CHAPTER 3 : THE PUBLIC HUMILIATION

Lyria couldn’t breathe. Nyra’s scream still rattled around in her head. “RUN!” That single word had shaken her so badly, she couldn’t stop shaking. But her feet wouldn’t move. No matter how hard her instincts screamed, she stayed rooted in place. Her mind? Blank. Hollowed out. How do you run when your whole world shatters right in front of everyone? The Blood Moon stared down, painting the valley red—a color so harsh it almost felt evil, like it wanted to expose every thought, every secret. Faces glowed in the bloody light. All of them looking at her. Judging. Whispering. Pitying. She’d stared down enemy Alphas before. She’d stood in the middle of moonswept battlefields, blood everywhere. She’d wrestled peace from the jaws of war, forced rivals to shake hands when all they wanted was to kill each other. None of that mattered right now. Nothing had prepared her for this moment—having nothing, nowhere, not even the comfort of home. She watched Kael crown Selene Ashwood—the new Luna. In an instant, everything changed. It was terrifying how fast it happened. Just a heartbeat ago, she was Luna. Now? Nothing. No one. Applause crashed over her, loud and relentless. Not everyone clapped. Some looked away, faces twisted with surprise or discomfort. But so many cheered; so many acted like she’d disappeared ages ago. They smiled at Selene, warm and eager, as if Lyria never existed. How could betrayal hurt this much? She saw Mira push through the crowd—Mira, the warrior for whose family Lyria had once risked everything. Three years back, Mira’s husband nearly died for a crime he didn’t commit. Lyria saved him, fought for justice. Tonight, Mira knelt to Selene. “Congratulations, Luna.” Never even glanced Lyria’s way. Something broke inside Lyria then. More and more wolves drifted over—pledging loyalty, calling Selene “Luna.” It felt like every year Lyria spent leading them meant nothing to anyone but her. They’d just waited for an excuse. Fifteen years erased, wiped away like mud from boots. Selene lapped up the praise. Poised, radiant—every bit the Luna people wanted. Her smile looked perfect. Too perfect. Lyria caught the glint of victory in Selene’s eyes, brief flashes of pride she’d never show anyone else. No one else saw it. Or maybe no one wanted to. It made Lyria’s loneliness so much worse. It isn’t just the embarrassment. It’s the certainty: if she spoke up, no one would care. Kael’s word and “fate” had settled everything. Someone laughed nearby. Lyria turned. A knot of noblewomen whispered, glancing her way. They fell silent instantly, but the words hung in the air. “Did you see her face?” “I almost felt sorry for her.” “Almost.” “What if Kael never loved her?” Their laughter felt sharp and cold. Hours ago, these same women bowed to her. Now she was just a joke standing in old shoes, something to poke and prod. Everything in this place was temporary: respect, power, loyalty. The only thing anyone really wanted was to be near the crown. Now the crown belonged to someone else. She felt him before she saw him—Kael, talking softly with Selene. The way Selene laughed and Kael smiled—it undid her. She couldn’t remember the last time he smiled at her like that. Had she missed the distance growing between them? Was she blind, or just hopeful? Questions swarmed her, nasty little insects biting and biting. A voice pulled her out—“Lyria.” She spun around. Relief almost knocked her over. Talia. Her friend, her closest ally. The last person she thought would turn her away. “Talia,” she breathed, reaching out. But Talia’s face made her freeze. No smile. No gentle hug. Just awkwardness, cold like the wind before a storm. “I just wanted to say…” Talia looked away, nervous. Lyria’s insides turned to ice. No. Not you. Please. “I think it might be best if you give them space.” She stared, horrified. “What?” Talia nodded at her own boots. “Kael and Selene.” The words hurt worse than anything else tonight. “You can’t be serious.” Her voice cracked. Talia let out a slow, embarrassed sigh. “Lyria, if they’re true mates—” “Don’t.” Lyria cut her off, anger and exhaustion bleeding into her words. Talia recoiled, but she couldn’t stop. “Don’t ask me to watch them and smile. I’ve stood by Kael for fifteen years.” People were looking now. Lyria didn’t care. “I’ve fought for this pack!” She pointed at the platform. “I’ve bled for this pack. And now everyone wants me to just vanish?” Talia looked so small and helpless. “You’re making a scene.” A scene. Of course. Lyria almost laughed, bitter in her throat. Her life was dust, and somehow she was the problem. Talia left, and with every footstep, Lyria felt another piece of herself splinter off. Everyone was leaving. Everyone. A scent drifted by—moonflowers, light and cloying. Selene was close. Lyria froze as Selene walked over, the crowd parting without hesitation. Selene already had this place in her hands. She stopped before Lyria. A silent standoff. Selene smiled. “I wanted to thank you.” Lyria just blinked. “What?” “For everything you’ve done.” Her tone sounded sweet. Sincere. But it was wrong—the whole thing reeked of sugar and poison. Selene’s hand went to the Luna Crown, just for a second. Message received. This is mine now. “You built something beautiful here. I promise I’ll take good care of it.” Lyria could’ve screamed. The nerves in her hands flared as she clenched her fists. Audacity. Arrogance. Selene wore compassion like a mask, but Lyria saw the real face underneath. A quick, smug twist to her lips—a tiny crack. Selene enjoyed this, and she wanted Lyria to know. “I don’t need your promises.” Selene made a show of looking hurt. “Oh. I’m sorry if I upset you.” Around them, wolves frowned at Lyria, not Selene. Of course. Selene kept performing—kind Luna, humble Luna, tragic victim of fate. And everyone believed her. She leaned in, her smile polite. But her words were for Lyria alone: “You should leave before things get worse.” The ground wobbled under Lyria’s feet. What did she mean? Then Selene was gone, back to Kael, fitting in so easily it was as if she’d always been there. Something felt wrong. Something deeper than heartbreak or jealousy. Nyra felt it, too—restless, agitated. Every instinct screamed at Lyria: danger, run, fight. A voice boomed above the noise. “Alpha!” People quieted fast. An elder stood. Elder Marcus. Respected, feared. His face looked carved from stone. Kael looked wary. “What is it, Elder?” Marcus made his way to the front. The crowd shifted, uneasy. His gaze flicked over Selene, then Kael, then— It landed on Lyria. Silence fell. Her stomach dropped. She recognized that look—fear, suspicion, accusation. She’d seen it before, aimed at “enemies.” Not at her. Marcus cleared his throat. “There is something the pack deserves to know.” The crowd murmured, uneasy. Kael’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?” Marcus didn’t blink. He stared at Lyria, cold as winter. “For years, I remained silent.” People leaned in, hearts beating faster. Lyria couldn’t breathe. He pointed at her. “I can no longer remain silent.” The accusation snapped through the air. “Lyria Nightbane has been hiding a dangerous secret from this pack.” Gasps, everywhere. The eyes all came for her. And everything changed, again.