Chapter 1 The Ceremony of Shame

Lysandra Pov:

The thing about prophecies is that nobody actually wants to be in one.

I learned that lesson tonight, standing in the Grand Hall of Everspire Palace, wearing a long flowing dress, while five of the most powerful Alphas in the kingdom stared at me like I was a piece of rotting meat someone had left on their dinner plate.

The Blood Moon hung fat and red in the sky above us, visible through the massive glass ceiling that the royal wolf architects had installed specifically for this ceremony. Once every thousand years, they said. Once every thousand years, the Moon Goddess herself would choose a woman to unite five Alpha packs and save the kingdom from destruction.

Lucky me.

"This has to be a mistake," said Alpha Kieran Silvercrest, Crown Prince of Everspire and the first of my supposed "fated mates." He wasn't even looking at me when he said it. He was looking at the High Priestess like she'd personally offended him by conducting this ceremony. "Run the ritual again."

The High Priestess, a tiny old woman who probably weighed ninety pounds soaking wet but could make grown Alphas pee themselves with a single look, did not appear amused. "Your Highness, the Blood Moon does not make mistakes."

"Then the Moon Goddess has a terrible sense of humor," Kieran shot back.

I couldn't even argue with him. I was standing there in a silver dress that someone had shoved me into three hours ago, my hair actually brushed for once in my miserable life, and I wanted to be literally anywhere else but here. The dress had approximately eight thousand tiny buttons down the back and I was pretty sure at least half of them were stabbing me in the spine. Fashion was torture and rich people were insane.

"The prophecy is clear," the High Priestess continued, her voice echoing through the hall where about five hundred pack members had gathered to witness this disaster. "When the Blood Moon rises in the thousandth year, five Alphas shall be bound to one woman, chosen by the Goddess herself. Together, they will stand against the darkness, or the kingdom shall fall."

"Darkness, darkness, always with the dramatic darkness," muttered Alpha Darius Goldmane, the Merchant Heir, who was examining his fingernails like this whole thing was boring him to death. "Can we speed this up? I have a trade negotiation in the morning."

I felt my eye twitch. Of all the things to say during your supposed fated mate ceremony, "I have a trade negotiation" was definitely up there on the list of most insulting.

Alpha Theron Ironfang, the General, had his massive arms crossed over his chest. The man was built like someone who had decided to see how many muscles they could fit on one person and then added a few more for good luck. He was scowling at me like I'd personally insulted his entire military career. "She doesn't even have a wolf," he said flatly. "I can't smell one on her."

And there it was. The thing everyone was thinking but he was the first to say out loud.

I was wolfless.

Or at least, that's what everyone believed.

The crowd started murmuring, that horrible whisper-buzz that happened when hundreds of people all decided to gossip at once. I could hear bits and pieces of it.

"...no wolf..."

"...orphan from the outer territories..."

"...lives with the Blackwater family..."

"...heard she can't even shift..."

"...this is an insult to the Alphas..."

My face was burning. I wanted to disappear. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I wanted to shift into my wolf form and run so far away that nobody would ever find me again.

But I couldn't do any of those things.

Instead, I stood there, hands clenched at my sides, and reminded myself that I'd been through worse than public humiliation. Much worse.

Alpha Cassian Nightweaver, the Grand Sorcerer, was studying me with those weird silver eyes of his that looked like they could see straight through to your soul. His pack specialized in magic, and he gave off this creepy vibe like he knew things about you that you didn't even know about yourself. "Fascinating," he said softly. "The Goddess chose someone with no detectable power signature. There must be a reason."

"The reason is this to waste everyone's time," snapped Alpha Zane Shadowmere, the Shadow Guardian. He was the most terrifying of the five, and that was saying something. His pack operated in the dark, handled the kingdom's dirty work, and he had a reputation for being about as warm and cuddly as a rabid wolverine. He hadn't said a word since I'd been brought into the hall, just stood there radiating menace and looking like he wanted to murder someone. Possibly me. "I reject this bond."

The words hit like a physical blow.

You couldn't just reject a fated mate bond. Well, you could, but it was supposed to hurt. It was supposed to feel like your soul was being ripped in half. The legends said that rejecting a true mate was one of the most painful things a wolf could experience.

Zane said it like he was commenting on the weather.

The High Priestess sucked in a sharp breath. "Alpha Shadowmere, you cannot simply..."

"I reject this bond," he repeated, his dark eyes finally landing on me. They were cold. Empty. Like I was absolutely nothing to him. "I will not be bound to a wolfless orphan, prophecy or not."

Oh, good. We were doing this now.