Chapter 101

The morning light was soft and gold as it filtered through the curtains, catching in the swirl of my tea steam and drawing long, syrupy shadows across the table. I sat with my hands curled around the warm mug, trying not to look at the flatscreen in the corner of the room, where my face kept appearing in looped footage from the night before. The interview. The one I hadn’t had the guts to rewatch yet.

Nathan, Emma, and Richard sat around me, each cloaked in their own brand of discomfort. Nathan was flipping between data points, muttering numbers and percentages like spells. Emma was chewing on the end of her pen. And Richard-he hadn’t spoken since I walked in, arms crossed, back straight, jaw clenched.

"We’re seeing a ten-point bump," Nathan said finally, tapping at the tablet in front of him. "Urban packs especially. Younger wolves, rogue-friendly sectors. The general sense is... intrigued. Moved. They liked what they saw."

I didn’t breathe. Not really.

"But?" I asked. There was always a but. Especially with me.

He adjusted his glasses, as if the frame itself was suddenly too tight. "But there's pushback. Council-leaning analysts. Former Lunas. Even a couple of the Elders weighed in. They think you came off as too emotionally raw."

I stared into my mug.

"And?" I said.

Nathan sighed. "The phrase that keeps popping up is: unprepared to be Luna."

The words didn’t sting like they might have once. I wasn’t even sure I disagreed.

"Did they use those words exactly?"

He nodded. Emma looked like she wanted to strangle someone.

Richard still hadn’t said a word.

The door opened before the silence could stretch further, and Emma stood quickly, like she’d been waiting for the interruption. A woman walked in behind her, tall, angular, wearing a dark green coat so sharply tailored it could have cut glass. Her earrings were deep emerald, and her posture suggested she knew exactly what every person in the room was worth before a single word was spoken.

"Lady Maris," Emma said. "Former Luna Regent of Elkrun Valley. She was kind enough to accept on short notice."

The woman bowed her head slightly. "Your Grace."

The title made something clench behind my ribs. I rose awkwardly and held out my hand. She didn’t take it. Just smiled thinly, the kind of smile that said she was already taking notes.

"Emma tells me you're looking for guidance," she said. "I can assist with etiquette, presence, articulation, ceremonial structure. Nothing political. Simply the framework of power."

I looked down at my chipped nails, my sleeves pushed halfway up my arms, the shirt I’d stolen from Richard’s closet. I could still smell the ash of the fireplace in my hair. If I were them, I wouldn’t believe in me either.

I nodded. "Alright. Let’s start."

"No."

The single word cracked through the room like a whip. Everyone turned.

Richard was on his feet now, arms no longer crossed but hanging rigid at his sides. His eyes were locked on mine, sharp and unrelenting.

"You don’t need someone like her telling you how to sand down your edges."

Lady Maris said nothing, but her lips twitched.

I blinked. "It’s not about sanding anything down. It’s about not making a fool of myself every time I’m on camera."

"You didn’t make a fool of yourself," he said.

"I trembled through half that interview. I couldn't remember which camera to look at. I nearly said the word 'bullshit' on live national coverage."

"And it worked."

I stepped closer. "You were raised for this. You can walk into a Council chamber and know exactly where to stand. I grew up dodging whispers in a pack that barely tolerated me. I don’t want to be someone else. I just want to have a chance at surviving this without being torn apart."

His jaw clenched. His silence stretched.

Nathan cleared his throat like he couldn’t stand it any longer. "Sorry to interrupt, but there’s rogue activity near Westpoint. Not large. Maybe half a dozen wolves. But it’s close enough that it needs eyes."

Richard turned away from me. "I’ll handle it."

He didn’t look back.

That night, the kitchen smelled like lemon and rosemary and something a little burnt. I moved barefoot across the tile, slicing zucchini into thin rounds, my fingers remembering how to move even when my brain wouldn’t settle. Richard was by the stove again, quiet, sleeves rolled up, wooden spoon in hand. We hadn’t spoken about what happened that morning. I didn’t know if we would.

"You're quiet," I said, not looking up.

"So are you."

"Still mad?"

He set the spoon down. "I wasn't mad. I was... protective. Maybe stupidly so."

I turned to him. "You don't need to protect me from learning. This isn’t me changing who I am. This is me making sure I don’t embarrass both of us in front of a room full of Elders."

He stepped closer. "You don’t embarrass me."

I smiled, tired. "Not yet. But give me another press conference."

We ate at the little kitchen table, the one with the worn edge and the candle that leaned slightly to the left. It felt smaller than usual tonight, like the air between us had thickened with something softer than silence. I told him about the time at school I spilled wine all over the robes of a visiting ambassador during a scholarship banquet. My hands had been shaking so badly I knocked the whole glass right into her lap. She stood up so fast she knocked over a chair. I panicked and claimed it was part of a new full-moon blessing ritual we were testing out. I even threw my arms in the air and chanted something that sounded vaguely spiritual. One of the Elders coughed to hide his laughter. I thought I was going to be expelled.

Richard was halfway through chewing when I got to the part about the fake ritual. He covered his mouth with his hand, shoulders shaking, and then gave up completely. He laughed so hard he had to set his fork down and lean back in the chair, chest heaving, breath catching in uneven bursts. I couldn’t stop smiling. It wasn't just a chuckle, or even a regular laugh. It was the kind that made his whole body surrender to it, the kind that made me feel like I'd just given him something no one else had in a long, long time.

Later, when the dishes were done and the fire was crackling, he pulled a blanket from the back of the couch. I hesitated. Then I went to him.

"Come here," he said, voice low.

He lifted me without effort, settling me in his lap as if we’d done this a hundred times before. My legs curled around him, my cheek against his shoulder. Outside, snow painted everything white and quiet.

When he kissed me, it was slow and reverent, like every second was a question he wanted me to answer. His hand slid under my shirt, resting against the small of my back, warm and steady. I kissed him again, slower, deeper, not because I wanted more, but because I wanted him.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his breath still warm against my lips. "You're so beautiful, Amelia," he said, voice low and a little hoarse. "I think about you and my whole body reacts. It's not just in my head anymore."

I kissed him again because my heart was breaking open and I didn’t know what to do with all that light.

Later, after he’d fallen asleep with one arm flung across my waist, his breath soft against my neck, I slipped away. The hallway was dark and silent. I padded to the charging station by the door and picked up my phone.

The message was still there, unsent:

I want to move forward with the extra lessons. Nighttime, private. Can you keep it quiet?

I hit send.

Lady Maris responded immediately. Of course. My discretion is absolute.

I forwarded the thread to Emma.

Can you cover for me?

Her reply came only seconds later. Always.

I stood in the hall for a long moment, the cold from the floor rising up through my feet, the memory of his touch still burning in my skin. Then I powered off the phone and slid it into my pocket.

I wasn’t changing who I was. I was choosing who I was becoming.