The throne hall was silent—too silent for a day meant to be filled with celebration.
Lyra stood rooted at the base of the dais, dressed in her golden ceremonial robe, a glinting crown perched on her head. Her hands hung loosely at her sides, but inside, her chest felt tight and restless. Her throat itched with unease.
She had expected joy and endless praise. After all, it was her crowning day beside Alpha Damien. But all she could feel was confusion. At why she had to be doing this and why her insides were being gnawed by a thousand thoughts.
And fear.
Her eyes were fixed on Damien, who now stood at the center of the hall, his back ramrod straight and his shoulders still. His expression was unreadable. Not a trace of warmth, nor even a flicker of anger. Just cold stillness.
But that silence was louder than any shout. Lyra swallowed hard.
The whisper of what that strange omega girl had told her earlier that morning returned like a cold wind through her mind.
