It was her father’s name-day festival, the annual celebration held beneath the high banners of the Sterling Moon-Claw Clan.
Midway through their ride, as the carriage rumbled over the moonlit forest path, Narissa softly asked,
“May we stop for a moment? I… wish to offer a gift for my father.”
Drake’s expression remained carved from cold stone.
“There is no time. A gift is not what matters right now.”
With that, he flicked the reins, giving her no further chance to speak.
When they arrived before the carved stone steps of the Great Hall, Drake leapt down to tend the horses himself. He sent her a rune-etched message stone moments later, instructing her to enter alone.
Narissa stepped through the towering doors of the banquet hall, where silver wolf-flutes played slow, soothing melodies. Torches flickered against the stone walls, illuminating carved family crests and the moon sigil of the Sterling line.
But she barely made it two steps inside before Bella appeared—Bella, the daughter of a rival noble den, who had always been openly hostile toward her. Bella approached with several clan-born maidens behind her, forming a loose circle that trapped Narissa in place.
Bella pinched her nose with exaggerated disgust.
“Narissa, how shameful. Did the Sterling Clan run out of moon-silver? You dare come to the Alpha’s feast wearing nothing—no adornments, no clan jewelry? You disgrace all noble daughters.”
The maidens behind her broke into derisive giggles.
“She calls herself the first daughter of the Sterling line? She isn’t even fit to be compared to her sister.”
Bella sneered and leaned closer, voice dripping with venom.
“It’s truly funny. You’re the daughter of Astrid, the famed Moon-Dancer beloved by the entire territory. Yet look at you—you turned out worse than the daughter of a mistress. No wonder your father strayed.”
Narissa’s chest tightened painfully.
Her mother, Astrid, had been the most celebrated wolf-dancer of the southern courts, blessed with grace and adored by the packs. When Narissa’s father first met her, he had pursued her tirelessly until she agreed to become his mate.
Astrid had given up her entire career to bear Narissa and join the Sterling Clan.
But when Narissa was sixteen, her mother died in a tragic cliff-fall.
And later—when Narissa was framed—her father had been seen in intimate situations with several women. One of them turned out to be Wilde, Liora’s mother.
Narissa once asked him, voice trembling,
“Why are you doing this? Can you face Mother?”
His reply had been ice and poison.
“If I ever owed your mother anything, I should never have raised you. I should have let you die the night you were born. If not for you, how would she have perished?”
That sentence still sliced her heart open whenever she remembered it.
Her father blamed her for her mother’s death. Everyone did.
And Narissa carried the guilt silently, a wound that never healed.
To the world, she would endure anything—humiliation, hatred, exile.
But her mother was the one person she would never allow anyone to insult.
So even though she knew Bella meant to provoke her, Narissa could not stop herself.
Her palm cracked across Bella’s cheek in a sharp, echoing slap.
“Silence. I will not allow you to speak of my mother that way. And whether or not I remain a Sterling, I still hold a seat on the Council. You have no right to address me like this.”
Bella’s eyes instantly filled with tears of rage.
“You filthy half-beast—how dare you strike me! My father will not forgive this!”
Narissa’s gaze turned ice-cold, a dangerous smile lifting her lip.
“I will be waiting for him.”
At that moment, a gentle voice floated from behind—elegant and soft, yet poised like a dagger under silk.
“Narissa… what are you doing here?”
Narissa froze mid-breath.
Her pulse faltered.
Her throat tightened painfully.
Her eyes stung.
Slowly, she turned around.
And in the very moment her gaze landed on the newcomer, her blood ran cold, seizing her heart in a grip of ice.
