THRONE OF THORNS

Isabel's POV

The white dress hung on my bedroom door like a ghost haunting my future. I'd been staring at it for twenty minutes, unable to move, unable to breathe properly. Three months of anticipation had crystallized into this single moment, the Ascension Ceremony. Tonight, Logan would acknowledge me as his mate before the entire pack and every visiting dignitary from neighboring territories. Tonight, I would finally belong somewhere.

My hands trembled as I reached for the fabric. My mother had given it to me years ago, back when she still lived with us, back before everything fell apart. It was hand-stitched white silk with silver threading that caught light like frozen starlight. I'd hidden it in my closet, afraid to let anyone see it, afraid of jinxing something so precious. But tonight felt different. Tonight felt inevitable.

"Oh my goddess, Bel, you look stunning."

I turned to find Thalia sprawled across my bed, her curly auburn hair splayed against my pillows. She'd been my only real friend since my mother's banishment when I was four years old. While other pack members whispered about my "tainted bloodline," Thalia had simply stayed.

"I'm terrified," I admitted, smoothing the dress down my body. The silk clung to my curves in ways that made me feel simultaneously powerful and exposed.

Thalia sat up, her freckled face serious for once. "Of what? Logan's completely obsessed with you. I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching. Like you're the only thing keeping him from drowning."

A flutter of hope and anxiety tangled in my chest. That was exactly what I wanted to hear and exactly what scared me. Wanting something this badly felt dangerous. My mother used to say that hope was a luxury omegas couldn't afford, but I'd never fully understood what she meant. Not until I met Logan and suddenly understood what it meant to have something to lose.

"What if I'm not enough?" The words escaped before I could stop them.

Thalia crossed the room and grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to meet her dark eyes. "Isabel, you're the Pack Historian. You've memorized bloodlines going back four generations. You know pack law better than most Betas. And you're an omega who doesn't diminish herself, even though the whole world tells you that you should. Logan didn't choose you by accident."

I wanted to believe her. Most days, I did. But there was something in Logan's eyes lately, a distance that hadn't been there before. It had started about two weeks ago, right after his father Lysander had come to visit. When I'd asked him about it, he'd kissed my forehead and told me I was imagining things.

"There's something I didn't tell you," Thalia said quietly. "I overheard your name in the Alpha's office yesterday. Logan's father was there with another woman. They were talking about 'uniting territories' and 'strategic alliances.'"

My stomach dropped. "What kind of woman?"

"I don't know. The door was closed. But Bel, she stayed until almost midnight. And Logan looked like he was being crushed under something invisible."

The flutter of hope in my chest twisted into something sharp. Omegas were supposed to be good at reading emotional currents, but we were never trained to trust those instincts. We were taught that what we sensed was hysteria, that our interpretations were exaggerated.

"It's nothing," I said, and I hated how small my voice sounded. "You're just stressed about the ceremony too."

Thalia looked like she wanted to argue, but she didn't. Instead, she pulled me into a hug that felt a lot like goodbye.

The Crescent Moon Pack's headquarters sat on the edge of the Blackwood Forest, a sprawling mansion that had been in Logan's family for five generations. Tonight, the grounds had been transformed into something from a fairy tale. Thousands of white lights threaded through ancient oak trees. Long tables draped in silver cloth groaned beneath the weight of food and wine. Supernaturals from a dozen packs milled about in their finest clothes.

I felt every eye on me as I entered the main ballroom. Whispers followed like shadows. The Pack Historian. The omega with the banished mother. The girl who somehow caught the Alpha's eye. I held my head high, remembering that my mother had done the same before the pack destroyed her.

Logan stood at the far end of the ballroom, resplendent in a custom black suit that made his gray eyes look like storm clouds. When our gazes met across the sea of bodies, he smiled. My heart soared. That smile was mine.

Then the ballroom doors opened.

The woman who entered was magnificent. She had deep mahogany skin, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and braided black hair interwoven with silver threads. She wore a crimson gown that moved like liquid fire, and she moved like she owned the very air around her.

Logan's expression shifted. The warmth in his eyes extinguished. He began walking toward the woman before I could fully process what was happening.

No. This wasn't real.

The woman took Logan's hand, and he led her to the center of the ballroom. The crowd parted.

"Pack," Logan announced, his voice carrying the weight of Alpha command. "I present to you Seraphina Blackwood, and I announce my intention to take her as my true mate. The bond I believed I shared with Isabel Summers was merely hormonal confusion brought on by proximity. It was never the profound connection I feel with Seraphina."

The words hit me like physical blows. Hormonal confusion. That's what he called the three months we'd spent together. Every kiss. Every promise.

I felt the pack bond, the magical tether that connected me to the pack's collective consciousness, begin to fray. Rejection from a fated mate severed everything. It was like being slowly pulled apart from the inside while fully conscious.

"Isabel Summers," Logan continued, not even looking at me, "is hereby stripped of her pack status and banished from Crescent Moon territory. She has twenty-four hours to leave."

I would have fallen if Thalia hadn't caught me. But as darkness crept into the edges of my vision, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Lysander Cross, Logan's father, leaned close to my ear. His expression was strange. Sad. Almost apologetic.

"He didn't choose this," Lysander whispered. "You have to understand that he didn't..."

He never finished. Guards seized him, dragging him away. His eyes locked with mine for one final moment, and I saw something there that didn't make sense.

Fear.