Kael's territory was the one place Roland would never follow.

"Somewhere Roland won't touch us," I said.

I didn't tell her yet that I wasn't sure Kael would be any safer.