Elena's stomach twisted as the heavy double doors of the Citadel's Great Hall creaked open before her. The echo of her boots on the polished stone floor sounded like a drumbeat in the silence that followed. She could feel their eyes on her—dozens of Lycans in fine ceremonial robes, warriors in armor, noble wolves with ancient bloodlines—all watching the outsider enter their sacred space.
Lucien walked at her side like a shadow of war. His tall frame radiated control, but Elena could feel the quiet tension in the way his fingers hovered near the hilt of the ceremonial blade strapped across his back. He wasn't just walking her in—he was daring anyone to challenge her.
The room itself was overwhelming. Carved wolf heads lined the stone pillars, and massive chandeliers hung with crystal shards swayed slightly in the draft from the mountain wind. At the far end sat the High Seat of the King, a blackened throne of obsidian and silver filigree.
Elena had never felt more out of place. And that was saying something for a woman who had time-traveled two centuries by accident.
"She shouldn't be here," someone growled near the front row.
Elena recognized the speaker immediately. Damon, one of the older Lords, his face half-hidden beneath thick gray curls and a jagged scar that crossed his left cheek. His yellow eyes glared at her like she was filth tracked in from the forest.
"She's human," another voice snapped from across the room. "No scent of the Change. No wolf. No bond. She carries the Moonstone, yes—but that doesn't make her one of us."
Lucien didn't stop walking. He climbed the final steps of the dais, then turned to face his people. "This is Elena Carter. She was chosen by the Moonstone—awakened by it. That artifact hasn't responded to anyone in generations."
"Then perhaps we should destroy it," said a voice from the upper balcony. Whispers rippled through the room like wind through dry leaves.
"She opened the Seal," Mira interjected as she stepped forward, her ash-gray robes whispering against the floor. "And the Witchblade answered her."
Gasps followed. Even the most stoic Lycans shifted in their seats at the mention of the legendary weapon.
"She is the first in centuries to summon the blade of the Moon Queen," Mira continued. "We would be fools to ignore the signs."
"You expect us to kneel to a witch?" barked Sera, commander of the royal guard. She stepped forward with arms crossed and a sneer on her lips. "Or whatever hybrid thing she is?"
Elena flinched.
"She's not a witch," Lucien said, voice hardening. "Not that she knows of."
Those last four words echoed louder than intended.
A murmur spread like wildfire.
Elena's face flushed. Not that she knows of. What did he mean? Was he confirming what she had feared since the Archive? Was something inside her awakening, something not of this world?
"She's dangerous," Damon said. "And she's already unraveling your judgment, my king."
Lucien's voice rang out across the court like a blade unsheathed. "Let me be clear. Elena is under my protection. She is the bearer of the Moonstone. She is connected to the prophecy—like it or not."
"Prophecies are old lies told by dead witches," Sera spat.
"And yet they keep coming true," Mira murmured beside her.
Lucien stepped down from the dais and held out his hand to Elena. "Show them. Let the stone speak."
Her hand trembled as she reached for the pendant at her neck. The moment her fingers brushed the surface, the hall darkened. Torches dimmed. The air shimmered. From the pendant burst a halo of silver-blue light, and behind her, a spectral shape began to form—fluid, dangerous, beautiful.
The Witchblade.
A weapon made of light and memory hovered inches from her back, glowing with moonfire, crackling like lightning trapped in crystal.
The room fell utterly silent.
Some stepped back. Others dropped to one knee.
Even Damon didn't speak.
Elena swallowed hard, her voice barely audible. "I don't want to be your queen. I just want answers."
Lucien stepped closer, gently letting her hand fall. The light faded. The blade vanished.
He turned back to his court.
"Whether she's queen or not is irrelevant. She is here. The Goddess chose her. And I will see that she's protected."
When the court was finally dismissed, Mira led Elena out a side door, her expression unreadable.
"You did well," she said. "But the wolves aren't the only ones watching."
Elena glanced back at the throne. "Who else?"
"The ones who remember what you really are," Mira said. "And the ones who fear your return."
Elena's pulse quickened. "I'm not her."
Mira didn't answer.
But the flicker in her eyes said otherwise.