Chapter 8: The Mysterious Intruder
The knock at the door tore me from the mirror's reflection, where I'd been staring at the stranger wearing my face. The girl in the cream dress and leather jacket looked polished, confident. I felt like a fraud wrapped in silk.
"Come in," I called, unlocking the door with a click that echoed too loudly in the quiet room.
It was Camila. She dipped into a slight bow, her hands folded neatly before her. "Good morning, mi lady."
The title was a cold splash of water. "Oh no, Camila, don't call me that. Please. We are equals," I said quickly, the words tasting like the lie they were. Nothing about our situations was equal.
A gentle, knowing smile touched her lips. "Well, the prince has declared you his fated mate before the entire court. So technically, by tomorrow's ritual, you will be our next Luna. And I will have the honor of serving you." She said it as if it were a simple fact of nature, like the sunrise.
Next Luna. The words crashed around in my skull. "Hear that?" Alia whispered, a mix of pride and panic in her tone. "We're going to be royalty."
"We're going to be exposed," I thought back, my stomach twisting. The higher I rose in this pack, the farther I had to fall, and the more people would watch me hit the ground.
"Yes, it's... a lot to take in," I managed aloud, forcing a smile. "But for now, just call me Liana, okay? While it's still just us."
"Alright then, Liana," Camila agreed, her eyes warm. "It seems you are already dressed. Come along with me. Breakfast is being served in the family dining room, and you are expected."
Family dining room. My palms grew damp. I followed her, the soft soles of my borrowed shoes whispering against the polished stone. As we walked, Camila chattered about the day's preparations—flowers being arranged in the Great Hall for the ritual, the kitchen in an uproar over the feast, the buzz of excitement throughout the palace. Each detail was a brick in the beautiful, terrifying wall boxing me in.
We reached a set of ornate double doors, smaller than the ones to the grand hall but no less imposing. Camila gave me an encouraging nod before pushing them open.
The room was intimate, bathed in morning light from a wall of arched windows. A round table of dark wood dominated the space, set with gleaming silver and delicate porcelain. And around it, the royal family of Nightfall.
All conversation ceased as we entered. King Theron and Luna Seraphina sat together, their postures regal even in casual morning attire. Adrian, looking devastatingly handsome in a simple dark tunic, broke into a radiant smile the moment he saw me. The warmth in his eyes was a lifeline in a suddenly choppy sea.
"Oh yes! We were just talking about you," the king boomed, his voice friendly but his alpha power a subtle pressure in the room.
"Really?" I replied, my voice thinner than I wanted. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"Indeed. Come, dear, have a seat. Eat with us," Seraphina said, her tone kind but her gaze analytical, sweeping over me from head to toe, taking inventory of the mate her son had chosen. She gestured to the empty chair beside Adrian.
Every step toward that chair felt like walking a plank. I could feel the weight of their collective scrutiny—the Alpha's assessment, the Luna's judgment, Adrian's hopeful pride. I sank into the chair, the fine upholstery feeling like a bed of needles.
Adrian's hand found mine under the table, his fingers intertwining with my icy ones. He gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze. It's alright, his touch said. But was it?
A servant placed a plate of fruits, pastries, and smoked meats before me. The rich smells, which would usually make my mouth water, now turned my stomach.
King Theron took a sip of his tea, his keen eyes settling on me. "So, Liana," he began, his tone conversational but edged with purpose. "We know so little about you. Adrian speaks of fate and the bond, of course. But tell us, from which pack do you hail? Who are your people?"
The question hung in the air, innocuous yet deadly. The butter knife in my other hand felt slippery.
Adrian's grip on my hand tightened. "Father," he said, a warning edge to his voice. "Must we conduct an interrogation over breakfast? Today is meant to be—"
"It's alright, Adrian," I interrupted softly, cutting him off. I met the king's gaze, forcing my own to remain steady. If I flinched now, the suspicion would only harden. "It's a fair question." I took a quiet breath, the lie I'd prepared weeks ago, long before I ever crossed their border, ready on my tongue. "I'm from the Black Crescent Pack, from the western territories near the Silverveil Mountains."
Theron's eyebrows lifted slightly. He leaned back in his chair, tapping a finger on the table. "Black Crescent... Yes. I met Alpha Jorah once, years ago at a summit. A hard man. Blunt. Some would say... quite rude." His eyes never left mine, watching for a flicker of recognition, for any sign that the name meant something to me.
It did. I'd chosen it precisely because it was distant, insular, and known for being unwelcoming to outsiders—a pack unlikely to be contacted for verification. I allowed a small, neutral smile. "Alpha Jorah runs a tight territory. It shapes a person."
"Nice save," Alia murmured, but I could feel her tension.
Seraphina watched the exchange silently, her expression unreadable. Adrian was glaring at his father, a protective anger simmering just beneath his surface.
Before the uncomfortable silence could stretch further, the dining room doors burst open. A guard, his chest heaving and his uniform disheveled, stumbled in, his face ashen.
"Alpha! Luna! Forgive the intrusion, but there has been an emergency!"
All warmth fled the room. Theron was on his feet in an instant. "Report."
"The south border post... Guard Henrik's body was found at his post just before dawn. He's... he's dead, sir."
A collective gasp. Seraphina's hand flew to her mouth. Adrian released my hand and stood, his body coiled with sudden, lethal alertness.
"How?" Theron's voice was a whip-crack.
The guard swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously to me before returning to his Alpha. "It appears to be a stealth attack. A single, deep wound. And, sir... the intruder's scent was found at the crime scene. The same rogue scent we've been tracking for weeks."
No.
The word was a silent scream in my mind. Ice flooded my veins. The intruder's scent. My scent. The one they'd been hunting. The one I'd been so careful to hide, to mask, to explain away as a lost wanderer.
"This is bad, Liana. This is very, very bad," Alia said, her mental voice sharp with fear.
"What?!" Seraphina exclaimed, rising to her feet, her earlier composure shattered. "Are you certain?"
"The head tracker confirmed it, Luna. It's a match."
Theron's face darkened with a storm of fury. The benevolent king was gone, replaced by a vengeful Alpha. "Take me there. NOW." He turned to his son. "Adrian, with me. And you," his burning gaze landed on me, and in it, I saw the first fissure in his fragile trust, "will remain here. With guards."
"No," Adrian said, stepping slightly in front of my chair. "She comes with us."
"Adrian, this is a murder investigation—"
"Exactly. And her scent is supposedly there. If she is with us, she cannot be planting evidence, can she? Or would you rather leave her here, alone, where anything could happen?" Adrian's logic was sound, but his defiance was dangerous.
Theron stared at his son, a silent battle of wills raging between them. Finally, he gave a curt, furious nod. "So be it. But she does not leave your sight."
As we hurriedly left the ruined breakfast behind, following the guard into the crisp morning air, dread settled in my gut like a stone. Someone had killed a guard. And they had used my scent to do it.
This was no longer just about my past catching up to me.
This was a frame. A move in a game I didn't yet understand, played by a shadow with a familiar, grinning face. Daniel had warned Adrian to cling to me. Now, someone was trying to make everyone else let go. The road to becoming Luna had just been paved with a corpse, and the path led directly back to me.