One of the first to approach was Lady Seraphine, an elder witch of the earth orientals and my mother’s lifelong foe. Even her name was taboo in our house, yet there she was, gliding toward us in a gown that looked like molten lava.

“Celeste Le Torneau,” she cooed, her eyes flickering briefly to Devon before returning to me. “And Lord Irving. How” unexpected that you are the Lycan Luna.”

“Lady Seraphine,” I said, putting on my best diplomatic smile. “A pleasure, as always. Thank you for attending.”

She studied me for a minute, her sharp gaze sweeping over my gown, my hair, and finally my face. “You look” competent,” she said finally, and her tone was so condescending I had to bite the retort on my tongue.

Before I could respond, Mouriana chimed in. Competent? How quaint. Shall I conjure a mirror so she can reflect on her own inadequacies?

I coughed, disguising my laugh as a clearing of my throat. “Thank you, Lady Seraphine. I do hope you’re enjoying the evening.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be” enlightening,” she said, her lips curling into a smile that hovered unsettlingly between charm and malice. The corners of her mouth stretched too wide, her porcelain skin pulled apart in a way that made the expression more grotesque than gracious. If her goal was to unsettle me, she succeeded spectacularly. “Though you’ve kept us all waiting for nearly three hours.”

My lips parted into a lazy smile. “Three hours is hardly a lifetime, Lady Seraphine. But I appreciate your patience.” I inclined my head ever so slightly, a gesture that stopped just short of respect.

Beside me, Devon shifted his weight, his leather boots creaking faintly against the floor. He nodded politely at Lady Seraphine, his face an unreadable mask of cordiality, but his grip on my arm tightened. Leaning closer, his voice dipped low, a breath away from my ear. “Do all witches make compliments sound like threats?” he murmured.

“Only the ones who like to stir the cauldron,” I whispered back, my lips barely moving. If Lady Seraphine overheard, I didn’t care.

Throughout the grand hall, magic hummed just below the threshold of sound and witches murmured as we waded deeper into the ceremony to find my mother.

At the front, I saw my mother with the elders and high lords and ladies of the prominent witch houses. As Devon and I got closer, the conversation lulled, and their heads turned to us in unison. The crimson robe she wore was stunning. It was embroidered with golden flames. It occurred to me—absurdly—that I hadn’t seen her change into it. When had she even found the time? But the thought flitted away as quickly as it came. Her piercing gaze, sharp as a honed blade, swept through the crowd before landing on me. Her eyes softened by the barest degree as she stepped forward, the crowd parting before her like water.

“Celeste. Lord Irving,” she said, and her voice carried effortlessly over the gathered assembly. “The elders of the Great Witch Houses wish to meet you both formally. It is rare—unprecedented, in fact—to have a witch ascend as Supreme Successor and become Luna in the same breath.”

A willowy elder stepped forward to my mother’s side, her long green-and-gold robe gushing around her like a waterfall. “It’s been over three hundred seasons since the last public coronation of a successor,” she said. The sigil of the Earth Orientals was stitched along her sleeves. Her eyes lingered on me, and for the first time since we walked in, silence filled the hall.

“Midnight blue becomes you, Supreme Successor,” said Lady Aelira, her voice smooth as satin. Her pale silver hair was braided down her back, gleaming like spun moonlight under the chandeliers. The sigil of the mind-bending witches marked her wrist. I’d never felt a presence as serene and piercing as hers. I wondered if she was currently shuffling through my mind. “And you, Lord Irving, your union with one of us is a rarity Wridel has not seen before. Tonight, tradition must honor such an extraordinary event.”

Devon inclined his head respectfully, his hand a solid anchor at the base of my spine. “It’s an honor to meet you all,” he said. “Though I confess, I’m still learning the extent of these traditions.”

My mother’s lips curved in a smile that implied quiet approval. With a graceful gesture, she introduced the assembly. “Lady Seraphine of the Earth Orientals. Lady Aelira of the Mind-Benders. Lady Marietta of the Fire Orientals. And Lady Bernadette Bloodworth of the Water Orientals.”

Lady Bernadette’s piercing blue eyes met mine, her familiar gaze not as fierce as I remembered it.

“Supreme Successor,” she said, inclining her head with refined elegance. “It’s been some time since the selection. You’ve grown into your role admirably.”

“Lady Bernadette,” I replied, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. “It’s good to see you again.

“Yours is a story that will be told for generations. It is not lightly that we welcome a witch Luna into the Sovereignty, nor do we forget the immense responsibility of a successor’s coronation. This night marks a turning point for all witches,” Lady Bernadette continued.

“Indeed,” Lady Seraphine added, her sharp tone softening slightly as she addressed Devon. “But your bond as Luna and Alpha must be solidified in our tradition. The wrist-binding ritual is a sacred seal for our people.”

I turned to Devon, whose brows rose slightly in question. He didn’t seem perturbed, though he leaned closer to murmur, “What exactly does this entail?”

“Nothing painful,” I assured him with a smile, placing my hand lightly over his where it rested on my back. “It’s a symbolic binding of our fates as witch and Lycan. A blending of our magic and yours.”

“A small gesture, but it makes a big difference,” Lady Aelira said, stepping forward. She carried a ribbon woven from gold and silver strands, beaming with its own magic. “If the Supreme Successor and her mate will kneel on the altar, the binding will commence.”

The room fell into a reverent hush as Devon and I moved to the centre of the hall. The cool marble pressed against my knees, its chill seeping through the fabric of my gown. I glanced at Devon, and though his expression remained calm, I felt his curiosity.

Lady Aelira stood before us, her silver hair catching the light as the ribbon glowed in her hands. Her voice rang out, filling the space with a rhythmic cadence.

“By Gaia’s will, we weave the threads of unity, binding Luna and Alpha, Witch and Lycan, in strength, trust, and matrimony. May this bond protect you, Wridel, and all its people.”

As her words settled into the stillness, the ribbon lifted from her hands as if carried by unseen currents. It wrapped around our joined wrists, the strands weaving themselves tighter with each pass. A trail of warmth spread from the point of contact, flowing up my arm and settling deep in my chest.

Devon’s fingers tightened slightly around mine. I glanced at him again, and for the briefest moment, his lips quirked into a faint smile. The glow of the ribbon intensified, brightening until the entire hall practically bathed in its light. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the ribbon dissolved, leaving behind a pattern of golden glyphs etched into our wrists.

The marks resembled vines, their tendrils curling artfully, and I could feel its magic under my skin. Applause erupted, a wave of sound that echoed off the walls, and I couldn’t help the faint flush that rose to my cheeks.

Devon leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Well, that wasn’t so bad,” he murmured. “And now I have a shiny new bracelet.”

“Don’t push your luck,” I whispered back, but I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips.

As we got up, I glanced around the room for Azriel. I caught Lady Bernadette’s eye once more, and she looked like she knew exactly whom I was looking for.

Over the course of the evening, we were able to survive the veiled insults and disguised power plays. Luciana and Julia moved seamlessly through the crowd, making sure things went smoothly.

At one point during the evening, an elder rose to propose a toast, though it quickly became clear his true passion was in detailing the vintage of his wine rather than saying anything remotely meaningful. His voice droned on, his words drowning in their own self-importance, as if the speech itself were aged in oak barrels.

Devon leaned closer to whisper in my ear. “I think the wine deserves an award.”

I bit back a grin. “It’s the real hero of this speech.”

He huffed a quiet laugh as I watched him. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined I’d be trading playful quips with Devon, let alone at a formal dinner. He continued to surprise me, a pleasant contradiction in every way.

Finally, the dinner began, ushering in what felt like the main event. Plates floated to the tables, filled with an array of delicacies that ranged from the recognizable to the utterly bizarre. Roasted pheasant sat alongside bowls of enchanted fruit. At the centre of each table, cauldrons bubbled ominously, their contents shifting hues as the evening wore on.

“This feels a little on the nose,” Devon said, eyeing the cauldrons warily.

“It’s tradition,” I replied, though I had to admit the bubbling was a bit much.

Halfway through the meal, Mouriana stirred again. Are they always this dramatic? Or is this a special performance just for you?

“It’s called ambiance,” I thought back. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Ambiance or self-indulgence? The line seems thin.

I smirked into my goblet, earning a curious glance from Devon. I shook my head, brushing it off. He raised a brow but let it go, returning to dissecting what appeared to be a glowing fruit tart.

The evening reached its crescendo with a series of announcements from the elders, none of which I paid much attention to until my mother stood to speak.

As the supper wound down, I finally allowed myself a breath of relief. No curses had been flung, no accidents had erupted, and the witches seemed appeased. It was a small victory, but I’d take it.

“Well,” Devon said as we made our way back toward the estate’s private wing, his arm draped casually around my shoulders. “That wasn’t so bad.”

I raised a brow. “You mean no one cursed us outright? I’ll take it.”

Devon didn’t get the chance to respond before Lady Bernadette joined me. “Celeste, I must say, you’ve exceeded expectations, as always.”

Her words, though simple, were powerful. She had always been measured in her praise, but when it came, it felt earned.

“You were the one who taught me that adaptability is as crucial as strength,” I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “I’m starting to see just how true that is.”

Her laugh was soft. “I see the lessons stuck. Good. You’ll need them in the days ahead. This bond of yours,” she said, her eyes shifting briefly to Devon, “is both unprecedented and monumental. It will change more than just your lives.”

Devon offered her a polite nod. “Lady Bernadette, it’s an honour to meet you formally.”

Her gaze shifted to him, assessing, and for a moment, I wondered if she would be as reserved with him as she had been with me in the past. But to my surprise, her smile widened slightly. “Lord Irving. You’ve chosen well. And you, too, will need to adapt. A Luna like this,” she said, gesturing to me, “comes with challenges of her own.”

“Tell me about it,” Devon said with a grin, his hand resting on my lower back. “But I’m learning.”

“Good,” she said simply. Lady Bernadette’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, her blue eyes holding a weight I couldn’t quite place. “We should speak later, Celeste,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “There are things you’ll need to know—about Nelwost. And about the Circle of the Willow.”

The name struck deep, like the reverberation of a struck bell. A ripple of unease coursed through me, and my breath caught. Zaria. It had to be about her. My thoughts tumbled over each other, a heavy rush I couldn’t untangle fast enough.

“We can speak now, Lady Bernadette,” I said at last, forcing my voice to steady itself.

She tilted her head, the faintest trace of sympathy crossing her face. “You have guests to see off, Celeste. Your duty tonight is to them. I will be staying at the Hiiragi Inn—come to me afterwards. It is rather urgent, but I won’t sour your celebration with it now.”

As she turned gracefully, I felt a pang of dread settle in my chest.

Devon’s voice came low and close, a quiet rumble that warmed my ear. “She likes you.”

“She always has,” I murmured, my eyes trailing after her retreating figure. “And that makes her rare.”

There was a flicker in my mind, a subtle shift that heralded Mouriana’s intrusion. I’m afraid she comes bearing bad news, little witch, her voice echoed, unusually subdued, with a rate trace of melancholy.

“What is it?” I asked aloud, my voice harsher than I intended. Devon glanced at me, his brow furrowing slightly.

It will appear Azriel, too, has been afflicted by the curse, Mouriana said. That’s why he isn’t here. The regret in her tone felt almost personal. Why didn’t you use your mind-bending ability to probe her thoughts? It would have saved you the trouble of waiting.

A shudder ran through me. Azriel, too, has been afflicted by the curse. They rang like a cruel mantra, refusing to let go. My voice felt caught somewhere between my throat and my heart, too heavy to form a response.

“C—il, look at me,” Devon said. He reached out, his hand brushing my arm gently, pulling me from the spiral.

I shook my head, my thoughts a jumbled mess as I fought to focus. The word slipped from my lips, trembling with my fears. “Azriel.” It was barely a whisper, but it carried everything; grief, disbelief, desperation. No. No, Gaia, no. Not Azriel. Not Zaria.

Devon’s jaw tightened, his grey eyes darkening as he moved closer. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me tightly against his chest. The warmth of his embrace was a lifeline. His voice softened as he murmured, “Mouriana. Since you poked into her mind, did you learn anything else?”

I swallowed hard, but the tightness in my throat refused to relent. My hands gripped the fabric of my gown, as though clutching at something could anchor me in the storm. My head brushed against Devon’s chest as Mouriana stirred in my mind again.

The Bloodworth elder came here to plead with you to return to Odristan with her, Mouriana murmured, her tone uncharacteristically subdued. She’s of the impression that you may be able to undo the curse.

“Why would she think that?” Devon pressed, and his tone was as soft as the steady beat of his heart against my ear. “Is there something we don’t know? C—il, talk to me.”

I hesitated, unsure how to think or speak. Mouriana prodded gently. He is your mate, little witch, she said gently, her usual sharpness gone. Let him carry this burden with you.

I exhaled shakily, closing my eyes against the storm raging inside me. My fingers loosened their grip on the fabric of my gown. “I may have healing abilities,” I admitted, my voice trembling as I finally gave the words form. “Only Azriel knows about it because he noticed it” and he helped me hone it.” I paused, as the realization settled in like a stone in my stomach. “If Lady Bernadette came here to get me to help, then he told her.”

Devon’s arms tightened around me. His hand slid to the back of my head, his fingers threading gently through my hair. “We’ll go to her,” he said. “Tonight. As soon as this supper ends, we’ll go to the Hiiragi Inn. Don’t worry too much, okay?”

I nodded against him, my head resting against his chest, and let his strength seep into me for just a moment longer. “We’ll go,” I whispered. “We have to.”

Devon leaned back slightly to meet my gaze. “We will,” he promised.