Third Person's POV "Clatter-" Another goblet shattered, the sound echoing through the Ironhowl manor like a wolf's snarl in stone halls. The servant who rushed in to clean the mess trembled, gathered the shards, and fled before Knox's rage could find a new target. His pale eyes burned crimson with fury. The wound across his chest had only just begun to close, his blue-streaked hair uneven where healers had cut through it to stitch the flesh beneath. Once a charming heir of Ironhowl, Knox now looked more beast than noble-his handsome face twisted by sleepless nights and humiliation. The elders had spoken: once healed, he was to be exiled to the southern territories. But the one who'd ruined him-Aysel-walked free, untouched, unpunished. The memory of the night he'd awakened, surrounded by those cursed images, made his claws dig into his palms until blood welled. The mockery of his kin still rang in his ears, their jeers whispering through the Pack Hall like ghostly howls. Aysel Vale, a castaway of her bloodline-how dare she defy him? How dare she, a wolf with no standing, humiliate an Alpha-born? They said he'd offended a greater power, that an ancient name had moved in her defense. Knox refused to believe it. No-Aysel must have caught the favor of some dominant male with that soft face of hers. He couldn't touch whoever shielded her... but her? He'd see her brought to her knees. When she became the pack's disgrace, he thought darkly, let's see who still shields her then. Sometimes, a male wolf's cruelty runs deeper than a blade. Knox's lips curved into a feral grin as he thought of the Moonvale birthday announcement-the grand feast where Aysel was to stand before the Packs. He'd be gone soon, his exile secure, but not before he left her in ruin. The timing was perfect. Serena would handle the aftermath. Let them all choke on the shame. After all, if he was to fall, Aysel Vale would fall harder. -- Aysel, however, knew nothing of the storm circling her name. She hadn't even heard she was to appear at the Moonvale celebration. The pack estate had been a frenzy of preparation-servants rushing through corridors, Luna Evelyn arguing with Alpha Remus about the guest list, and Fenrir managing the northern scouts. Then Damon had suddenly declared he would announce the binding of their bloodlines at the feast. The Moonvale household scrambled to adjust, sending word to the Blackwood wolves and the Frostfang envoys. It was only when Luna Evelyn met with Lady Blackwood to confirm the ceremonial details that the oversight came to light. "You mean to tell me," Lady Blackwood said, arching a brow, "that you've arranged her entire debut without informing her?" An uneasy silence fell. Luna Evelyn and her mate exchanged looks; Fenrir and Lykos both turned away, each assuming the other had spoken to Aysel. Then they realized-every single one of them had been blocked from her link. Lady Blackwood exhaled sharply. "And the gown? The consecration ornaments?" Luna Evelyn managed a strained smile. "Celestine and I selected them on her behalf." Lady Blackwood's eyes flicked toward Celestine Ward, who sat demurely nearby. The younger she-wolf's posture was perfect, her throat adorned with the newest crest from House C-moon-silver and diamond-edged, meant for highborn heirs. Lady Blackwood's smile turned razor-thin. "I see. It would appear Moonvale forgets whose moon the feast honors. This is your daughter's ascension, Luna Evelyn. Best remember who carries your blood." Her tone carried Alpha weight-subtle, but enough to silence the chamber. Though she had once favored Celestine as her future daughter-in-law, her son's decision had shifted the balance. Damon had chosen Aysel Vale, and Lady Blackwood was too proud to let her pack be shamed by negligence. "The Alpha of the Blackwood does not court shadows," she added coldly. "If Aysel bears the Blackwood mark, she will stand at the summit, not behind another she-wolf's veil." Luna Evelyn's expression froze. She mumbled something about fairness and love for both her daughters, but the words rang hollow. Lady Blackwood merely turned toward her son. "And you, Damon-are you content to let your bond ceremony be handled like a tavern supper?" Damon sat by the window, the storm beyond reflected in his dark gaze. He didn't answer. The weight of duty pressed on him, and yet the thought of Aysel-untold, unaware, unseen-gnawed at the edges of his restraint. "Keep it simple," he finally said. "If there's an issue, let Alpha Remus and my father handle the announcement." "Simple?" Lady Blackwood's voice cracked with disbelief. "Your union is a vow before moon and blood! How dare you speak of it as-" But Damon was already gone, his scent trailing through the rain-soaked corridor. "I need air," he muttered, and the heavy doors closed behind him, leaving silence in his wake.