Soon the music softened. A spotlight lit the stage.
Jareth’s grandfather slowly stepped toward the microcrystal communicator.
The Alpha King looked weak, but his eyes remained sharp.
“Tonight,” he said slowly, his voice echoing across the silent hall, “we celebrate more than a new alliance. We celebrate a legacy.”
“A legacy of family. Stability. Loyalty.”
He raised his glass toward us.
“To my grandson, Jareth Warhowl, and his wonderful Luna, Ashara Bloodwyn. Because of her strength and loyalty, I feel confident giving my empire to the next generation. A man who cannot protect his home cannot rule a pack. But Jareth has chosen wisely.”
The hall erupted in applause. Jareth squeezed my waist proudly. He believed he had won. He believed the Alpha throne already belonged to him.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I know,” I replied quietly.
The celebration continued. Guests surrounded us.
For another twenty minutes I played the perfect Luna. Then I felt Jareth’s hand slip away from my back.
“I need to use the restroom,” he muttered as his crystal communicator vibrated in his pocket.
I watched him walk away. He did not go toward the restroom. He walked toward the service elevators.