Chapter 172

The King rode out at midnight.

He was accompanied by a company of his finest soldiers fifty men in total, their armor polished, their weapons sharp, their faces grim. They moved through the darkness like a river of steel, their horses’ hooves thundering against the frozen ground. The King rode at the front, his crimson cloak billowing behind him, his expression set in stone.

He was going to save his daughter. Whatever it took.

The old temple loomed ahead a crumbling ruin on the border of the Shadowwood, its stone walls covered in moss, its spires reaching toward the starless sky. Torches flickered at its entrance, casting long shadows across the ground. And there, standing in the doorway, was Varek Astrlyn.

He was dressed in fine clothes a dark tunic embroidered with silver thread, a heavy cloak draped over his shoulders. His face was a mask of cold triumph. Behind him stood a handful of guards, their hands resting on their weapons.

“Your Majesty,” Varek said, bowing with mock deference. “How good of you to come.”

The King dismounted, his hand resting on his sword. “Where is the antidote?”

“Patience, Your Majesty. All in good time.” Varek gestured toward the temple. “Shall we?”

They entered the temple together the King and his guards, Varek and his men. The air inside was cold and stale, thick with dust and the smell of decay. Torches burned in iron sconces, their flames flickering in the draft.

At the center of the temple, on a stone altar, sat a small vial filled with shimmering silver liquid.

“The antidote,” Varek said. “As promised.”

The King stared at the vial. It was so small so insignificant for something that held his daughter’s life in its glass walls.

“The abdication papers,” Varek continued. “Do you have them?”

The King reached into his cloak and produced a rolled parchment. “Here.”

“Excellent.” Varek smiled. “Then let us complete our transaction.”

In the Shadowwood, another battle was unfolding.

Corvin moved through the darkness like a ghost, his footsteps silent on the frozen ground. Behind him came Ragnar, Roderic, and Valeria, their weapons drawn, their faces grim. They had been tracking Elias and his men for hours, following the trail of broken branches and trampled leaves.

The plan was simple. While the King distracted Varek at the exchange, they would move in and capture the rest of the network Elias, Xavier, Nikolai, the guards. All of them.

“Up ahead,” Roderic whispered, pointing toward a cluster of trees. “I see movement.”

Corvin nodded. He signaled to the others, and they spread out, surrounding the position. The trap was set.

Elias emerged from the trees, flanked by Xavier and Nikolai. They were talking in low voices, their faces relaxed, unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows.

“Now,” Corvin said.

They struck.

Ragnar was the first to move his axe swinging in a deadly arc, catching one of the guards across the chest. The man fell with a gurgle, his blood staining the snow. Roderic took down another, his blade finding throats and hearts with surgical precision. Valeria hung back, her crossbow trained on the chaos, picking off anyone who tried to flee.

Elias spun, his eyes wide with shock. “What—”

Corvin was on him before he could finish. He drove his fist into Elias’s face, sending him stumbling backward. Elias reached for his dagger, but Corvin was faster he caught his wrist, twisted it, and sent the blade flying into the darkness.

“It’s over, Elias,” Corvin said. “You’re coming with us.”

Elias laughed—a cold, bitter sound. “You think this is over? You think capturing me will change anything? My father has already won. The King is signing away his throne right now.”

“Then we’ll just have to take it back.”

Corvin slammed his fist into Elias’s temple, and the traitor crumpled to the ground.

Xavier and Nikolai fought desperately, but they were outnumbered. Ragnar took down Xavier with a brutal blow to the head. Roderic cornered Nikolai against a tree, his blade at the man’s throat.

“Yield,” Roderic said.

Nikolai spat at him. Roderic drove the hilt of his dagger into his skull, and Nikolai collapsed.

The battle was over in minutes.

Corvin stood over Elias’s unconscious body, his chest heaving. He looked around at the carnage the bodies, the blood, the defeated enemies. They had won.

But something was wrong.

“Where’s Finn?” he asked.

Ragnar looked up, his brow furrowed. “Finn? What are you talking about?”

Corvin cursed inwardly. He had forgotten Ragnar didn’t know. Ragnar didn’t know that Finn was a traitor, that he was Varek’s son, that he had been working against them from the beginning.

“Nothing,” Corvin said quickly. “I just… I thought I saw him earlier. Never mind.”

Ragnar stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “We should get these prisoners back to the palace.”

“Yes.” Corvin nodded. “Let’s move.”

He didn’t tell Ragnar the truth. Not yet. There would be time for that later after the battle, after the dust settled. After Ragnar’s heart had a chance to heal.

If it ever did.

In the Shadowwood, deeper than anyone had ever ventured, Morgath was preparing her escape.

She had sensed the attack on Elias and the others. She had felt the deaths of the guards, the capture of her allies. And she knew, with cold certainty, that she was next.

I need to disappear, she thought. I need to find a new hiding place. Somewhere they’ll never find me.

She gathered her supplies—her potions, her spell books, her ingredients. She had spent centuries building her power, and she would not let it be destroyed by a pack of mortal wolves.

But as she turned to leave, the air around her shifted.

The darkness deepened. The temperature dropped. And a presence vast and ancient and impossibly powerful filled the chamber.

Morgath froze.

No, she thought. No, not her. Not now.

The Moon Goddess appeared.

She was beautiful and terrible, her form blazing with silver light, her eyes twin moons burning with cold fury. She looked at Morgath, and Morgath felt her soul tremble.

“You,” the goddess said, her voice like the crack of ice. “You are the one who poisoned my daughter. You are the one who hunted her. You are the one who tried to destroy the Moonblood line.”

Morgath tried to speak, but no words came out.

“You killed the father. You killed the son. You tried to kill the daughter.” The goddess stepped closer, her light burning brighter. “And now you will pay.”

Morgath screamed.

The goddess’s power struck her like a tidal wave, tearing through her body, shattering her bones, burning her from the inside out. Morgath’s scream turned into a gurgle, then a whisper, then silence.

When the light faded, nothing remained of Morgath but a pile of ash.

The Moon Goddess looked at the ashes for a long moment. Then she turned and disappeared, leaving only the cold wind and the silence behind.

At the palace, Freya was dying.

The healers worked frantically, their hands glowing with healing magic, their faces pale with fear. But nothing they did could stop the blackness that had consumed her body. It had reached her heart now her pulse was weak, her breathing shallow, her skin cold as ice.

The Queen knelt beside her bed, sobbing. “Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”

The healers exchanged glances. There was nothing more they could do.

Suddenly, Freya began to convulse.

Her body arched off the bed, her limbs jerking, her eyes rolling back in her head. Foam bubbled at her lips. The Queen screamed.

“She’s seizing!” one of the healers shouted. “Hold her down!”

They held her, struggling to keep her still, but the seizure continued. Freya’s body was failing the poison had finally reached her heart.

“She’s dying,” a healer whispered. “There’s nothing we can do.”

The Queen’s scream echoed through the palace.

At the old temple, the exchange was taking place.

The King held the abdication papers in his hand. Varek held the antidote. They faced each other across the stone altar, their guards standing behind them.

“On my count,” Varek said. “You hand over the papers. I hand over the antidote.”

The King nodded. His heart was pounding. His mind was racing. He didn’t trust Varek he would never trust Varek. But he had no choice.

“One,” Varek said. “Two. Three.”

They stepped forward. The papers changed hands. The vial changed hands.

The King stared at the vial in his palm. It was real. It was actually real.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Varek said, smiling. He turned to leave.

“Wait.” The King’s voice was sharp. “If this antidote is fake—if my daughter dies because of your treachery I will hunt you down. I will find you. And I will make you pay.”

Varek laughed. “Don’t worry, Your Majesty. The antidote is real. I have no reason to lie.”

He walked out of the temple, his guards following. The King stood there, clutching the vial, his heart pounding.

Please, he thought. Please let this be real.

He turned and ran toward his horse.

In his chambers, Soren was waiting.

The hour had come. The sacrifice was beginning.

He stood in the center of the room, his eyes closed, his breathing slow. The Moon Goddess’s presence filled the space warm and bright and impossibly powerful.

“Lycan prince,” she said. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.”

“Then let us begin.”

The light grew brighter. The world around Soren began to fade the walls, the floor, the ceiling dissolving into a sea of silver light. He felt his body growing lighter, his soul beginning to separate from his flesh.

And then—

He saw her.

Nyra.

She was standing in the light, her silver hair flowing around her, her moonlight eyes wide with shock. She was beautiful—more beautiful than he remembered. And she was reaching for him.

“Soren,” she said. “Soren, what’s happening?”

“I’m saving you,” he said. “I’m bringing you back.”

“No.” Her voice broke. “No, Soren, you can’t—”

“I have to.” He smiled a sad, gentle smile. “I love you, Nyra. I’ve always loved you. And I’m sorry—sorry for everything. For forgetting you. For hurting you. For not being strong enough to protect you.”

“You’re the strongest person I know.”

“Not strong enough.” He reached out and touched her face or tried to. His hand passed through her like smoke. “But this is my choice. This is how I make things right.”

“No.” She was crying now. “Please, Soren. Please don’t do this.”

“I have to.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead—a kiss she couldn’t feel. “Live, Nyra. Live for both of us. And remember—remember that I loved you. Always.”

The light consumed him.

The King returned to the palace just as Freya’s seizure ended.

He burst into the healing chamber, the vial clutched in his hand. “The antidote! I have the antidote!”

The healers rushed forward. They took the vial, examined it, nodded. And then they poured it down Freya’s throat.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then—

The blackness began to recede.

It was slow at first a faint lightening of the veins beneath her skin. Then faster, spreading, the poison retreating from her body like shadows fleeing the dawn. Her breathing steadied. Her pulse strengthened. The color returned to her cheeks.

The Queen sobbed with relief. “She’s going to live. She’s going to live.”

The King sank to his knees, tears streaming down his face. “Thank the goddess. Thank the goddess.”

But the goddess was not finished.

In the Moon Court, the sacrifice was complete.

Soren’s body lay on the floor of his chambers, lifeless. His soul had been taken, bound to the Moon Court for eternity. And in his place, a new light was born.

Nyra appeared on the earth in a blaze of silver fire.

She materialized in the center of the palace courtyard, her feet touching the cold stone, her silver hair flowing around her like a river of moonlight. She was alive—truly alive—her body restored, her power complete.

The full moon rose behind her.

It was the first time in four months.

The sky, which had been dark and starless, exploded with silver light. The moon hung low and vast, full and bright, casting its glow across the realm. The people looked up in wonder. The priests fell to their knees. The wolves howled with joy.

The goddess’s wrath was over.

The realm was saved.

And Nyra Astrlyn, the Daughter of the Moon, stood at the center of it all, her heart breaking and healing in the same breath.

She looked up at the moon and whispered, “Soren.”

But there was no answer.

Only the moonlight.