Aria had never liked surprises.
But when she stepped into the candlelit solarium and saw the garlands of lunar lilies draped over the archways, the soft shimmer of spelllight floating near the glass ceiling, and the quiet circle of women standing with nervous smiles—her breath caught.
“Happy almost-motherhood,” Zara whispered, nudging her forward.
A table in the center held a cake shaped like a wolf pup curled around a crescent moon. Another held bundles of gifts wrapped in enchanted paper that glowed faintly. At the far corner, someone had even conjured up a charm board—silver ribbons trailing from it like blessings.
For a moment, Aria stood frozen.
The last time she’d been the center of attention, it was during her public rejection.
This time felt… foreign. Unsteady. But warm.
“You all did this?” she asked, blinking.
One of the younger she-wolves—Mara, barely seventeen—nodded quickly. “Zara said we needed to celebrate. That you shouldn’t face everything without a moment of joy.”
Joy.
The word tasted strange in Aria’s mouth.
But as she looked around the room—these women who had been silenced, sidelined, or ignored—she saw something else flickering behind their smiles.
Defiance. Hope. Unity.
She placed a hand over her belly. The baby kicked, soft and insistent.
Maybe joy didn’t have to feel safe to be real.
Maybe this, right here, was a revolution in disguise.
The games were simple and silly—guess the baby’s weight, pick a name from a mystical satchel, draw what you think the future Luna will look like. Laughter filled the solarium, awkward at first, then genuine.
Aria sat on a thick cushion, watching as Zara pretended to argue over names with a warrior from the western ridge.
“Mira is a good name,” Zara insisted.
“It means ‘trouble,’” the warrior replied. “In the old tongue.”
“Exactly,” Zara grinned. “Fitting.”
They all laughed.
Aria shook her head but smiled. She felt warmth blooming in places that had been frozen for too long.
But it didn’t last.
Halfway through the celebration, the door opened.
A figure stepped inside—dressed in traveling leathers, cloak dusted with snow, expression unreadable.
Aria went still.
It was Riven, a former emissary of the StoneRidge high court. He’d vanished after the severing, claiming neutrality when Kael and Evelyn seized full control.
Now he bowed low.
“My Lady Vale,” he said, ignoring the glare from Zara. “I bring word from the border.”
Every sound in the solarium faded.
“What border?” Aria asked, rising slowly.
“Greenwood,” Riven replied. “A scout patrol found three marked bodies on SilverCrest land. One bore Evelyn’s seal. The others were… less recognizable.”
Aria’s pulse thudded.
Riven stepped closer. “We believe they were sent to retrieve something. Or someone.”
Silence stretched long and brittle.
Mara clutched her chair. Zara’s hand went to her blade out of instinct.
Aria took a slow breath, grounding herself in the weight of her belly, the warmth of the room, the presence of so many watching her for strength.
“This was meant to rattle me,” she said calmly.
Riven didn’t deny it.
“And it won’t,” she added. “Not today.”
Zara’s eyes flicked toward her, proud.
Aria stepped forward and took a small charm from the table—a silver thread looped into a circle with protective runes.
She tied it gently around her wrist.
“Let them come,” she said. “But I won’t stop living for my daughter just because they want me afraid.”
The room exhaled as one.
Not shaken. Just… sharpened.
Joy was still possible. Even on the edge of war.
And Aria would not surrender the softness that made her strong.
The sun had fully set by the time the last of the women left.
Only Aria and Zara remained in the solarium, sitting amidst empty plates and crumpled ribbons. The charm board still glowed faintly in the corner, pulsing with quiet magic.
Aria leaned back, both hands resting protectively over her belly.
“I didn’t know I needed this,” she murmured.
“You did,” Zara said softly. “You just forgot what joy felt like.”
Aria turned to her. “Is it foolish? To still want moments like this when the world is cracking?”
“No,” Zara said. “It’s what makes the fight worth it.”
A soft knock came at the door.
This time it wasn’t a scout, or a threat.
It was Mara, cheeks flushed from the cold. She stepped inside and handed Aria a small velvet pouch.
“It’s from the girls,” she said. “We made it… just in case.”
Aria opened it. Inside was a bracelet of woven threads—white, gold, and crimson. The colors of protection, truth, and legacy. Old magic, old symbols.
A birth-blessing.
Her throat tightened.
She slipped it on, felt the warmth settle against her skin.
Then she looked to Mara. “Tell them I’ll wear it when I give birth. And that no matter what happens—I will protect all of us.”
Mara nodded once, eyes bright, then slipped away.
Zara placed a hand on Aria’s shoulder. “You’ve already changed things.”
Aria looked out the window, where the first star blinked into view.
“Not enough,” she whispered. “But soon.”
