LUNA ASTRID
I looked into Jameson's eyes as he cupped my face, bringing our foreheads and noses together. He held my gaze then whispered softly. "Go on, my Luna. Do it for the Folklore Pack. Do it for our people. Do it for me."
He only released me after I nodded weakly. His smile widened as I hesitantly lifted the pen and hovered it over the paper. The moment my hand began to move, scribbling my signature, his smile turned triumphant.
My wolf howled in agony, her cries echoing in my mind, but my body and heart refused to show any outward sign of the torment I felt.
I was numb, suffocated by his control.
"Good girl." Jameson said, his tone filled with satisfaction. He snatched the signed papers and the golden pen from my hands and left the room without another word.
He had what he wanted, and I knew deep down that the consequences of this decision would fall squarely on me.
Days passed in a blur of routine. I buried my pain beneath the facade of normalcy until, one afternoon, four pack warriors approached me as I walked through the packhouse gardens.
"Luna Astrid, the Alpha has requested your presence at the Folklore Basilica. Kindly allow us to escort you."
Their faces were stoic, their voices calm, but something about the way they carried themselves put me on edge.
My brows furrowed in confusion. "The Folklore Basilica? Is something grand about to happen?"
One of the warriors, maintaining his composed demeanor, replied, "We're not entirely sure, Luna. However, the Alpha has requested the presence of every pack member as well."
I was still baffled, but I nodded, deciding it was best to follow their lead.
As we reached the grand hall of the Folklore Basilica, the sight before me made me stop in my tracks. My breath hitched as I took in the surroundings. The entire hall was adorned with fresh white and pink flowers. A pristine white carpet stretched down the middle aisle, leading to a stage where a magnificent silver throne stood at its center.
What's going on?
The extravagance of the decorations rivaled—no, exceeded—what we had for our mating ceremony.
What—or who—are all of these for?
With countless questions swirling in my mind, I sat at my designated table at the front of the grand hall, nervously waiting for whatever this was to unfold.
It wasn't long before Alpha Jameson appeared, stepping confidently onto the stage. He addressed the pack with his usual charm.
In the middle of his speech, his eyes locked with mine, and I stiffened under his gaze.
"Everyone is aware of how hard the Luna and I have tried to conceive a male pup." He began. "But after four years, Luna Astrid was only able to bear females. I began to suspect there might be an issue with her body, so we decided to stop trying."
Why did he have to say that?
The weight of everyone's judgmental stares burned into me, forcing me to keep my head low.
"A few days ago," Jameson continued, "I asked the Luna to sign a written agreement to explore another method of securing an heir for the Folklore Pack. That decision brings us to this moment today." He paused, his tone growing more deliberate. "Everyone, I need your attention focused at the end of the long aisle."
His words made me look up, my breath catching as I followed the direction of his gaze.
A white horse-drawn carriage began its slow march down the aisle. When the carriage finally came to a stop at the stage, the chauffeur stepped down and opened the door, extending a hand to the figure inside.
Jameson approached the carriage, his movements deliberate and full of showmanship. He gently took the woman's hand as she stepped down.
He led her to the silver throne, and as she ascended the stage, the room seemed to hold its collective breath. She wore an opulent purple gown that shimmered under the lights, every detail screaming wealth and importance. Her face, however, was hidden behind a mask encrusted with jade and diamonds, concealing her identity entirely.
The heir surrogate. Is she it?
The thought sent a cold shiver through me.
But if she was, why go to such lengths? Why this grand display, as if she were some queen being coronated? Was it truly necessary to introduce her to the pack with this much effort?
Something wasn't right.
Jameson's voice cut through. "Everyone, this is the Masked Lady, and she will serve as the Folklore Pack's heir surrogate."
Whispers erupted throughout the hall.
Jameson continued. "She will be our last resort to ensure the continuation of our pack's legacy, using her own fluids and mine to conceive the heir we so desperately need. Her identity will remain a mystery to all, and she will wear this mask for the entirety of her stay here."
I clenched my fists under the table, rage simmering beneath the surface.
"Our pack needs her," Jameson declared. "And I expect every one of you to show her the same respect you show me and your Luna."
The applause for the Masked Lady was hesitant at first, but it eventually grew into a reluctant chorus. No one, not even the elders, dared to challenge Jameson's decision.
"Luna Astrid, please come and join us here." Jameson suddenly announced. I wanted to stay seated, to defy him, but I couldn't. So, I forced myself to rise.
My heart was no longer numb. I could fully feel the pain of the situation. I wanted to cry, but I forced myself to remain composed, believing it was my fault. This wouldn't have happened if only I could've given Jameson an heir.
When I finally reached the stage, I took my place beside the Masked Lady. My eyes were drawn to her, despite my efforts to avoid looking at her for too long. Something about her presence demanded my attention.
My heart raced as our eyes met.
Ocean blue, piercing and familiar.
I blinked, then stared again, searching for confirmation. Beneath the delicate mask, her identity remained hidden, but those eyes… I couldn't ignore them.
They were identical to Lady Victoria Beckett's—the princess of the Everdale Pack. Jameson's first love.
