Morning came with an unsettling stillness, the kind that pressed against Jade's chest and made the simple act of breathing feel heavier than it should.
At first, she thought she was imagining it — the strange charged air, the tension thick as morning fog — until the first murmurs began. By midmorning, the entire Shadowfang Pack buzzed like a disturbed hive. The Lycan King of Blood Moon Pack was coming.
Not for war. Not for conquest.
But for something almost as fearsome.
He was to rest at Shadowfang's territory before traveling onward to the Grand Assembly, a once-in-a-decade gathering where the future of packs across the region would be decided. Yet no one talked about the Assembly. All they could think about was him — the Lycan King.
The name alone carried a weight Jade could feel in her bones.
He was a figure pulled from nightmares and bloody campfire stories. Ruthless. Untouchable. His pack, Blood Moon, was the most powerful, known for its unyielding dominance and the sheer terror it invoked. No one saw the King's face; he wore an iron mask that hid him from the world. Some said he had no face at all — only a scarred, ruined thing twisted by dark magic and battles.
Others said he had a face so beautiful it could drive a person mad.
But all the stories agreed on one thing: he was merciless.
And now, Shadowfang was preparing to host him.
The Alpha's orders were swift and relentless.
The main hall was to be scrubbed until the stones gleamed like black mirrors.
The feast was to be magnificent.
The warriors — even the best among them — trained harder, polishing their armor, sparring until the training fields smelled of blood and sweat.
And Jade, as always, was buried beneath it all — invisible, overworked, and more trapped than ever.
By noon, she could barely keep track of the tasks hurled her way: hauling wine barrels from the cellars, helping string up banners stitched with both the Shadowfang crest and the Blood Moon sigil, scrubbing floors, polishing goblets until her fingers cracked and bled.
She hardly noticed Mira trailing behind her until the smaller omega grabbed her wrist.
"Jade!" Mira hissed, her voice trembling between excitement and fear. "Did you hear? Did you hear?"
Jade pulled her hand free gently, not stopping her frantic cleaning. "Everyone's heard."
Mira leaned in closer, her brown eyes wide and shining. "He's said to be nearly seven feet tall! They say he can crush a man's spine like a twig with one hand! But..." she lowered her voice dramatically, glancing around as if worried someone might overhear, "...he's looking for a mate."
Jade froze, the silver goblet she was polishing slipping from her raw fingers and clattering noisily to the floor.
Mira giggled breathlessly. "Imagine! One look and whoosh!" She twirled on the spot. "The King chooses you. You become the Queen of Blood Moon!"
Jade bent to retrieve the goblet, hiding her grimace. "Or he kills you for looking him in the eye."
Mira pouted. "You're no fun."
But Jade could still see the sparkle in her friend's eyes, the fierce, impossible dream blooming there — a Cinderella fantasy.
Mira, like most omegas, had lived a life of serving and scraping by. The idea of catching the King's attention — of rising from invisible servant to queen — was intoxicating. A foolish hope, Jade thought bitterly. Dangerous.
The King was not a fairy-tale prince.
He was a weapon clothed in flesh.
And she wanted nothing to do with him.
By evening, Shadowfang was a hive of movement. Tailors rushed to fit dresses, jewelers scrambled to polish trinkets, bakers worked through the night to prepare bread, cakes, and sugared fruits. Every available hand was put to work.
The ladies of the pack — warrior daughters, merchant wives, even low-ranking omegas — all began preparing themselves for the King's arrival as if they were going into battle. The halls were filled with the scents of lavender and rosewater, the sounds of gowns rustling and the metallic snap of corsets tightening.
Jade watched from the sidelines, invisible as always.
Even Mira had begged one of the seamstresses to alter a simple pale blue dress for her, a color that made her look like something soft and delicate, like a piece of the sky.
"You never know," Mira had said, twirling in the borrowed gown. "Maybe he'll look past rank... past everything else."
Jade hadn't answered.
Because she knew better.
The King wouldn't look past anything.
He would see everything.
**
As night fell, the gossip only grew worse.
Whispers passed from mouth to mouth, slipping through the halls like smoke:
"He burned an entire pack to the ground for lying to him."
"He took the Alpha's daughter from Silverfang — and she never returned."
"They say he can smell weakness... and he delights in punishing it."
Jade tried to keep her head down, to focus only on her work, but fear gnawed at her relentlessly. Sleep became impossible. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant howl of the wind outside the packhouse walls set her nerves on edge.
In the darkness of the small servant quarters she shared with other omegas, Mira whispered tales into the night, weaving fantasies of glittering crowns and warm hands that lifted broken girls into queens.
Jade lay stiffly in her narrow cot, staring up at the cracked ceiling.
She didn't dream of crowns.
She dreamt of blood.
And black iron masks.
**
The next morning came with a biting chill, even though the sun was bright in the sky.
The pack's final preparations began. Every inch of Shadowfang territory had to be perfect. Scouts were sent out to monitor the forested borders, searching for the King's approaching entourage. Warriors polished their swords until the metal gleamed like rivers of silver.
By midday, the grand hall had been transformed.
Banners of deep blue and silver for Shadowfang, black and crimson for Blood Moon, hung proudly along the walls. Long tables were set with gleaming silverware and crystal goblets. Platters of food sat covered and waiting.
And among it all, the ladies of the pack preened and practiced their curtsies and smiles. Some laughed nervously, others whispered about the best way to catch the King's attention.
Jade moved unseen among them, carrying trays and fetching forgotten gloves and mending last-minute tears in gowns.
"You could try too," Mira whispered at one point, catching Jade by the elbow as she passed. "If you wanted."
Jade blinked at her, uncomprehending.
Mira flushed, but pressed on, earnest. "You're... you're not ugly, Jade. If you had a nice dress, if you smiled..."
Jade pulled her arm free, more sharply than she meant to. "It's not about smiling," she muttered. "Or dresses."
It was about power.
And fear.
And survival.
Mira watched her retreating back with wide, wounded eyes, but said nothing more.
As evening neared, the air grew thicker. Heavier.
Shadowfang stood ready, but tense, like a bowstring pulled taut.
And Jade?
Jade felt like a rabbit in an open field, heart hammering, knowing the hawk was coming.
From the high walls, the first call finally came — not of arrival, but of sightings. A messenger. Blood Moon warriors seen riding the northern forest trails. Their King was close.
The Alpha ordered everyone into place. Servants hidden, warriors arrayed for greeting, ladies lined up like glittering prizes at a market.
Mira, in her blue dress, squeezed Jade's hand tightly.
"Maybe this will be the start of everything good," Mira whispered, voice trembling.
Jade didn't answer.
In her heart, a dark certainty took root.
This was not the start of anything good.
This was the coming of a storm.