Reign of the Forsaken Moon - Chapter 46: Chapter 46

The banners of Windrest fluttered in the evening wind as Seraphina and her companions crossed the final ridge. The towering spires of the capital shimmered under the dying sun, casting long, golden shadows across the land.
But something was wrong.
The sentries atop the outer walls were doubled. Smoke rose from the merchant quarter, and the gates were half-shuttered despite their return being expected.
Darian rode beside her, his golden eyes narrowed. “This doesn’t feel like homecoming. It feels like war.”
Seraphina gripped the reins tighter. Her palm still bore the faint crescent mark from the Hollow’s trial—hidden beneath her gloves, but pulsing with heat.
The Hollowgrove had given her answers.
Now, Windrest had given her a question.
Who had moved against her?
And why now?
A Kingdom Stirred
As the gates opened with reluctant groans, the group was met not by cheers or familiar faces—but by a grim line of soldiers dressed in crimson cloaks. The commander, a stern man with salt-and-pepper hair, stepped forward.
“Luna Seraphina,” he said stiffly. “Welcome home. The Council awaits.”
Seraphina narrowed her eyes. “What happened while we were gone?”
“There has been… a shift in allegiance,” the commander said carefully. “A noble from the eastern bloodlines has returned. He bears a claim to the throne.”
Darian’s growl was immediate. “A claim? On her throne?”
The commander’s gaze flickered. “He claims descent from your mother’s half-brother. A forgotten heir—Alaric of House Vael.”
Seraphina froze. The name slammed into her like a punch to the chest.
Alaric… the boy who vanished during the War of the Howls.
“He was thought dead,” she said, voice low.
“And now,” the commander said, “he stands in the Moon Court.”
A Gathering of Tension
Inside the grand hall of the Moon Court, nobles lined the chamber like wolves in a silent standoff. The throne stood untouched at the far end—but beside it stood a man Seraphina had not seen in decades.
Alaric Vael.
Tall. Lean. Pale as frost. His hair was the silver of the ancient line, but his eyes—his eyes were sharp as ice.
“Cousin,” he said, stepping forward. “You return at last. And just in time.”
“I never imagined treason would wear such well-kept robes,” she replied coldly.
“Treason?” he chuckled. “No. A correction of lineage. I bear our blood too, do I not? And the people remember who fought alongside them in exile, not just who burned alone.”
“You forget your place,” Darian growled.
Alaric’s gaze flicked to him with amusement. “And you must be the pet Alpha she clings to. Does he speak for you now, Seraphina?”
“No,” she said, stepping forward, fire building in her voice. “But he fights beside me. Unlike you, who fled your duty when it mattered most.”
Alaric’s smile faded.
The Court Divided
As Seraphina took her place at the center of the hall, the Council erupted into arguments. Some nobles cheered her return. Others whispered about Alaric’s bloodline, citing ancient laws and forgotten rites.
Mira stepped forward, voice cutting through the clamor. “This kingdom bled for Seraphina. Her power, her fire, her rise—it is not inherited. It is earned.”
Elric added, “And if you want proof of her worth, look at the scars she bears, not the name she carries.”
Lucien stood silent—but his glare could have cracked stone.
Alaric raised a hand, calming the chaos.
“Let us be civil,” he said. “Let her stay. Let her prove herself.”
Seraphina narrowed her eyes. “You seek a challenge.”
“I seek the old rites,” he said. “The Trial of Ascension. One Luna. One Claimant. A contest of spirit, strength, and wisdom. The winner claims the throne by Moon’s Decree.”
Darian bristled. “This is madness.”
But Seraphina’s voice rang clear. “I accept.”
A Steamy Interlude
That night, the air was heavy with tension. The Moon’s light filtered through the tall glass windows of Seraphina’s chambers as she sat before the hearth, the flames reflecting in her eyes.
Darian entered quietly, closing the door behind him.
“You didn’t have to accept,” he said.
“I did,” she replied. “If I run from him, the court loses faith. The people lose hope.”
He walked over, crouched in front of her. “And if he wins?”
She looked down. “Then I lose everything. Again.”
Darian tilted her chin up. “Not everything.”
He kissed her then—softly at first, then deeper, with the kind of fire that only came from love pressed against the edge of war.
They undressed in slow motions, their bodies seeking comfort in touch.
She straddled him by the fire, gasping as he moved within her, their rhythm one of defiance and devotion.
Her fingers dug into his back.
His lips brushed her ear. “You are mine. No bloodline, no crown, no ghost of a relative will take that from me.”
“And you,” she whispered, shuddering, “are the one thing I choose. Every time.”
The Hidden Threat
As dawn neared, Elric slipped through the darkened corridors of the Moon Court, following whispers in the stone.
He wasn’t loyal to Alaric.
But he had served too many kings to ignore signs of betrayal.
Behind the Grand Library’s hidden wall, he found a cloaked figure speaking into a shadow mirror—a cursed relic forbidden since the First War.
“Eliminate her before the Trial,” the voice from the mirror whispered.
The figure nodded. “The Hollow’s mark grows stronger in her. The court will never accept her if they see it flare.”
Elric stepped into the light, drawing his blade. “Then they’ll never see you again.”
Steel flashed.
And secrets died in silence.
Preparing for War
In the morning, Seraphina stood in the sacred circle at the heart of the courtyard. Ritual stones glowed with magic as the Trial Masters carved ancient symbols into the ground.
Alaric arrived in silver armor, smug and poised.
Seraphina wore her battle leathers and her Crescent Blade across her back.
Darian kissed her hand before she stepped forward. “I’ll be right there,” he said. “No matter what happens.”
She nodded once. Then turned to Alaric.
“Let the Trial begin,” the Master announced.
Three rites awaited her.
And the first was already written in blood.