One of the girls nodded quickly, murmuring apologies as she moved to the next case. But the handle slipped from her grip, and it thudded against the floor.
Elara’s expression curdled. “Are you idiotic? That bag has my perfumes. One crack, and it’s worth more than your entire year’s wage.”
The omega scrambled upright, stammering out another apology, her head bowed so low her hair hid her face. “I—I’m sorry, my lady. Would you like your things arranged in the wardrobe?”
Her fingers flicked in dismissal. “Arrange it however you like. This room is only for show. I’ll be sleeping in the Alpha’s bed.”
Her tone dripped arrogance, the words ringing in the chamber like a slap. The omegas exchanged a quick glance before bowing their heads lower, hiding their expressions.
Elara turned toward the mirror, smoothing her hair as if nothing had happened, her reflection smiling back at her with polished satisfaction.
By nightfall, the packhouse had transformed. Long tables stretched the length of the great hall, polished silver and crystal gleaming under the warm glow of chandeliers. Platters of roasted meats, fresh breads, and spiced vegetables lined the tables, filling the air with a feast-worthy aroma.
Julian took his seat at the head table, his parents already in place. His mother wore her usual calm poise, his father exuding authority even in silence. Elara settled gracefully beside him, an extravagant gown pooling around her, her smile warm enough to draw the attention of every nearby table.
“I think the ceremony should be held in the courtyard,” Elara said brightly, her words tumbling out before anyone else could set the tone. “The archway could be draped in white roses, perhaps lilies woven through. And I’ll need the seamstress to begin my fittings immediately. A Luna’s gown must be perfect.”
His mother’s brow lifted, just faintly. “Tradition has always kept the ceremony in the great hall,” she said evenly.
Elara waved her hand with a light laugh. “Tradition is lovely, but times are changing. The courtyard will show the pack—and our allies—that this union is not just duty, but celebration.”
Julian’s jaw flexed, his gaze fixed on the wine in his glass. He let her words wash over him, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, his silence as deliberate as it was cold.


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