THE INVITATION OF THE NOTHERN CROWN

The days following Damian’s announcement passed like a heavy fog over the Blue Moon Pack.

Aitana moved through her duties in silence. She trained, patrolled, and obeyed every command expected of a beta’s daughter, yet something inside her had changed. The moonlight that once danced eagerly around her now responded cautiously, as if waiting for her heart to decide whether to rise again or remain broken.

Her white wolf still followed her closely, protective and watchful. At night, it curled beside her in spirit, a quiet reminder that even if fate had denied her one bond, it had not stripped her of strength.

Alain noticed everything.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re fine,” he said one evening as they stood near the pack’s fire pit.

Aitana didn’t look at him. “If I stop pretending, I might break.”

Alain clenched his jaw. He wanted to shield her from further pain, but he knew better now. His sister was not fragile. She was forged by disappointment—and that made her dangerous in ways even she didn’t yet understand.

It was three nights later when the messenger arrived.

A massive wolf bearing the crest of the Northern Country stepped into the pack grounds, its presence alone forcing even the alphas to straighten. A parchment sealed with icy blue wax was presented to the council.

The message was read aloud.

By decree of His Majesty, King Byron of the Northern Country, selected packs are summoned to attend the Royal Moon Ball. There, a sacred blood pact shall be formed—binding loyalty, protection, and ancient magic between the crown and its allies.

A hush fell over the clearing.

The Blue Moon Pack had been chosen.

Murmurs spread quickly. Excitement. Fear. Pride.

Aitana felt none of it at first.

The Northern Country was a place of legends—of kings born in ice, of palaces carved from stone and frost, of laws older than the moon itself. It was far beyond anything she had ever imagined for herself.

She turned to leave.

“Aitana,” her father called, his voice firm but gentle.

She stopped.

“This invitation includes you.”

Her breath caught. “Why?”

Her father’s eyes softened. “Because the king requested all notable members of the pack. And whether you believe it or not, daughter… you are notable.”

That night, Aitana sat alone beneath the moon, snow dusting her hair as she stared at the sky. Her purple eyes reflected the silver glow above, and for the first time since Damian’s return, her magic stirred again—uncertain, curious.

Alain joined her quietly.

“You don’t have to go,” he said.

“Yes,” she replied after a long pause. “I do.”

He turned to her, surprised.

“I stayed because I thought my fate was here,” she continued. “And it wasn’t. Maybe… maybe the moon is telling me to move forward.”

The journey to the Northern Country took days. Mountains rose higher with every mile, the air colder, sharper. When the palace finally came into view, Aitana’s breath caught.

It was magnificent.

Tall spires carved from ice and stone pierced the sky, glowing softly under the moon. Power lingered in the air—ancient, watchful.

As Aitana stepped onto the palace grounds, her wolf stirred violently.

The moonlight around her flared.

Her chest tightened—not with pain, but with something unfamiliar.

Anticipation.

Somewhere within the palace walls, a king paused mid-step, his heart skipping a beat for reasons he could not yet name.

And far above them all, unseen but aware, destiny shifted.

The moon had not abandoned Aitana.

It had merely been leading her somewhere greater.

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