CHAPTER 8 : SOMETHING ISN’T RIGHT

Lyria didn't sleep. Not even a little. That image kept looping in her mind—Selene’s Moon Mark. There, then gone. Back again. Over and over. Every time Lyria shut her eyes, it flashed behind her eyelids. She’d try to tell herself she was imagining things, but the memory just got clearer. Mate marks aren’t supposed to disappear. Everyone knows that. The Moon Goddess gives those marks—every wolf’s been taught as much since birth. Marks can fade if someone dies, they can weaken if a bond breaks, but they don’t just flicker out and return like a broken candle. It couldn’t happen. Lyria knew what she saw. And judging by that quick moment of panic on Selene’s face, Selene had seen it too. That changed things. For the first time since the Blood Moon Festival, Lyria had something her enemies didn’t see coming: a reason to fight. A reason to dig deeper. Because if Selene’s mark was fake, then Kael’s so-called “true mate” might not be his mate at all. And if that was a lie—well, then Selene’s whole climb to power was built on sand. It was terrifying to think about. It was dangerous too. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to put Selene at Kael’s side. They wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of anyone who got too close to the truth. Including her. Nyra stirred, uneasy. “We’re getting closer.” “Closer to what?” Her wolf didn’t answer. Didn’t have an answer—neither of them did. One thing was certain: the deeper they went, the more dangerous things felt. Morning showed up beneath a heavy gray sky. The palace felt too quiet. Or maybe everything just seemed off now that Lyria was on edge. Every glance, every hushed word, every door that closed when she walked by—it all tugged at her suspicion. She’d spent her whole life here—fifteen years thinking she knew this place. Now she wasn’t so sure. She needed information, that was the next step. Selene claimed to come from the Eastern Territories, past the Northern Borderlands. Kael said they met on a diplomatic trip three months ago. Simple enough. Except, right away, Lyria had questions. If Selene came from the East, why hadn’t anybody heard of her? Those Eastern packs weren’t isolated. There were trade routes, regular travel, news always moving from one leader to another. Somebody should know the Ashwood family. But at the banquet, Lyria listened to dozens of conversations. Nobody recognized Selene’s family name. Not a single person. That just wasn’t normal. After breakfast, she made her way to the archives. The palace kept piles of records—alliances, bloodlines, histories going back for centuries. If the Ashwood name was legitimate, it’d be in there. And if it wasn’t… well, that would be a clue too. The archives spanned a whole wing under the council chambers. Floor to ceiling shelves. So much dust, caught in the sunlight. The old archivist at the desk glanced up, and Lyria saw his expression change as soon as he recognized her. That awkwardness again. She was getting used to it, but it still stung. “Lady Lyria.” Not Luna. Not anymore. She let it go. “I need access to the Eastern Territory records.” He hesitated, just a beat, but Lyria caught it. People hesitated around her now, like just speaking to her might cause trouble. Eventually, he nodded. “Third section.” “Thank you.” He went back to his work, but Lyria felt his eyes trailing her, uneasy or maybe just curious. For two hours, Lyria searched. Ashwood—nothing. Checked the noble registries, trade records, birth and alliance documents. Still nothing. The Ashwood family didn’t appear anywhere. She went over everything again, thinking she must have missed something. She hadn’t. The family wasn’t in the records. Officially, they didn’t exist. A knot tightened in her stomach. Selene claimed noble blood—but there was no sign, no history, no trace at all. Standing in the archives, Lyria realized: it was like Selene had appeared from nowhere. She supposed she should be excited about that, but instead it made her uneasy. People don’t just erase bloodlines for no reason. She finally left the archives at noon, stepping into a palace that was its usual bustle—servants running back and forth, guards shifting post, council members flitting to meetings. On the surface, everything looked normal. Underneath, Lyria could feel the tension, something changing. She just couldn’t put her finger on it. She was heading for the eastern courtyard when she caught familiar voices through a nearby doorway—Kael, and Selene. Lyria slowed automatically. She told herself she wasn’t trying to overhear. Truth was, her whole body was on alert. Something was off. Selene laughed—polished, gentle, the sort of laugh meant to charm. Then Kael spoke. “When did you say your father died?” Lyria froze. Inside, silence stretched on too long. Then Selene answered, “When I was twelve.” Lyria frowned. At the banquet, she remembered Selene saying she’d lost her father at ten, not twelve. A tiny difference, easy enough to shrug off—except now, Lyria couldn’t. Kael either didn’t notice, or let it go. They kept talking. But Lyria stood rooted in place, sifting through every conversation she’d had with Selene. The inconsistencies started showing up—her hometown, her age, little details that shifted based on the audience. It all seemed rehearsed. That realization sent a chill up her back. That evening, she took a bigger risk. One she absolutely shouldn’t. She crept toward Selene’s chambers. The new Luna claimed the old royal guest suites, tucked over in the west wing. Not as high-security as Kael’s private rooms, but still guarded. Lyria waited until sunset, then slid into a hidden servant passage. She knew these back ways well—most people didn’t even know they existed. Eventually, the passages led her to a spot near Selene’s quarters. She waited, listening. Someone was inside talking with Selene—probably a servant. The voices faded soon enough, and a maid slipped out, arms full of linens. Lyria watched, counted, then made her move. Her heart hammered. Every instinct screamed, get out. She ignored it. The door wasn’t even locked. Odd. She eased inside. The room was flawless—everything perfectly arranged, almost too perfect. No clutter, no personal touches, nothing with a story. You wouldn’t be able to tell anyone actually lived here. She started searching—methodical, careful, years of caution making her hands steady. She checked drawers, the desk, the wardrobe. Still nothing—no letters, pictures, keepsakes, nothing tying Selene to a past. It scared her more than if she’d found something. Then she spotted a small wooden chest, barely peeking out from under the bed. Locked, of course. Lyria’s pulse picked up. If Selene hid anything, it would be here. The lock was simple. Kael taught her to pick locks long ago, during a security drill. The memory hurt, but it was useful now. She worked the lock, heart pounding. Click. Inside: a slim stack of documents. A silver necklace. A folded parchment bearing a strange symbol. Lyria picked it up. The parchment unfurled, revealing rows of ancient symbols—dark, spiraling, almost writhing on the page. She’d never seen a language like this. A cold feeling traced up her spine. Nyra snarled, loud in her head. The reaction was intense—way more than Lyria expected. “Close it,” Nyra snapped. “What?” “NOW.” Lyria jerked. Her wolf wasn’t just concerned—she was scared. Before Lyria could look again, a floorboard creaked. Her blood ran cold. Someone else was here. Slowly, she turned around. And found herself staring into a pair of icy silver eyes.