The Luna Queen's Rebirth (Ellie and Dominic) novel Chapter 439

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Chapter 439

Dominic’s POV

The bar at the inn was quiet by the time I settled in. Three stools, a counter, and a bartender who poured me a drink without trying to make small talk, which I appreciated. The campaign team had gone to bed, Monroe had retired early, and I had my phone sitting face-up on the bar as if Ellie might suddenly call.

I’d had a good day. Callum’s Beta had practically lifted me off the ground when the old Alpha made his announcement, and the look on Monroe’s face at dinner had been the kind of thing that didn’t need words. By any measure, the day had gone well.

And yet. Twelve days until Goldenveil, and I was sitting at a bar alone doing math.

I was halfway through my first whiskey when I heard her approach. Lady Everheart set herself down on the stool beside mine, still veiled, although I could feel those eyes watching me from behind it, just like always.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” she said in a soft voice.

“You’re not.” I flagged the bartender for another glass…

She ordered a cup of tea for herself, and we sat without speaking for a moment. She seemed a little more relaxed than usual despite her opulent gown and that intricate veil that was always firmly in place.

“I wanted to apologize,” she finally said. “For the photographs.”

“It wasn’t your doing.”

“Still.” She wrapped both hands around her drink. “I saw the headlines this morning. I know your situation. The last thing I want is to make things more complicated for you than they already are.”

The words were more than I expected. I lifted my head and smiled.

“I appreciate that,” I said.

We talked for a while. She asked about the tour, I asked about Goldenveil, and she answered easily-the Beta and his wife, the village in winter, how the cold was different up in the mountains than anywhere else she’d been. She spoke about the place with affection, mentioning that she had spent her youth in cloisters before then, an orphan who had been dropped off without any ties to whoever her parents were.

“Which cloister did you grow up in?” I asked.

She turned slightly.

“The veil,” I said, gesturing to my own face. “I thought that tradition had mostly died out across the packs.”

She shrugged. “Some still practice.”

“What are the central tenets?” I asked. “I’m curious.”

A pause. Slightly longer than it should have been.

“Prayer. Devotion to the Goddess.” She stopped, then continued, “the veil is a commitment. The removal of vanity before the divine.”

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