Chapter 1

I am the Matriarch of all Lycans — ancient beyond counting, immortal, ageless. The Lycan keeps me hidden within the palace, a sacred relic they parade as their good-luck charm.

I have guided every Lycan King across the centuries. I devised their strategies, advised their wars, and carved out kingdoms from nothing.

Then a new Luna arrived.

The moment the Lycan King stepped away, she kicked open my chamber door.

"I always wondered what kind of cheap little whore had the King running to this corner of the palace every day," she spat, stepping inside as though she owned every stone beneath her feet. "You don't even have a title. You're nothing but the lowest mistress around here. Disgusting."

I almost laughed.

My great-great-grandson — who is barely a thousand years younger than I am — would make me his mistress? The thought alone was absurd.

Beside me, my handmaiden tugged anxiously at my sleeve, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Matriarch, please don't let it upset you. When the King returns, he'll set things right for you..."

I smiled, rose from my chaise, and smoothed my robe.

Whether the King set things right was the least of my concerns.

After all, whoever sat on the throne of this kingdom — that was my decision to make.

Word had reached me that Alpha Lucas had returned to the capital just days ago, victorious from the northern campaign.

That boy. I had raised him with my own hands. He had ten times more sense than this Lycan King.

...

I had no interest in wasting breath on such a foolish creature. I tilted my chin toward my handmaiden.

"Elara. Go deliver a message."

"Go to Alpha Lucas's pack. Tell him my peace has been disturbed, and I'd like him to come collect me."

The Luna blinked — then burst into laughter, doubling over and clutching her stomach.

"I didn't realize the palace had produced such a character. Invoking Alpha Lucas, of all people."

"Do you have any idea who Alpha Lucas is? He is the Lycan King's own uncle. He commands five hundred thousand elite warriors. And you — a nameless, titleless nothing — think you're worthy of being collected by him?"

Those five hundred thousand warriors were mine to begin with. I trained them personally and passed them to Alpha Lucas when he came of age. He had begged me for years to come live at his pack.

But the Lycan King had been young and fumbling on the throne, running to me every single day with questions. I had declined out of obligation.

I said nothing to the Luna. I simply glanced at Elara.

Elara finally snapped to attention and hurried toward the door.

"Stop." The Luna's voice cracked like a whip. The attendant at her side moved instantly to block Elara's path.

"I have not given permission to leave. Since when do handmaidens walk wherever they please? Have you no sense of order?"

I reclined against the chaise and watched the scene unfold with quiet eyes.

A thousand years. I had seen this exact performance more times than I could count.

Every generation, someone new had to try it.

The Luna noticed that Elara would not answer her, and her interest sharpened. She turned toward me, wearing a grin.

"Oh, how loyal. Your mistress stays silent, so you stay silent too. Tell me — do you both think you've found someone important to hide behind?"

"I'm genuinely curious about you," she continued, prowling closer. "What exactly is your story? The King is here every other day. He skipped the Lycan royal's anniversary banquet. He walked out of a council session mid-deliberation because someone told him you weren't feeling well."

"I expected some breathtaking beauty. But looking at you now..." She shrugged. "Nothing special."

I kept the amusement off my face. Of course the King put my wellbeing first.

Without me, he would never have clawed his way onto that throne as a weak werewolf of a lesser line. And he certainly would not have kept it.

The Luna stepped closer and cupped my chin in her fingers, forcing my head up.

"Let me guess," she said, studying me. "Is it that you're exceptional in bed? Or did you use some kind of spell — slip something into his drink to keep him crawling back?"

I let her hold my chin. I smiled.

"How old are you, Luna?"

She blinked, thrown off by the question. She answered before she could stop herself. "Eighteen."

"Eighteen." I nodded slowly. "When I was your age, your great-great-great-great-grandfather was still in diapers."

Silence settled over the room like snowfall.

The Luna's expression traveled from confusion, to blankness, to fury.

"You — you dare insult me?!"

She raised her hand to strike.