His Miracle Luna-the Forsaken Lycan Queen novel Chapter 199

Chapter 199

Elena’s POV

The announcement of my pregnancy sparked a celebration, and the news spread throughout the kingdom like wildfire, bringing joy to every nook and giving hope to those still traumatised by the last

event.

The focus shifted entirely from warrior defence to social stability. We were determined to seal the societal cracks that Glenda, a woman motivated by desperation and ego, had slipped through.

I stood in the newly renovated Council Chamber, where the walls were painted a calming cream and gold, eradicating the starkness of the recent decree and presenting my core initiative.

“The attack showed us a harsh truth,” I addressed the assembled Alphas and Elders. “The threat doesn’t only come from external armies; it comes from internal despair. The mercenaries Glenda hired were poor, desperate, and disenfranchised. They were wolves who felt they had nothing left to lose. We cannot rule with integrity if parts of our society are forced into the shadows.”

Deacon stood beside me, his presence a silent wall of support that gave my words the weight of the Crown.

“Therefore…” I continued as I tapped the blueprint on the table, the final output of my work for the orphanage project I had set my mind into. “We are proposing two major law to be implemented over the next two years, and that would be the Orphanage Act and the Rogue Rehabilitation Act.”

Everyone’s eyes looked at me with curiosity as they became more keen to listen.

I explained to them my vision. The vision of having a state–funded organisation that protects home and guarantees shelter, education, and placement to every orphaned or abandoned pup in the kingdom, making sure no one would experience the suffering Rafael suffered before when he was alone in that

forest after he was lost.

“We will not have another child like me, or like Rafael before he came to the palace, feeling worthless or overlooked,” I stated firmly. “Every pup will know their palace cares about their future.”

The proposal was met with respectful, if cautious, nodding.

Then, Deacon stepped forward, taking the lead on the second, more controversial measure.

“For the second one, The Rogue Rehabilitation and Registration Act, it will be a new supervised law wherein every rogue would be given another chance to register back into pack society. They will undergo various forms of training to help them improve their lives. A choice to live again or be exiled to wastelands.”

All we wanted now was peace. So it’s either we clean the kingdom of rogues, or they join our vision.

These new laws caused gasps. Accepting rogues into the pack structure was unprecedented.

“This is not weakness,” Deacon stressed, noting the doubts and worry in the others‘ eyes.

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His eyes swept the room, challenging any dissent. “This is a strategy. A desperate wolf is a weapon waiting to be aimed by someone like Glenda. A fed, housed, and employed wolf is a loyal subject. We eliminate the market for mercenaries by eliminating their desperation,”

The debates were fierce and lasted two days. Conservative elders feared integration, citing historical violence. But I countered every argument with logic and empathy, detailing the financial and social costs of constant internal warfare. Deacon, meanwhile, offered the unshakeable force of his command.

On the third day, both acts passed. The New Era had begun.

The implementation of these reforms truly solidified our partnership. Deacon handled the heavy enforcement–managing the deployment of guards to the slums and restructuring the pack allocation protocols. I managed the social side–overseeing the design of the first orphanages and appointing the supervisors for the rehabilitation programs.

We were inseparable, moving through the palace and the Kingdom as a single unit.

My pregnancy progressed perfectly. The nausea had subsided, replaced by a deep, constant hunger. By the fourth month, my bump was visible, a beautiful, unmistakable curve that made Deacon’s protective – instincts surge to new heights.

One afternoon, I was supervising a landscape architect redesigning a wing of the palace for the new nursery, when Deacon found me.

“You should be resting, not climbing ladders, Elena,” he chided gently, taking my arm and leading me to a

bench.

“I can’t rest, I’m building a future,” I laughed, rubbing my lower back. “Besides, I need to make sure the windows are shatterproof.”

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