Chapter 9 - The Royal Decree
Nine days passed like an eternity.
Meera didn't rebuild her beehives. She sat in her quiet, half-empty cabin, staring at the empty rug by the hearth, feeling as though a piece of her soul had been ripped out and thrown into the fire. She told herself she was better off. She told herself independence was worth the ache.
On the tenth morning, a royal courier on a white stallion galloped up to her front porch and tossed a heavy, gold-embossed envelope onto her stoop before riding away without a word.
Meera picked it up with trembling fingers.
Inside was a thick sheet of parchment stamped with the royal crest of the Northern Range—a double-headed wolf beneath a silver crown.
By decree of King Kyle Ravenmore, You are hereby summoned to the Great Hall of the Northern Citadel to attend the Royal Council and the Choosing of the Luna.
Four hundred packs shall gather. Four hundred eligible noblewomen shall present themselves before the throne.
And the King shall choose his Queen.
Meera stared at the parchment, her breath catching in her throat. A cold wave of fury and heartbreak washed over her. So that was it. The great Alpha King had licked her wounds, played his game, and returned to his royal court to find a proper, political bride—just like Rowan had done five years ago.
History was repeating itself.
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Except Meera was not a seventeen-year-old girl anymore.
She packed a single canvas bag. She pulled on her old, mended woolen shawl—the very same shawl she had wrapped around the injured wolf on the day they met. And she caught a public transport wagon all the way to the capital.
