Throne of Thorns

My hands would not stop trembling.

A decade has passed, and still I cannot succeed.

The blood moon loomed above, casting its crimson veil over everything. The sacred grounds of the Wind River Pack stretched out below me, ancient stone platforms etched with lunar sigils.

Hundreds of eyes watched my every move. I felt each gaze acutely. The pack had formed a circle around the dais, whispering, waiting for my inevitable failure.

I stood at the center, draped in white ceremonial robes. My heart thundered so violently I could hear it in my ears. My palms were slick with sweat.

This same feeling—the familiar dread that has haunted me nine times before.

At twelve, during my first failure, I fled the platform in tears. Damon had followed, gently brushing them away. "It's alright, Aria," he'd whispered. "I know you can do it."

But now at twenty-two, I have simply learned to mask my shame.

At least outwardly.

"Moon Goddess above, with the blood moon as witness, bestow upon Aria the gift of the shift..."

The priest's chant echoed across the stones. Silver light ignited at the circle's edge, illuminating the ancient platform.

I closed my eyes, searching for that wild power that should live within me. The blood moon's energy washed over me, ancient and immense—yet my body remained still, locked, unchanged. Nothing happened.

Others had shifted easily at twelve. Some, even younger. I am the Alpha's daughter, yet I cannot take my wolf form.

The chanting ceased.

I stayed human.

Silence, then whispers:

"Look, the Alpha's daughter has no wolf."

"Ten years—and still nothing. Even the Moon Goddess must have abandoned her."

"How will she ever inherit Wind River?"

"Poor Oliver..."

I clenched my fists so tightly my nails bit into my palms. That pain was my anchor, holding me together.

Ten years of humiliation. I thought I was numb, but their words still struck deep.

Footsteps approached. The crowd parted and Damon stepped forward.

He was as striking as ever—chiseled features, blue eyes, a robe of silver threaded with stars. The youngest Alpha in living memory, assuming his title at just eighteen. All the pack adored him.

So did I. For ten years.

My heart quickened—perhaps this time he would stand up for me.

For a decade, we have been secret lovers. My father always warned that Damon's enemies might use our relationship to undermine him, especially given my "wolfless" state. New Alphas must prove themselves before choosing a mate openly.

I kept hoping that if tonight I succeeded, he could finally claim me. Even now, part of me believed he would speak for me.

He stopped at the foot of the platform, looking up. But his eyes were cold, distant—a stranger's gaze.

Not the warmth I had always known. Not love. Only emptiness.

The ceremony was over. I stepped down. Everyone fell back, unwilling to touch the "wolfless one."

Each year since I was thirteen, I have made this solitary walk. With each return the distance seems endless, weighed down by shame.

I headed for Damon, last hopes burning behind my eyes.

"Damon..." I murmured, as I had so many nights, clinging to a thread of hope.

He shook his head, glanced away, and walked toward the council hall.

Something inside me broke.

He had never done this. Not once in ten years.

I followed, dread turning my insides cold.

Damon entered the council hall with a grim purpose. Summoning every Alpha at this hour could only mean an announcement of weight.

My heart raced. Something terrible was coming.

As the Alpha's daughter, I was allowed to attend. The hall—vaulted ceilings, crystal chandeliers, portraits of leaders past—felt colder than ever.

Every Alpha was present. My father, Oliver, took the chair of honor, amber eyes smoldering with disappointment.

Morgana, my stepmother, sat beside him. She gave me her gentle, reassuring smile—the same warmth I had known for fourteen years.

Her daughter Lyra—my half-sister—sat beside her, golden eyes alight with glee, her face alight with a triumph I refused to acknowledge.

I slumped into my seat. Morgana reached out, whispered, "Don't heed their gossip. You will always be our pride."

Since Mother's death, Morgana has been my solace—fourteen years of quiet comfort in every storm.

Damon took the center of the hall, his voice confident, resonant with Alpha command: "Honored leaders, I have an important announcement."

A storm churned in the air; I felt it in every nerve.

Maybe—maybe this night he will make us known.

"After careful consideration, I have chosen Seraphina of the Northern Mountains as my Luna."

In that instant, my world shattered.

What?

No—it cannot be. Only last night, he held me at the Moon Goddess's feet and swore he would claim me when the time was right.

I saw his hands tremble ever so slightly—the same hands that once soothed my tears. For the briefest moment, our eyes met across the room. There was a flicker—pain, regret? It faded almost at once.

For a heartbeat, I almost believed this was hurting him too. But then his mask fell back into place, and I wondered if I had imagined it all.

"She is the most fitting mate..." His voice caught on the word, as though it tasted of ashes.

My thoughts spun numb. Seraphina: silver wolf, beauty and power, perfect—everything I lack. The Luna any Alpha would want.

Ten years... ten years of secrecy and hope—

Those soft confessions beneath the moon, each stolen kiss—it seems none of it outweighed duty.

He swept his gaze across the leaders, finally resting on me—those sea-deep eyes now remote as starlight.

"As for past friendships," he said carefully, "I will always value the memories. But as Alpha, I must put the pack first."

The silence was suffocating. All knew whom he meant. I heard their whispers—our secret was no longer a secret.

Some leaders looked at me softly; others hid smiles.

Morgana squeezed my hand, as if trying to steady me. I could not read her eyes.

Lyra leaned in: "He really did it." Each word struck.

This is how he buries our decade together—politics and "fond memories," erasing our love to a footnote.

My cheeks burn—anger, humiliation, I can't tell.

"Very well," I heard myself say, voice calm against all odds. "I wish you happiness."

I pulled away from Morgana, stood, and left the hall.

As I crossed the threshold, the blood moon bathed my face in red. The night wind stung, but nothing cut colder than my own grief.

Outside, the pack lingered, their whispers closing in like falling leaves.

"Did you see? Alpha Damon chose the Northern Mountains after all..."

"It was destined. How could a wolfless one ever be Luna..."

"They say there was something between them, but it couldn't last..."

Every careless word pierced me anew. I kept walking—anywhere away from their voices and this heavy legacy.

The blood moon watched in silence as I passed through the gates and vanished into the waiting dark.