Chapter 175: That Chair Is Still Engaged

Freya swept in with Dante and Maverick a step behind her, and Nova’s whole face lit up at the sight of all three.

She was out of her chair before she’d decided to be. Freya folded her into a hug, then Dante, unhurried and warm, and then Maverick, who held on for a beat longer than either of them had.

"Remarkable," the High Luna observed from her couch. "My own grandson grunts at me from across a room, and this girl gets a standing ovation for walking through a door."

Alpha Thunderfang crossed to the credenza, poured a whiskey, and handed it to Maverick without a word.

Freya had two velvet boxes tucked under one arm. She pressed one into Nova’s hands and the other into Maria’s, and Nova grinned, helpless to stop it.

"You are going to spoil them, Freya." The High Luna sniffed. "I just gifted them both something not five minutes ago."

"I warned you, Elizabeth. I told you I’d be arriving with gifts." Freya turned to Nova and Maria, unbothered. "These won’t be as fine as whatever the High Luna gave you, I’m sure. But Maverick approved of both, so they can’t be all bad."

Maria opened hers and found white-gold dangle earrings set with sapphires, a match for the bracelet already on her wrist.

"Oh, they’re beautiful. I love them." Her eyes went bright.

"They came down through the Vaelstrom vault," Freya offered. "Older than the earrings most houses will ever own." She nodded at the stones. "The sapphire was the instinct stone, Maria. Given to women who didn’t stop to think before they protected. It was reflex. Hardwired. The kind of woman who hears danger and finds her body already standing between it and the person she walked in with." She let that settle. "I’ve heard a few stories about a burning keep. The stone found the right wrist."

Nova lifted the lid on hers.

Inside sat golden teardrop earrings, gold set with rubies, the kind of thing that belonged in a painting of someone important. Her lips parted. She looked up at Freya, then back down at the box, and could not locate a single word.

"And there it is," Tavian said into the quiet. "The gift broke Nova. Someone note the time."

"Thank you, Freya." It came out barely above a whisper.

"These came from the vault as well." Freya’s voice gentled. "But they’re older still. In the oldest tradition, the ruby was the crown before the crown. Given to women whose power came before any title. Before any pack. Before any throne existed to grant it." She held Nova’s eyes. "The stone never honored what a woman became. It honored what she was always going to be."

Nova blinked hard. Twice. Managed a smile that was doing the structural work of a woman holding herself together in public.

Dante clapped once. "Right. The chef made seven courses and the High Luna has claimed the duck."

The room laughed. The laugh was a release valve and everyone needed it.

The group drifted toward the table, and Alpha Thunderfang hooked an arm around Nova’s waist, steering her toward the chair beside his.

Her lips parted in surprise.

He pulled the chair out for her. The name card sitting at the place read Celeste.

Nova looked back up at him, halfway into asking whether this was the right seat, when the High Luna’s voice carried down the table.

"Nancy. Mind the name cards, dear. That’s Princess Celeste’s seat. Yours is down by the Emberclaw Alpha."

"Nova," Alpha Thunderfang stated. "Gran. It’s Nova."

"Nova. That’s what I said."

"I ended the engagement with Celeste. Nova sits beside me."

A silence stretched out over the table that Nova found deeply uncomfortable, and judging by the stillness around her, so did everyone else. No one said a word about Celeste. No one argued the name card or the empty seat it defended. Which told Nova one of two things was true. Either she was missing something, or the High Luna was, and the longer it went on, the less certain she felt about which.

Finally the High Luna exhaled through her nose, waving a hand like she was conceding a trifle rather than a war.

"Fine. Seat Celeste by the other Alpha. He’ll be the one collecting her in the end anyway, I suppose, if you’re truly this set on getting rid of her."

Across the table, Maverick’s face communicated, with crystal clarity and zero ambiguity, exactly how much he wanted that outcome to come to pass. Then he caught it, and smoothed it back into something a man was allowed to wear at dinner.

"Oh, how perfect." Maria peered at the card beside Nova’s new seat and clapped once. "Maverick’s is right here next to Nova’s. Would you look at that."

"That can’t be right." The High Luna leaned over, squinted, located the card. Her lips pursed. "Hm. Of course. A visiting Alpha. Seated with the other odds and ends."

The table settled in. Nova found herself bracketed, Alpha Thunderfang on her left, Maverick on her right, and at the head of the table, in full and solemn ceremony, sat Celeste’s place. Name card. Full setting. Water glass. The works. An empty chair dressed up and waiting like an honored guest who happened to be running late.

The High Luna glanced at the door. Then at the door a second time.

A servant came around with a pitcher and, without hesitation, refilled Celeste’s water glass. Nova watched a chair get waited on and kept her own face perfectly smooth while every other person at the table performed an elaborate choreography of not looking at it.

The duck arrived.

"Don’t touch the duck." The High Luna’s hand shot out as a servant set the platter near Nova. "That one is the princess’s favorite. We’ll serve her first when she comes down."

Under Alpha Thunderfang’s ribs, the wolf made the cartoon noise, small and baffled, and Nova decided for the second time that evening that she had imagined it.

Nova watched the duck get relocated and felt relieved about it because she was not fond of duck.

Dinner moved on. The food was warm and the conversation softened and for a few minutes the table almost felt like a table.

Then two things started happening in parallel.

On her left, Alpha Thunderfang slid the bread basket within her reach, then nudged her water a careful inch closer, then rotated her plate a quarter turn so the cut of meat faced her properly.

On her right, Maverick topped off her wine before it got halfway down, then eased the candle back from her sleeve so the velvet wouldn’t catch, then rescued the napkin sliding off her lap. Neither one looked at the other. Both looked entirely too invested in their own work.

Across the table, Tavian’s head tracked left, then right, then left again, following it the way you follow a match you’ve got money on.