POV: Elara Ashwyn
Chaos.
That's all I see as I watch the Oracle's magic tear through the palace courtyard. Stone explodes. Warriors scatter. The King's shadows erupt in response, and for a moment, the entire kingdom is engulfed in a war of light and darkness.
Then everything stops.
Not pauses. Stops. Like someone froze time itself. The High Oracle's magic hangs suspended in mid-air. The King's shadows are crystallized. Even the warriors in the courtyard are frozen mid-movement.
And standing between them both, arms raised, is Sage Elira.
Silver light radiates from her palms—so ancient, so powerful that even I feel small beneath it. She's no longer an old healer. She's something far older. Far more dangerous.
"Not today, Morgana," Elira's voice echoes across the frozen courtyard. "This girl has much to do before you can claim her. Stand down, or I will make you regret every century you've lived."
The High Oracle's frozen face is a mask of rage. But after a moment that stretches like eternity, she nods slightly.
Time resumes.
The Oracle rises into the air, silver wings of magic expanding from her shoulders. "This is not over, Obsidian King. The Moon Court will have what is ours. The priestess and her abomination child belong to us."
She vanishes into the sky.
The King stands motionless, surrounded by dissipating shadows. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough with barely contained fury. "Elara. My chambers. Now."
It's not a request.
Three guards escort me through corridors I didn't know existed. The palace feels different now—no longer a sanctuary, but a fortress under siege. Warriors stand at every corner. Scouts race through hallways with urgent messages. The peace I glimpsed earlier has shattered.
The King's chambers are at the very top of the palace, in a tower that seems to exist partially in shadow. A massive dining table sits in the center of the room, set for two. Candles burn with flames that are black instead of orange.
The King stands by the window, his masked face turned toward the horizon where the Oracle disappeared.
"Leave us," he commands the guards.
They obey without hesitation. The doors close, sealing us in silence.
"You're angry," I say carefully.
"Yes." He doesn't turn around. "Sit. Eat. We need to speak, and you need strength for what's coming."
I move to the table and sit. For several long minutes, neither of us speaks. A servant—I don't see where she comes from—places food in front of me.
My favorite food.
Roasted chicken with herbs the way my mother used to make it. Fresh bread still warm from the oven. A salad with vegetables I haven't seen since leaving Silvercrest. Fruit I didn't know I was craving until I smelled it.
"How did you—" I start.
"Raven mentioned what you mentioned to her," the King says, finally turning to face me. "About hunger. About surviving on berries and stream water. I thought you might appreciate something that tastes like home."
He sits across from me, and even through the mask, I feel the weight of his attention.
"Eat," he says. "I'm not going to poison you, if that's what you're wondering."
"I'm not wondering that," I say, and it's true. After everything, somehow I trust him more than I trusted Darius. "I'm wondering why you care."
The King is silent for a moment, then: "You don't trust me. Good. Trust should be earned, not given freely to masked strangers who pull you through shadow portals."
He leans back in his chair, studying me.
"Let me be honest with you, Elara Ashwyn. I need a Luna Queen. Not because I'm lonely or because I need a bride in any traditional sense. But because this kingdom needs legitimacy. The Seven Kingdoms see me as a threat, a criminal, a shadow-lord without authority. A queen—especially one who carries the bloodline of the Moon Priestesses—changes that dynamic. Suddenly, I'm not a rogue tyrant. I'm a legitimate ruler building something new."
He pauses, letting that sink in.
"And you need protection. You need a kingdom that will stand between you and the Moon Court. You need power, resources, and the ability to eventually exact revenge on those who destroyed your old life. I can give you all of that."
"So this is a business arrangement," I say quietly.
"Yes," he confirms. "A mutually beneficial alliance. I give you safety. You give me legitimacy. Your child grows up in a palace instead of dying in the Shadowlands. My kingdom gets a queen with an ancient bloodline. Everyone wins."
He stands and walks to the window, his shadow-cloak trailing behind him.
"But there's something else you should know," he continues. "The moment the Oracle appeared, everything changed. The Moon Court knows you're here now. They know you're pregnant. They'll be sending more hunters, more Oracles, possibly armies."
I stop eating.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that keeping you alive just became infinitely more complicated," he says. "The arrangement we made—me saving you in the Shadowlands—was always going to lead here. But I didn't expect it to happen this quickly."
He turns back to me, and there's something almost tender in his masked posture.
"Your child will want for nothing here," he says. "That's a promise. But she'll also grow up in a kingdom at war. She'll grow up knowing that her mother is hunted. That her bloodline is considered a threat to the most powerful institution in this world."
"I know," I whisper.
"Do you?" he asks. "Because if you want out, if you want to take your chances alone, I won't stop you. You're free, Elara. Unlike Darius, unlike your pack, I don't own you. You can choose to leave at any time."
It's a test. I realize that immediately. He's seeing if I'll run, if I'll panic, if I'll abandon him the moment things get difficult.
I don't run.
Instead, I keep eating. And as the food fills my empty belly, as warmth spreads through my exhausted body, I realize something profound: Darius would have already made a plan to use my bloodline as a weapon. He would have negotiated with the Moon Court. He would have handed me over to save himself.
This masked stranger is offering me something different. Agency. Choice. Honest terms.
"I'm not leaving," I say.
The King inclines his head slightly—acknowledgment, perhaps even approval.
But before he can respond, Raven bursts through the door. Her face is pale, her hand is bleeding, and her voice shakes.
"My King," she gasps. "Scouts just returned from the eastern border. The Seven Kingdoms aren't sending more Oracles. They're mobilizing their entire armies."
She pauses, looking directly at me.
"And there's something else. Something the scouts found in the Oracle's belongings when they fought her rearguard. A prophecy. Written in ancient Priestess script."
She pulls out a piece of parchment, her hands trembling.
"It says: 'When the wolfless becomes a queen, and the priestess blood awakens, the child born of shadow and moon will either destroy the world or save it. But first, she must choose: stand with the king who loves her, or answer the call of the darkness within.'"
The King and I lock eyes across the table.
"There's more," Raven continues, and her voice drops to barely a whisper. "The prophecy mentions the child specifically. Your daughter, Elara. It says she'll be born with power that doesn't exist in this world. Power that the Moon Court fears more than anything."
I place my hand on my belly.
"What kind of power?" I ask.
Raven looks at the King, as if asking permission.
He nods.
"The prophecy calls it 'the key,'" Raven says. "The key to either imprisoning or releasing something that was sealed beneath the Obsidian Throne a thousand years ago. Something that the Moon Court and the Obsidian King both fear."
The King's entire body goes rigid.
"Is it—" he starts.
"Yes," Sage Elira says, appearing in the doorway like she was summoned by the words themselves. "Your mate. The first Moon Priestess. The one you loved and lost. She was never truly dead, Kael. She was imprisoned. Sealed beneath your throne by the Moon Court as insurance against your rebellion."
She looks directly at me.
"And your daughter is the key to releasing her."