Kaia's POV
The envelope is waiting on my mattress when I return from my shift.
I stop in the doorway, my heart lurching. In two months of living at the shelter, I've never received mail. Nobody knows I'm here. Nobody cares.
That yours? Luna asks, looking up from where she's mending a torn shirt.
I approach slowly, like the envelope might bite. It's made of heavy black paper—expensive, official. The kind of thing that doesn't belong in a homeless shelter.
The seal makes my blood run cold.
Black wax. Silver wolf emblem.
The Alpha King's mark.
Kaia? Luna's voice sounds far away. What is it?
My hands shake as I break the seal and pull out the letter. The handwriting is formal, precise, terrifying:
Kaia Ashborne,
You are hereby summoned to participate in the Luna Trials. Ten females have been selected to compete for the honor of becoming Luna Queen to Alpha King Daemon Silverclaw.
The trials will span six weeks. Candidates will face tests of strength, intelligence, strategy, and worthiness. Only one will succeed.
Failure to attend this summons will be considered an act of treason against the crown, punishable by death.
Failure during the trials may also result in elimination—permanent and final.
You are commanded to report to the Obsidian Palace within three days of receiving this summons.
By order of Alpha King Daemon Silverclaw
The letter slips from my fingers.
Luna snatches it up, her eyes widening as she reads. This is a death sentence! You can't go!
I laugh—a broken, bitter sound. Someone entered my name as a joke. Probably Vivienne. One last way to humiliate me.
But it's official. Luna's face is pale. If you don't go—
They'll hunt me down and execute me for treason. I sink onto the mattress, my mind spinning. If I do go, I'll die in the first trial. Either way, I'm dead.
Ten women competing for the Alpha King's hand. They'll all be Pureblood—warriors, princesses, political daughters. Beautiful, trained, worthy.
And then there's me. A rejected Mixedblood nobody who sleeps in shelters and serves drinks to wolves who treat her like trash.
I'll be eliminated immediately. Publicly. The perfect entertainment—watching the weakest candidate fail.
You could run, Luna says desperately. Leave the territory. Go somewhere they can't find you.
Where? I meet her eyes. I have no money. No connections. No pack that would take me in. I'd be a rogue, hunted by every territory I entered. That's a death sentence too, just slower.
Luna grabs my shoulders. Then we fight. If you're going to die anyway, at least die fighting instead of hiding.
Something in her words resonates. Die fighting versus die slowly in this shelter, serving drinks and dodging cruel hands and wondering if this is all I'll ever be.
At least if I die in the trials, I say slowly, I'll die as someone who tried. Someone who didn't just give up.
Exactly. Luna's grip tightens. And you won't die alone. I'm coming with you.
Luna
The palace needs servants, right? Maids, kitchen staff, whatever. I'll get hired somehow. I'm not letting you face this alone.
Tears burn my eyes. You don't have to
Yes, I do. You're the only family I have. She pulls me into a fierce hug. We're in this together.
We spend the next three days preparing.
Preparing is a generous word for what we actually do—stealing.
Luna swipes clothes from donation bins. I pocket food from the tavern kitchen when the cook isn't looking. We steal a travel bag from a market stall and fill it with anything that might help: a water canteen, a knife, spare socks.
You'll need to look presentable when you arrive, Luna says, holding up a simple blue dress she found. Can't show up looking like a street rat.
I am a street rat.
Not anymore. She grins. Now you're a street rat going to compete for a crown. Big difference.
Despite everything, I almost smile.
On the third morning, we stand outside the shelter with our stolen supplies, staring at the road that leads to the Obsidian Palace.
Last chance to run, Luna says.
I think about the letter. The black wax seal. The command that gave me no choice.
But deeper than that, I think about Rowan's face when he rejected me. Elara's vicious smile. My stepmother's satisfaction. The Ashborne family erasing me like I never mattered.
They threw me away because they thought I was nothing.
Maybe I am nothing.
But I'm tired of letting other people decide what I'm worth.
Let's go, I say.
We start walking.
Neither of us looks back.
The journey takes two days on foot. We sleep in the forest, share stolen food, and avoid main roads where guards might question us.
Luna keeps me distracted with stories and jokes. What if you actually win? she asks on the second night. Imagine their faces when the homeless Mixedblood becomes Luna Queen.
I won't win, I say flatly.
But what if?
I can't even imagine it. Me, ruling beside the Alpha King? Absurd.
But the fantasy keeps me walking.
On the afternoon of the second day, we crest a hill, and my breath catches.
The Obsidian Palace rises in the distance—massive black stone towers against the mountains, silver banners flying from impossible heights. It's beautiful and terrifying, like a castle from nightmares.
That's where you're going, Luna whispers.
I stare at the palace, my stomach twisting with fear.
Somewhere in there, the Alpha King waits. Nine other candidates—all better than me—wait. Trials that will probably kill me wait.
But I don't turn back.
I keep walking toward the palace, toward my death, toward whatever destiny is waiting.
Because at least I'm choosing it this time.
At least it's my choice.
When we finally reach the palace gates, guards stop us immediately.
State your business, one demands.
I pull out the letter with shaking hands. I'm Kaia Ashborne. I was summoned for the Luna Trials.
The guard's eyes widen. He snatches the letter, studies it, then looks at me with something like pity.
You're the last one to arrive, he says. The other candidates got here yesterday. The King's been waiting.
My heart hammers. I'm not late. The letter said three days—
Just barely made it. He gestures to Luna. She with you?
I'm seeking employment, Luna says quickly. Kitchen staff, cleaning, whatever you need.
The guard waves another soldier over. Take this one to the servants' quarters. See if they need help. He looks at me. You come with me.
Luna squeezes my hand one last time. Be brave.
Then they're leading her away, and I'm following the guard through massive gates into the palace courtyard.
And I see them.
Nine women standing near a fountain, dressed in beautiful gowns, their hair styled perfectly, their posture radiating confidence and breeding.
The other candidates.
They turn as I approach, and I watch their expressions shift from curiosity to disgust.
I'm wearing a stolen dress that doesn't fit right. My hair is messy from two days of travel. I have nothing—no servants, no bags, no dignity.
I look exactly like what I am: a homeless nobody who doesn't belong.
A tall woman in silver armor steps forward, her ice-blue eyes raking over me with contempt. Is that one of us? She laughs. She looks like she crawled out of a gutter.
The others join her laughter.
I lift my chin, refusing to show how much it hurts.
The guard clears his throat. All candidates will now be taken to the throne room for the official opening ceremony. Follow me.
As we walk through the palace halls—black marble and silver chandeliers and luxury I've never imagined—the other candidates whisper behind me.
That's the Mixedblood who got rejected.
I heard she went crazy.
She won't last a day.
They're probably right.
But I keep walking anyway.
The guard stops before massive double doors engraved with wolves.
The throne room, he announces. You will meet Alpha King Daemon Silverclaw. You will kneel when commanded. You will speak only when spoken to. Understood?
We all nod.
He opens the doors.
The throne room steals my breath. It's enormous—ceiling so high I can barely see it, silver chandeliers like frozen waterfalls, black marble floors polished to mirrors.
And at the far end, on a throne of black stone, sits a man who makes my heart stop.
Even from this distance, I can see he's massive. Powerful. Scarred. His eyes glow silver in the dim light.
Alpha King Daemon Silverclaw.
All candidates will approach and kneel, a voice commands.
We walk forward in a line. The other candidates move with grace and confidence. I try not to trip on my too-long dress.
Kneel.
We drop to our knees on the cold marble.
You may rise.
I stand on shaking legs, keeping my eyes down.
Look at me.
Daemon's voice is deep, commanding, absolute. It resonates in my bones.
I lift my eyes.
And the world explodes.