Chapter Four – The Cracks in the Porcelain
Dinner at the High Table was always quiet—polished, ritualistic, cold.
Eira sat in her usual place, spine straight, napkin folded delicately in her lap, a porcelain plate before her filled with things she never chose. Her parents sat across from her, flanked by advisors and noble guests. Candles flickered in golden sconces. Servants poured wine and whispered updates from the outer provinces.
And yet, no one spoke to her.
They spoke around her.
“The Alpha of Redstone confirmed they’ll attend the ceremony,” her father said to her mother without glancing Eira’s way. “And the dowry lands have been finalized. Thorne was very pleased.”
Her mother nodded, sipping from a crystal goblet. “We’ll host the binding on the eastern terrace. More light. The priestesses will approve.”
“The council suggested the mating be witnessed,” her father added casually, spearing a piece of roasted meat with his fork. “A public union under the moon, to ensure transparency and divine blessing.”
Her mother nodded. “The people will expect to see it. It will affirm her role. The submission must be visible.”
Eira’s stomach turned. She nearly choked on her wine.
“I never agreed to that,” she said quietly.
“Have the seamstresses adjusted the gown to fit the Luna marks?”
“They have. Alder requested a private fitting before the ceremony.”
Eira’s chest tightened. Her lips parted.
“I never agreed to that,” she said quietly.
They didn’t pause.
“Has the healer confirmed her cycles have aligned?” her father asked.
Eira’s hand curled into a fist in her lap.
“She is fertile,” her mother replied. “Everything is proceeding exactly as we planned.”
As we planned.
Not she.
Never she.
Eira stood abruptly, the sound of her chair scraping loud in the otherwise hushed room. Every face turned toward her, but her parents simply looked annoyed, not concerned.
“I’m sitting right here,” she said, her voice shaking. “You talk about me like I’m a vessel. A tool. Like I don’t exist.”
Her mother’s jaw tensed. “Eira, this is not the place—”
“It’s never the place,” she snapped. “It’s never the time. Never the moment. Because my life was decided the second I was born, wasn’t it?”
Her father’s eyes hardened. “You were chosen by the Goddess. This is your duty.”
“No. It’s your vision. Your legacy. Your precious alliance. But what about me? What if I don’t want him?”
Silence stretched.
Her mother’s voice turned icy. “You will do what is required. You are the Luna. And Lunas do not question their place.”
Eira’s breath came fast. Her body trembled—not from fear, but fury.
“I’m not porcelain,” she said. “And I’m not yours to trade.”
Then she turned and walked away.
No one followed.
She moved quickly through the hall, rage blinding her to the startled glances of servants and guards. Her fists clenched at her sides, heart thundering, jaw locked tight. She didn’t stop until she reached the corridor near her chambers—until she saw her leaning against the wall.
Clara.
The Beta’s daughter.
Draped in silk far too revealing for formality, her lips curled into a smirk the moment she spotted Eira. She straightened lazily, arms crossing beneath her chest.
“Trouble in paradise?” Clara purred. “You stormed out like a child who didn’t get her favorite dessert.”
Eira didn’t answer. She tried to step past her.
But Clara slid into her path, gaze gleaming with something malicious.
“You know,” she said, voice dropping, “he doesn’t talk about you. Not when he’s fucking me.”
Eira froze.
Clara leaned closer, her breath warm with cruelty.
“He’s rougher when he’s thinking about you, though. Like he’s trying to forget how cold you are. He likes it messy. Loud. Bruising.” She smiled, teeth flashing. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Eira didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her mouth was dry, her chest burning.
Clara stepped back with a little laugh. “You’re not Luna material, sweetheart. You’re a decoration. Something to hang on his arm while he fucks real women in the dark.”
And with that, she turned and walked away, hips swaying, leaving Eira standing in the silence she’d been raised in—only now it tasted bitter.
Eira stepped into her chambers and shut the door with trembling hands. The silence inside was thick, suffocating. She stared at her reflection in the mirror across the room—perfectly braided hair, flawless skin, eyes wide with restrained pain.
She hated what she saw.
She crossed the room, ripped the pins from her hair, and threw them onto the floor. One by one, she peeled the layers of her gown away, shedding silk and lace like a second skin, until she stood in nothing but the quiet rage in her bones.
They were selling her. Parading her. Using her.
And now they would humiliate her in front of the entire pack. Brand her. Break her.
Her parents didn’t love her.
Alder didn’t want her.
And Clara had just carved the truth into her chest with every venomous word.
Eira walked to the window and looked out into the moonlit trees that bordered the estate. The same forest that had always called to her in dreams. The same one that still felt like the only real thing she’d ever known.
Her jaw set.
She wouldn’t be here for the ceremony.
She would not let them watch her fall.
She would run.
Tonight, she would become hers again.
There was no time to plan. No room for sentiment.
She couldn’t take anything with her—not food, not clothing, not even the dagger hidden beneath her mattress. They would scent her if she lingered. And if they caught her…
She didn’t let herself think that far.
She stripped bare, walking to the far edge of her chamber where the moonlight poured in through the open window. Her pulse thudded deep in her veins. She hadn’t shifted in weeks—not since the priestesses began preparing her for the Luna rites. But her wolf was still there. Buried beneath layers of silk and duty.
Waiting.
She dropped to her knees, eyes shut, breath trembling. Her bones ached with the familiar tension. Then—snap by agonizing snap—she let go.
Her body bent, cracked, reshaped. Fur tore through flesh. Nails curled into claws. Her mouth stretched into a silent snarl. The pain was white-hot, but it was real. It was hers.
When the shift finished, a white wolf stood in the center of the room—lean, lithe, wild-eyed.
She looked once at the life she was leaving behind.
Then she leapt from the window.
And vanished into the woods.