Chapter 110

Amelia

War ruled the rhythm of the Pack House. Strategy memos and border updates filled every hallway, and every room felt like it was bracing for impact. The war councils claimed the top floor. The elders shuffled in and out of chambers like vultures circling. Richard was always somewhere I wasn’t.

I started counting the number of meals I ate alone. Then I stopped.

Most nights, I fell asleep with my phone pressed to my chest in case he called. He didn’t. He was protecting the kingdom, I told myself. He wasn’t avoiding me. But every morning I woke up to an empty room, and every time I passed a guarded door, I flinched.

So I worked. If I couldn’t be with him, I’d at least be useful.

I sat through Lady Maris’s etiquette drills without blinking. I recited policies until I could quote bylaws in my sleep. I took notes at briefings even when no one expected me to. I met with staffers three ranks above me and absorbed everything I could without flinching. If they looked at me like I didn’t belong, I looked right back like I did.

And when the halls went quiet, when the tension of the day had nowhere else to go, I locked my office door and pulled out the envelope from the orphanage. I hadn’t opened it yet. Not fully. I’d peeked, flipped through the contents just enough to confirm what it was, but I hadn’t let myself read it, not really. Part of me was terrified it would change everything. That I’d find something I couldn’t come back from. And part of me was afraid it wouldn’t change anything at all. That I’d still be the same girl with no answers, just more questions in new handwriting.

Inside was a lock of dark hair, a torn certificate, and a note scrawled by a midwife who had died more than a decade ago. No names. No real answers. But it felt like something. Something raw and aching and unfinished.

I read the letter again. And again. There was a line in it, “healthy lungs, no mark”, that I kept circling in red pen like it would change if I stared long enough. It didn’t. The note was clinical, cold. But I kept looking anyway. If I could find a mother, a reason, a shred of proof that I came from something real, maybe I’d stop feeling like a hollow crown.

Simon found me that night in the east study. I’d been there for hours without realizing it. The lights were too bright, the air too dry, and my fingers had gone numb from gripping a pen I hadn’t used in twenty minutes.

“Hey—”

“You’re shaking,” he said. “And you’ve read this page four times.”

I blinked. My fingers were trembling.

He set the binder on the table and sat across from me, frowning. “When was the last time you slept for more than four hours?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I dropped my gaze. My throat was tight. My voice, when it came, was small.

“They want me to be a symbol,” I said. “The soft, steady Luna. Something clean and marketable. But I don’t feel soft. I feel scraped down to nothing. And I don’t feel steady—I feel like I’m holding everything together with twine and masking tape.”

Simon didn’t try to fix it. He reached across the table and took my hand. “Then let something go. Just one thing. I’m serious.”

“I can’t. If I stop moving, I’ll lose it.”

“Then sit still and let me carry it. All of it. Just for a minute. Let me be the one who holds the weight, so you don’t have to prove anything to anyone, including me.”

That got me. I pressed my hand to my mouth, trying to breathe through the knot in my chest. One tear slipped down. Then another. Simon didn’t say anything. He just sat there, warm and steady, until the flood slowed.

Eventually, I told him about the envelope. About the hair. The note. He didn’t say anything right away. He just nodded slowly.

“Maybe it’s okay not to know who you were before,” he said. “You’re already someone now. And she’s a hell of a lot more than a symbol.”

I didn’t say thank you. I just let the words settle. They felt like something I could build on.

Richard

The insult was said in the middle of a dry update about resource allocation.

“She’s a volatility risk,” Elder Reardon muttered. “I’ve seen wolves in heat with more restraint.”

The table went quiet.

I didn’t raise my voice, I didn’t throw anything, I just stood.

“You want to talk about restraint?”

Reardon didn’t look at me, coward.

“Amelia has faced mobs, scandals, rumors. She’s walked into firestorms you engineered and came out steady. You think that’s volatility? No. That’s strength. That’s leadership.”

One of the councilors cleared his throat, like he wanted to interrupt. I didn’t let him.

“She has more spine than half this council combined. And if you can’t see that, it’s because you’re too busy looking for someone to blame for your own cowardice.”

The room stayed silent. Some of them shifted, but no one challenged me.

“She’s still learning. And she’s still ten times what any of you were at her age.”

I left before anyone could respond. Let them sit in their silence.

Nathan followed me halfway down the corridor.

“You know they’re going to spin that,” he said. “They’ll say you’re blinded. That you’re soft for her.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should. For her sake.”

I didn’t stop walking. “They can say whatever they want. She’s still stronger than every last one of them.”

Amelia

He found me outside the strategy room, his jacket unbuttoned, his eyes darker than I’d seen in days.

“I heard what you said to the council.”

He gave a short nod. “They deserved worse.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

I hesitated. “Why haven’t you proposed?”

His silence stretched. Not uncomfortable, but deliberate. He was weighing something, and I hated that I didn’t know what.

He finally said, “There’s been a lot happening.”

That answer didn’t sting because it was false. It stung because it was safe. Because he said it like we were fragile. Like I couldn’t handle the truth.

“I see.”

He stepped forward, but I was already walking away. I didn’t want an apology. I didn’t want reassurance. I wanted to know why I felt like a guest in my own future.

Back in my suite, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my hands. My right hand was covered in ink from notes. My left was bare.

Emma knocked and came in without waiting. She had a tablet in one hand and two mugs in the other.

“I brought the poll data,” she said, then took one look at me and softened. “But it can wait.”

I didn’t answer.

She set everything down and crossed to me. “Want to scream into a pillow or eat chocolate until your stomach hurts?”

I gave a small smile. “Maybe both.”

She kissed the top of my head like Jenny used to when we were kids. “Tomorrow, then. Tonight, just be human.”

Later that night, on the balcony...

The wind was sharp. I let it bite into me. I didn’t bring a coat.

The fires were visible now. Not just smoke, but flame. Lines of orange against the black of the horizon. David’s people, or rogue packs, or maybe just fear feeding itself.

I took off the ring I usually wore on my middle finger and set it on the railing. Just to see what it looked like. Just to imagine.

Then I curled my bare hand into a fist.

I just stood there until the cold sank into my bones and the firelight flickered against my skin.