Elara pov.
The East Wing wasn't a dungeon; it was a cage upholstered in velvet and dark mahogany.
Richard's pack had housed Elara in a windowless room the size of a closet, with a thin straw mattress and walls stained with old mold.
Here, the room was vast, dominated by a four-poster bed draped in heavy charcoal silk.
A fire crackled in the grate, filling the air with the gentle scent of cedar.
The maid, a woman named Inez with tired, kind eyes, moved with quiet professionalism.
She brought a deep copper tub full of steaming water and laid out a fresh linen shift.
"The Alpha ordered fresh clothes for you, Luna," Inez whispered, avoiding eye contact.
Luna.
The title felt absurd, a cruel jest.
Elara flinched when Inez reached out to help her with the gown's heavy lacings. She was used to hands that hurt, not hands that helped.
"I… I can manage, thank you."
As she stripped off the despised wedding dress, Elara examined the scars that crisscrossed her skin, the map of Richard's cruelty.
The newest marks, still purple from the beating she'd received just two weeks ago, were raw reminders of the power he had sought to suppress.
She realized, with a sickening jolt, that she was exposing these wounds to the firelight.
After the bath, Elara sank into the silk sheets, the warmth unfamiliar and comforting.
She was safe for this moment, but she was still Roland's property, a bargaining chip in a war she didn't understand.
Her fingers instinctively went to the small, smooth stone of her pendant, still nestled safely against her chest.
It was her only link to her past, a cold comfort.
Moonfall Pack, she thought, remembering a fleeting vision from one of her fever dreams: a pack crest, shining under a fractured moon.
A sharp, authoritative rap on the door broke the stillness.
"Luna, I must conduct an interview. Alpha's orders," a male voice stated, clinical and devoid of courtesy.
The man who entered was Cassian, Roland's Beta.
He was handsome in a severe way, his dark eyes sharp and analytical, scanning the room and Elara herself as if calculating her structural integrity.
He pulled a chair to the foot of the bed and sat, his posture radiating suspicion.
"My name is Cassian.
I manage the Shadowlands' external relations," he began, his voice dry.
"Let's dispense with the pretense.
You are here as part of a treaty to help us combat the growing influence of the Sun Coven within our borders."
Elara sat up, pulling the covers higher.
"I know nothing of your treaty.
Alpha Richard simply… sold me."
Cassian's jaw tightened. "And Alpha Roland bought you, which makes you our asset.
Richard's rationale for the exchange was that a pure human raised in a volatile pack would act as an untraceable distraction for the Coven's scouts."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, skeptical challenge. "But Richard is a liar.
So, I'll ask you once, girl.
Are you a spy?"
"I am a slave," Elara whispered, the words tasting like ash.
"I haven't left the basement in three years. I know nothing about witches or covens."
Cassian pov.
Cassian watched her for a long, unsettling moment.
"I see the marks Richard left. They are consistent with torture used to inhibit early shifting."
His gaze was unnerving. "If you are what Richard claims weak, subservient, and human then you are simply a hostage.
If you are not, and you possess any latent power, you will tell me now.
Our Alpha will not tolerate deception."
The word power brought a sudden, violent thrumming behind her ribs.
Elara shook her head rapidly.
"I am nothing.
I have nothing."
"Very well." Cassian stood, clearly unconvinced.
"Welcome to the Shadowlands.
Do not leave the East Wing.
Your safety is now paramount to our agreement with Richard.
Understand that paramount does not mean cared for."
He left as abruptly as he had arrived, leaving the room colder than before.
Elara sank back into the pillows, tears finally stinging her eyes.
She was still trapped, still viewed as a bargaining tool, but she wasn't being beaten.
That alone was a dizzying, terrifying change.
She glanced at the massive hearth. Inez had placed a tall, leather-bound volume on the mantlepiece, a history of the region.
Elara climbed out of bed and opened it carefully.
It was filled with old etchings. On a random page, she found a stylized drawing of a man kneeling before a shattered moon with the same design on her pendant.
The caption beneath it was written in an ancient, faded script: The Moonfall of the Forgotten King.
Alpha Roland pov.
Roland stood motionless in his private study, the room cloaked in shadows, a world away from the soft cedar and firelight of Elara's room.
He was staring at the signed contract with Richard, but his mind was on the fierce, defensive tremor he had felt in his chest when Richard's touch had lingered on her.
Mate.
The word was a silent, agonizing roar in his core, the kind of bond he had suppressed for years, the one he had hoped would never manifest.
The mate bond was a weakness, a catastrophic vulnerability, especially when tied to her.
He knew what the Moonfall symbol represented.
His father, Darius, had ensured the knowledge was passed down: the hybrid line.
The Moonfall pack had bred with the Sun Coven long ago, a forbidden union that had created the only beings capable of wielding both wolf strength and raw magic.
Richard hadn't sold him a hostage; Richard had sold him a ticking clock.
She is dying, his wolf insisted, driven by the protective instinct of their shared destiny.
The suppression is killing her.
Fix it.
Roland smashed his fist onto the solid oak desk.
He had promised Richard he would keep her weak.
The moment her wolf awoke, the fragile truce he had brokered with the High Council would shatter.
He had to keep her safe, yet dormant.
He crossed to the secure communication panel and activated it, connecting directly to Gideon, the spy he had planted in Richard's territory months ago, the one whose silence had secured the marriage deal.
"Report," Roland commanded, his voice tight with restrained urgency.
"The Sun Coven is mobilizing, Alpha.
They're hunting the Moonfall relic, and the whispers indicate they believe Richard had a captive related to the line."
Gideon's voice was strained.
"They'll be testing your borders within the week.
They need her, Alpha.
They need the key."
Roland's jaw worked. "Then they will find her protected.
Double the Shadow Sentinels around the East Wing. Let nothing disturb her.
And Gideon…"
"Alpha?"
"Find out where Richard stored the rest of her mother's things.
If the pendant is the lock, the Coven will look for the key's map."
He cut the connection, turning to look out at the dark, silent forest.
He felt the terrifying pull toward Elara, the desperate need to soothe the pain he had smelled on her.
But he couldn't.
He had brought her here to be safe, but also to be a shield.
You are mine now, Elara, he thought, the possessiveness a dark, comforting poison.
And I will keep you, even if it burns us both to ash.
The Shadowlands is proving to be a place of protection, but not freedom, for Elara.
Now Roland knows the witches are closing in, and they are hunting for a "key's map" related to her mother.