Sylra's POV
The royal library smelled of dust and forgotten centuries, shelves stretching toward vaulted ceilings filled with texts no one had touched in decades.
I'd come looking for military histories, something to prepare me for the next council meeting. Instead, I found a leather-bound journal wedged between two crumbling volumes on pack genealogy, its spine cracked, its pages yellowed with age. The name embossed on the cover stopped my heart.
Lyra Thorne. My mother.
My hands trembled as I carried it to a reading alcove, settling into a worn velvet chair. The handwriting inside was elegant, feminine, filled with observations about court life and diplomatic strategies. But as I turned the pages, the entries grew darker, more urgent.
One passage made me forget to breathe.
"The golden wolf does not come to all who carry royal blood," my mother had written. "It comes only to those who are worthy—strong in spirit, wise in judgment, true in heart. The transformation is agony beyond description, a remaking of flesh and bone and soul. If the princess is weak, the wolf will not come. She will be broken and remade into nothing."
I read the words again. And again. My fingers traced the faded ink, searching for answers that weren't there.
Further into the journal, I found another passage that made my pulse quicken.
"A true transformation severs false bonds completely. The golden wolf recognizes no claim forged in betrayal. Where lesser wolves remain tethered to mates who have proven unworthy, the golden wolf chooses. The golden wolf frees."
The bond. The legal technicality that gave Rovan a claim to me, to the throne. My mother's words suggested there might be another way to sever it, one that didn't require his presence or his consent.
I just had to be worthy.
That night, I waited until the palace fell silent before slipping from my chambers. The moon hung full and heavy above the gardens, its silver light pooling on the stone pathways. I found a clearing beyond the eastern wall, hidden from view by ancient oaks, and stripped off my outer layers until I stood in nothing but a thin shift.
The cold bit into my skin. I welcomed it.
"Strong in spirit," I whispered to myself. "Wise in judgment. True in heart."
I closed my eyes and reached for the wolf inside me, the one I'd learned to suppress during my years at Blackmaw. Lady Vela had made it clear that a Luna's wolf should be small, submissive, invisible. I'd obeyed, pushing that part of myself so deep I'd almost forgotten it existed.
Now I called it forward.
The first wave of pain nearly drove me to my knees. My spine arched, muscles seizing, bones grinding against each other with a sound that echoed through my skull. I bit down on my lip hard enough to taste blood.
"Come on," I gasped. "Come on."
Another wave, worse than the first. My ribs cracked and reformed, my shoulders wrenched backward, my jaw stretched and snapped. The shift was supposed to be fluid, natural, but this was wrong. Everything was wrong.
Where was the golden light? Where was the transformation my mother had written about?
There was nothing but agony, tearing through me without purpose or direction. My body was breaking apart, but nothing was replacing it. No wolf rose to claim the wreckage. No power flooded through my veins.
I was just shattering.
A scream ripped from my throat before I could stop it. Then another. I couldn't control them, couldn't contain the sounds pouring out of me as my body convulsed on the frozen ground. My fingernails scraped against stone, leaving bloody trails. My vision blurred, darkened, sparked with lights that weren't real.
"Sylra!" A voice cut through the chaos. Hands grabbed my shoulders, shaking me. "Sylra, stop! What are you doing?"
Caelen's face swam into focus above me, his gray eyes wide with something I'd never seen in them before. Fear. Actual fear.
"The golden wolf," I choked out between screams. "I have to—I have to be worthy—"
"You're killing yourself!" He pulled me upright, his grip bruising. "You can't force a transformation! Stop fighting and let it go!"
But I couldn't stop. The pain had its own momentum now, dragging me deeper into the abyss. My body kept trying to shift, kept failing, kept tearing itself apart in the attempt.
Caelen's hand gripped my shoulder.
The grip was hard enough to shake my head from side to the side, hard enough to leave my neck burning. The shock of it cut through the pain, severed whatever connection I'd made to the failed transformation.
My body collapsed, the shift retreating, leaving me gasping and shaking on the ground.
"Are you insane?" Caelen demanded, his voice ragged. "The golden wolf transformation requires years of preparation! Rituals, guidance, careful conditioning! You can't just decide to attempt it alone in the middle of the night!"
I stared up at him, my cheek throbbing, my entire body feeling like it had been turned inside out. The fear in his eyes was gone now, replaced by fury. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.
"You could have died," he continued, his voice rising. "You could have shattered your wolf permanently! What were you thinking?"
Something snapped inside me.
All the fear I'd been carrying since the day I arrived at this palace. All the pressure of a throne I never asked for, a prophecy I never wanted, a father whose life was draining away because of my existence. All the rage I'd swallowed during three years of being told I was worthless, being treated like dirt, being made to feel like I deserved every cruelty inflicted upon me.
It all condensed into a single, white-hot point.
I slapped him.
The crack of my palm against his cheek echoed through the clearing. Caelen's head snapped to the side, and when he turned back to face me, there was a red mark blooming across his jaw. His eyes had gone wide again, but not with fear this time.
Something else entirely.
"Don't you dare tell me what I can't do," I said, my voice shaking with fury. "Don't you dare."
We stared at each other, both breathing hard, the moonlight casting silver shadows across his stunned face.
Neither of us moved.