The after-party was extraordinary. The Irving estate’s great dining hall, with its tall arched ceilings and gilded accents, was alive with celebration. We gazed up at the enchanting lanterns floating lazily above us like golden stars. Aromas of spiced meats, roasted fruits, and honeyed pastries filled the air, blending seamlessly with drumbeats and lively chatter.

It was overwhelming. The lights, the sounds, the smells, everything felt amplified, as though the ceremony had dialled my senses up to a level I hadn’t known existed. Every flicker of light, every low murmur, every clink of a goblet pricked me.

And Devon. I could pick him out of the chaos without even looking. His cedarwood and fresh rain scent stood out. It drifted around him like a storm.

I stood at his side, my hand resting lightly on his arm as we greeted yet another wave of well-wishers. They approached in pairs or small clusters, bowing and offering carefully worded congratulations. Devon handled it all with his usual composure, while I pasted on a polite smile and tried not to let the attention suffocate me.

“The pack is fortunate to have you, Lady Irving,” said a stout Lycan with greying hair. His voice was rough but kind. There were scars along his forehead that I assumed were from battles he fought in.

With an incline of my head, I said, “Thank you.” And I barely remembered his name; this was the fifty-fifth Irving Lord I’d met tonight. “I hope I can serve you well.”

Devon’s hand shifted over mine, just briefly, his thumb brushing against my hand in a silent gesture of support. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. That small touch reminded me I wasn’t alone in this.

Still, I felt every stare, and every curious eye follow me. They weren’t just looking, they were judging me. And worse, their thoughts—those damn stray thoughts—drifted to me, faint and persistent, like a draft through an open window.

The new Luna” will she be strong enough?

He chose well. Look at the way he watches her.

We’ll see if she earns it. Being chosen doesn’t mean she deserves it.

I clenched the folds of my gown, forcing myself not to react. Besides hearing their thoughts, I could hear the faintest whispers too. Every whisper was a little dagger that I couldn’t ignore. I hadn’t told Devon about this part yet, about my heightened senses. I couldn’t decide if it was a gift or a curse, but right now, it felt like the latter.

“Breathe, C—il,” Devon murmured beside me, his voice so low only I could hear it. He didn’t even look down, but the slight curve of his lips told me he could feel my anxiousness. “You’re doing fine.”

I shot him a look, raising a brow. “Define fine,” I muttered back. “Because I feel like an exhibit on display.”

His grey eyes flickered toward me then. “It won’t last much longer. I promise.”

I wasn’t convinced, but his presence eased my nerves. I took a small sip from the goblet of honeyed wine in my hand and let my gaze wander over the room. The Lycans were a force of energy—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically vibrant. Their voices boomed, laughter erupting freely as they mingled. It seemed the more they drank, they more lively they got, and this party didn’t look like it would be winding down soon. What I didn’t find surprising was my father and brothers getting lost in the shuffle of laughter. Mother on the other hand I had yet to see and I in fact needed to speak with her and Gwen.

“Would you like to walk around?” Devon asked.

“Yes,” I said quickly. “Please.”

We moved through the hall, weaving between tables as Devon introduced me to pack leaders and their families. I smiled, nodded, and exchanged pleasantries, falling into a rhythm that felt oddly automatic. Some welcomed me with genuine warmth, their loyalty to Devon extending easily to me. Others were more reserved, their words polite but their gazes cool, as if testing me, waiting to see if I’d fumble.

“This is Lady Ansel,” Devon said, stopping before a tall Lycan woman with braids falling to her waist. Her sharp brown eyes took me in with a look that was both assessing and impressed.

“Your power extends beyond this estate, Lady Irving,” she said in a cool, kind voice. " The Luna speaks on behalf of all Lycans under Alpha’s rule. You have a powerful role.”

Powerful. The word lodged itself in my chest like I hadn’t given a thought to what becoming Luna meant. I’d spent so long resisting titles and expectations. Now here I was, holding a mantle of influence over not just Devon’s pack, but all the Lycans under his command. Being Luna meant holding influence over every Lycan who looked to Devon as their Alpha. It meant being their voice, their strength, their guide. I wasn’t just Devon’s mate—I was theirs.

I smiled at her. “I won’t forget.”

As the night wore on, I noticed gradual shifts in the pack’s attitude. Their bows were deeper, their voices more deferential. The scepticism I’d felt earlier began to fade, replaced by acceptance, or maybe acknowledgment was more fitting.

But before I could truly let that sink in, the energy in the room changed. The music paused, and conversations quieted, and every Lycan turned toward the double doors at the far end of the hall.

My head snapped toward the doors just as they creaked open. A procession of high elves swept in, their polished shoes tapping softly against the marble floor. Their presence was like ice in the heart of an inferno—cold, unwelcome, and out of place.

At the front of their procession was a man cloaked in a very flamboyant hooded purple robe. I couldn’t see his face at first, but I felt a hum of power that slithered against my senses, familiar and wrong all at once.

“Who’s that?” I whispered, my fingers tightening on Devon’s arm.

He didn’t answer immediately. His entire body tensed beside me, his hand firm against my waist. “An uninvited guest,” he said grimly. “The better question is who let them in.”

As if on cue, Mrs. Ellison’s name floated to the forefront of my mind. I shoved the thought aside, unwilling to believe she would risk Devon’s wrath just to test her control.

When he lowered his hood, my breath hitched. Vibrant red hair framed sharp, chiselled features that were strikingly familiar. Too familiar. Right! I realised why—he looked like Kael. Almost identical, save for a colder arrogance in his eyes.

“Lord Irving,” he said, a lopsided grin stretching across his face. He dipped into a shallow bow, and his entourage mirrored him.

“Garythorn,” Devon growled his name and his voice was a low rumble of barely restrained fury.

Devon’s grip tightened around me as if to steady us both. I glanced up at him, catching the storm in his eyes. Devon rarely lost control, but right now, his anger was barely contained. The flicker of anger, the way his jaw tense, it was enough to make me uneasy. Whatever did Garythorn do to him?

Garythorn’s gaze slid to me, dismissive at first as if I were an afterthought before lingering with unsettling interest. “Your reputation precedes you,” he said smoothly. “And now I see it wasn’t exaggerated. The Alpha does choose well.”

I straightened as I glared at him. There was something in his tone that made my skin crawl.It wasn’t just his arrogance. That wasn’t new. It was him. The shadow clinging to his magic, like the sigils we’d seen. The same darkness, the same rot.

Does he know? I wondered. Is he part of it? Or has the magic eater’s curse already started consuming him?

“And you are?” I arched a brow at him.

Garythorn ignored me completely, his attention shifting back to Devon as though I hadn’t spoken. His smile widened, and I hated the way it slithered across his face, smug and theatrical.

“I didn’t realize the Irving estate was hosting such a” vibrant affair,” he drawled. “I thought I’d stop by and pay my respects to the happy couple.”

“Your respects?” Devon smirked. “Why would you think the Irving house would want anything from the Garythorn? You couldn’t even muster enough respect to unsully your name.”

The Fae’s brow quirked. “Such hostility, Lord Irving. Have I done something to offend you? Or are you simply unhappy to see an old” acquaintance?”

That did it. I stepped forward, just enough to place myself slightly ahead of Devon. My heart was hammering against my ribs, a surge of anger so sharp I could feel it singing in my veins. But I kept my face calm.

“One would think,” I began, “that as noble as you pretend to be, you’d understand basic decorum. Like not intruding where you’re not invited. Or answering a question when it’s asked, you insolent little fly.”

His gaze snapped to me then, the lazy arrogance in his smile fading for just a breath. I saw the brief shift; surprise and irritation. Then he chuckled, and that sound grated like claws scraping glass.

“Ah, the new Luna has a spine,” he said. “I see why Gaia chose you.”

I scoffed. “You see?” I said. “No, you don’t. You’re blind. Blind to the curse that’s eating away at your magic, Garythorn. Or do you feel it already? That gnawing at the core of your power, the decay in every spell you cast?”

His fake smile vanished, and his eyes narrowed into slits. Got you.

The magic at his fingertips flickered to life. A faint, dark shimmer like oil on water. It wasn’t much, just a spark of energy meant to intimidate. I held his gaze, unblinking, while his entourage shifted uneasily behind him. Even his followers could sense how wrong his magic felt.

“Take your cursed energy,” I said, “and your respects and leave.”

Gasps rippled through the hall, a wave of disbelief spreading among the Lycans. I heard their growls reverberating like thunder waiting to break. But it wasn’t their reaction that unsettled me, it was the surprise. Did they truly expect me to stand by and let this pompous Fae insult my mate? Did they think I was incapable of biting back?

Garythorn’s magic pulsed faintly again, brighter this time, as though he was deciding whether to blast me. For a heartbeat, I thought he might. My own power coiled, ready to snap free if he so much as twitched the wrong way.

But then he straightened, brushing the moment off. His fake smile snapped back into place, though it no longer reached his eyes.

“You’ve made your point, Lady Irving,” he said, his voice a low hum of feigned civility. “But curses and accusations? That’s quite the claim. Be careful where you aim your tongue. It may find itself bitten one day.”

I felt my lips curve into a small smile. “And yet it’s not my tongue choking on its own venom, intruder,” I said softly. “Weak words for someone who came to spar with them. Surely, you must have known I bite back.”

A flicker of anger darkened his face, his jaw tightening as though he were grinding his teeth. “You will address me as Lord Ethan Garythorn’”

“I will not,” I cut in. “Not when you lacked the courtesy to introduce yourself when asked. Your audacity is tiresome, Garythorn.” I leaned forward slightly. “This is your second warning to leave. There will not be a third.”

I saw the way his grin fell just slightly before twisting into a sinister glare, and the hate in his eyes sent an uneasy prickle down my spine. My mother’s warning to not make any more enemies flashed in my mind. Too late now.

“I will leave,” he said, his smile a sharp mockery of goodwill. “But not without offering a gift to celebrate this” momentous occasion.”

His entourage moved like a single shadow as one of the high elves stepped forward. A gilded box rested in their hands, polished and quite ornate, but it was the energy pulsing from it that made my breath hitch. Cursed. I couldn’t see past it, as though the shadows around it refused to let the light touch its surface.

“A token of goodwill,” Garythorn said, the words practically dripping in insincerity. “From my house to yours. Open it at your leisure—or not. The choice, of course, is yours.”

I stared at the box, my instincts screaming no. He only needed one of us—me or Devon—to touch it, and whatever vile magic it held would sink its claws in. Refusing it outright, though, would give him exactly what he wanted: chaos, whispers of disrespect between the houses, ammunition to stir up trouble.

Do not take it. Devon’s voice echoed in my mind, steady as a heartbeat. It’s a Garythorn staple. Hexes.

Of course, he’d leave this to me to handle, convenient. My jaw tightened as I tried to figure out how to dismantle this trap without snapping it shut around us. Before I could decide, I heard my mother’s voice.

“Goodwill?”

The high elf holding the box froze mid-step, their face paling slightly. Every head in the hall turned as my mother swept into view. Her crimson gown trailed behind her like a river of blood. Power radiated off her in waves, and her cold and lethal gaze locked onto Garythorn like a predator eyeing its next meal.

Garythorn turned slowly, and his composure cracked completely. He quickly bowed stiffly. “Lady Le Torneau,” he greeted, but the words were a desperate attempt to regain control.

“You can take your cursed “gift,” Ethan,” she said, “and leave peacefully, or I will personally see to it that it is crammed down your talentless throat.”

A stunned beat passed before chuckles broke the silence. I bit back my own smile, pressing my lips together. My mother’s bluntness had always been one of her sharper weapons, and Garythorn didn’t know what hit him.

His mouth pressed into a thin line, and I saw the tightness in his shoulders, the subtle clench of his fingers. “Lady Le Torneau, I believe’”

“Do not interrupt me,” she cut him off. “I refuse the House of Garythorn’s gift on behalf of my daughter. If the Irving house had any need for your” gaudy offerings, they would have invited you.”

Garythorn glanced from her to Devon, then to me. “If you will_”

“Let’s not do this,” she interrupted coldly, her voice dropping to a much deadlier tone. “I command you, as Kingmaker, to leave this island immediately.” Her eyes glinted like steel. “Should you linger, I will hold the House of Garythorn in contempt for attempting to curse both the Supreme Successor and the General of the Sovereign.”

I watched as Garythorn’s jaw ticked, his pride visibly warring with his instinct for self-preservation. His entourage shifted uncomfortably behind him, their smug facade fracturing as my mother invoked her title. The Kingmaker. My mother rarely wielded it outright, but when she did, it struck like lightning and mother can be destructive when executing her judgement.

Finally, he inclined his head. It wasn’t quite a bow, but it was as close as he’d give her. “Very well,” he said. “We’ll take our leave.”

He turned sharply, his cloak flaring behind him as he swept toward the double doors. The high elf holding the box hesitated before following, their steps hurried, their movements lacking the earlier arrogance. As the doors swung shut behind them, the tension in the room broke like a snapped wire, a collective exhale rippling through the Lycans.

Beside me, Devon finally spoke. “Remind me never to cross your mother.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse still pounding in my ears. “You and me both,” I muttered.

My mother turned then, her gaze landing on me with a look that said everything: Handle yourself better next time. But behind it, I thought I saw relief.

“You need to be careful, Celeste,” she said. “That box was a trap.”

I nodded, my fingers curling into the fabric of my gown as the memory of the energy oozing off it returned. That darkness had pulsed, like it was alive and hungry. “I know,” I admitted. “I saw it. The dark magic was pouring off it. That’s why I didn’t touch it.”

Beside me, Devon stiffened. “You saw the hex?”

Turning to meet his gaze, I nodded again. “Clear as day,” I said quietly. “And it wasn’t just the box. Garythorn himself” his magic felt the same.”

My mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing. “That’s not a common sight, even for a witch of your standing. Has your third affinity manifested yet?”

I blinked. Third affinity? The question threw me. “What?”

Devon’s hand tightened on my waist as he turned sharply to her. “That’s enough, Lady Saffron. We’ll handle it.”

I glanced up at him, touched by the protectiveness in his voice. “It’s okay, Devon,” I said softly, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “I do need to talk to her.”

His jaw worked like he wanted to argue, but after a moment, he nodded, stepping back. The absence of his touch left a chill I didn’t expect.

My mother exhaled slowly, drawing my attention back to her. “If the Garythorn house would go to such lengths to curse either of you, it’s safe to assume the Faes are not in support of your mate, Alpha.”

“It’s not surprising,” Devon said quietly. “What’s troubling is the audacity to do it here, so openly. For Garythorn to deliver the gift himself” it means the Fae lords have met. They’ve made their decision.”

My mother nodded, her brow furrowing in thought. “And chosen Loreleia,” my mother finished grimly. “She must already be campaigning for their favour. If she has the Faes, it’ll give her a significant advantage.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers brushing absent-mindedly over the mark on my neck. It was a strange comfort, the steady hum of Devon’s energy through our bond.

My shoulders straightened. Peace, or even a quiet moment, was clearly a luxury I couldn’t afford. Not yet. There was no easing into this new life, not when Garythorn’s little stunt tonight had painted a target on both of us.

If I could track him, if I could find out who was truly behind the dark veil cult and the sigils, then maybe I could dismantle it piece by piece.

First, though, I needed to find Kael.

I turned back to my mother. “Mother, we need to talk.”

I squeezed Devon’s hand gently before letting it go, his thumb lingering against my palm for a moment longer.

“Go,” he said softly. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

I nodded, falling into step beside my mother as we left the hall, her crimson gown sweeping the floor like a promise of war.