The change in Celine wasn’t subtle.
It had been one week since her shift, and the difference was impossible to ignore.
She noticed it first in the way people looked at her—not with pity or curiosity, but with a flicker of caution. Respect. Even envy.
Where once she had walked the halls half-invisible, eyes downcast, jaw clenched in quiet defiance, now she moved with purpose. Her posture had changed. Her steps were grounded. Her silver eyes, once dulled by doubt, now seemed lit from within—sharp, aware, quietly powerful.
Her skin carried a soft glow, kissed by moonlight and something older. And her hair—white as snow—no longer hung in tangled waves. It shimmered, brushed and braided with care, threaded through with silver ties.
Even her body had shifted—stronger, graceful, blooming with the kind of health and beauty that made heads turn. The hard edges carved by training had softened into something radiant. Her presence no longer demanded attention—it commanded it.
“She’s stunning,” someone whispered as she passed.
“Is that really her?” murmured another.
“Goddess,” Lucy sighed under her breath. “You’re going to break hearts at your own wedding.”
They were halfway through Celine’s third gown fitting when Lucy nearly burst into tears.
“You can’t cry every time I try something on,” Celine said, laughing.
“I can and I will,” Lucy huffed, wiping at her eyes. “I’ve never seen anyone transform like this. You’re—Celine, you’re the most beautiful bride in the world. The whole damn world.”
Celine rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “You’re too much.”
“And you’re too humble. Which is why I’m now your official wedding servant, stylist, snack-fetcher, and speech-dagger-holder.”
“Speech-dagger?”
“In case someone tries to give a speech that drags on too long. Or if Sasha tries to toast to ‘graceful losses.’ I’m prepared.”
Celine laughed, stepping down from the pedestal as the seamstress pinned the last hem. “Then you’re hired.”
The days that followed were filled with silks and strategy.
Leon joined her for cake tastings, venue scouting, and political guest lists—though Celine noticed how often his hand found her waist, how often his gaze lingered like he still couldn’t believe she was his.
But beneath all the lace and laughter, something sharper had taken root.
Celine had become Luna in truth. Not just because of Leon. Not because of the title. But because the pack looked to her now—and she was finally ready to lead.
The elders whispered in corners, the old guard watched with guarded eyes, but she saw them. All of them.
And she’d played quiet long enough.
It was time to make changes.
The kind that couldn’t be sewn into a dress or smoothed over with polite smiles.
She turned to Lucy that evening, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I want a full report on which warriors haven’t been paid in full for their patrols. And I want to know how many orphans from the outlying villages were turned away this year.”
Lucy blinked, startled. “Yes, Luna.”
Celine didn’t correct her.