Lucian's POV
*****
Night fell on Lunaria like a held breath.
Silver lanterns lit the palace grounds in long, symmetrical rows, their glow reflecting off black marble paths and mourning banners that fluttered softly in the wind. From the highest balcony down to the outer gates, the palace had been transformed.
This was the real funeral. Not the quiet, private goodbye from the morning.
This was politics dressed as grief. Tonight, all the big names in Lunarian politics would be attending.
Lucian stood at the top of the dais at the centre of the grand event hall. His shoulders were squared beneath layers of ceremonial black and silver. The Alpha King's cloak rested heavily on his back, the sigil of Stormborn stitched in moonthread across his chest.
Every inch of the attire screamed authority.
And still—his palms were damp.
Below him, the crowd gathered in waves.
Packs from across Lunaria. Nobles. Clan leaders. And then—
His jaw tightened.
The Eastern Wolves Council.
