My mate-mother complained that the ceremonial feast spread I'd arranged was too extravagant, then publicly praised my bond-sister's homemade shredded root vegetables as the mark of a proper pack female.

I wanted to explain, but my bondmate gripped my arm.

"Mother has lived lean her whole life. Just bear with her."

Later, she made a cutting remark while gesturing toward the roasted nuts on the platter.

"Even these seeds know how to produce. Some she-wolves, though..."

I understood then.

She was using the dish to mock me.

Never mind that it was her son's body that carried the weakness—somehow, the blame landed on me.

My bond-brother and his mate piled on. The rest of the pack-kin snickered.

I looked at my bondmate. He kept his head lowered, silent.

I was done.

I summoned the Feast Steward.

"Pack everything up and have it delivered to my territory carriage."

My mate-mother's face twisted with fury.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I met her glare without flinching.

"I'm saying you and your precious daughter-by-bond can go home and eat shredded roots."

1.

The private feast chamber was packed—sixty wolves crammed around three large circular tables.

Servers moved between them, setting down platter after platter.

"Moonstone Shrimp Rings... Ribbon-Wrapped Herb Boar... Golden-Crusted Quail..."

Garrick Stonebriar, the Feast Steward, announced each course with practiced grace.

My mate-mother's expression, however, had gone dark as a gathering storm.

"A hundred and eight dishes?"

She slammed her eating knife onto her plate with a sharp ring.

"Selene Wolfsbane, are you trying to claim the entire feast hall?"

The table fell silent.

I smiled faintly.

"It's the Moon-Turn celebration, Mother. It's rare for the whole pack-line to gather like this."

Her eyelids lifted as she swept a cold gaze around the chamber.

"What's the point of everyone being here? Resources spent are resources gone. These dishes are overpriced and flavorless—not half as satisfying as the shredded roots Joryn makes!"

I turned to look at my bond-sister, Joryn Ashveil.

She sat with her head bowed, sipping her herbal brew, the faintest curl at the corner of her lips. She said nothing.

"Mother, Selene meant well."

My bondmate, Howl Fletcher, murmured beside me, playing peacemaker. His hand brushed my knee beneath the table—a signal to let it go.

I didn't pull away. But I didn't respond either.

The dishes kept arriving.

No one touched their eating knives.

Pups reached for the food, only to be silenced by sharp looks from their parents.

"How much did all this cost from the territory stores, anyway?"

Dahlia Crowmire, one of the aunts from Howl's bloodline, broke the silence.

I kept my voice even.

"One hundred eighty thousand in resource shares."

A collective intake of breath rippled across the tables.

My mate-mother's expression turned murderous.

"A hundred and eighty thousand!"

Her voice pitched higher.

"Howl, do you hear this? Your bonded certainly knows how to drain our stores!"

Howl rushed to explain.

"Mother, it's Selene's own pack resources—"

"Her resources are the Frostclaw bloodline's resources!"

She cut him off, jabbing her knife toward the freshly served "Pearl in Palm" dish.

"Look at this! All presentation, no substance. One bite and it's gone. Who is this supposed to feed?"

Joryn set down her cup and spoke in that soft, honeyed voice of hers.

"Mother, please don't let your hackles rise."

"Selene leads a pack—she has to maintain standing for territory dealings. We're just ordinary wolves, so we wouldn't understand. We just think... something more practical would be better."

She lingered on the word practical, letting it hang in the air.

One of the younger aunts jumped in immediately.

"Exactly! It's just a Moon-Turn feast—eating in the home den would've been fine. All this flashy nonsense at a feast hall... wolves who don't know us will think we're territory-grabbers with no breeding."

I'd had enough. I set down my knife and started to rise—but Howl pressed down on my shoulder.

He shook his head slightly, whispering, "Mother has always lived lean. Just be understanding. Bear with it a little longer."

I exhaled slowly.

If she hadn't spent the past moon cycle telling me that this year's Moon-Turn feast had to be done properly, I wouldn't have bothered arranging any of this.

Now I saw it clearly.

She never wanted a ceremonial feast at a hall.

She wanted me laboring over the fire pit in the home den—exhausted, overworked, playing the dutiful bond-daughter.

I had to be humble. Subservient. Suffering.

Only then would she be satisfied.

But I was usually so consumed by pack duties that my paws barely touched the den floor. The household omega handled all the meal preparations—when would I ever have time to organize a Moon-Turn feast for sixty wolves?

I let out a low breath through my nose.

But it was the Winter Solstice. Let it go.

The Feast Steward approached, head bowed respectfully. "All the courses have been laid out, Alpha."

I surveyed the long table. "Please, everyone, begin."

My bond-mother didn't move. No one dared reach for the serving dishes.

I glanced at Howl, my eyes asking silently: Are we eating or not?

He rose with that familiar appeasing smile. "Mother, why don't you try the braised elk heart first..."

She prodded at it with her claws.

"What kind of portion is this? Sliced so thin it wouldn't satisfy a newborn pup."

"Roasted stag? Wasteful. I heard the hunters took down a prime breeding male for this..."

"Pretty arrangement of herbs, I suppose. Can you eat decoration?"

Every single dish failed to meet her standards.

She critiqued for a full thirty minutes before finally deigning to speak.

"Well. I suppose everyone may eat now."

Wolves began to reach for food, but the atmosphere had grown suffocating. The scent of tension hung thick in the air.

I kept my head lowered, spooning bone broth into my mouth without tasting it.

Then her gaze landed on me.

"Selene, your pack must have accumulated quite the territory resources this year?"

I gave a measured reply. "The hunts have been decent."

"What's the point of gathering resources?"

She sighed with theatrical heaviness.

"For a female, bloodline is what matters most. Look at your bond-sister—she holds no rank, but she keeps that den running like a well-oiled machine. And those two pups? Raised beautifully."

Joryn smiled with practiced sweetness. "Mother, please, don't say that. It's simply my duty to the pack..."

"I'm stating facts!"

My bond-mother's voice rose sharply, carrying the edge of a warning growl.

"A female who can't bear pups—what good is all the territory in the world?"

The entire table went silent. I could hear heartbeats quickening around me.

My grip tightened around my spoon until my knuckles went white.

"Mother!"

Howl shot to his feet, his laugh strained. "Let's just eat, shall we? What are you even saying?"

She let out a cold, barking laugh.

"Three years of mating bond and not a whisper of pups. I can't even mention it?"

"I told you from the start—don't bond with some pack-leading female. But did you listen? The neighboring den's daughter, Tessara Valehowl, mated into the eastern territory. She whelped her second litter last winter. Both male pups!"

"We've... been focused on our duties. We're not ready for pups yet."

Howl's voice wavered, his scent souring with anxiety.

"Not ready?"

My bond-mother laughed, the sound sharp and mocking.

"You think I'm a doddering old wolf? She's barren!"

Whispers rippled around the table like wind through dry leaves. Every pair of eyes fixed on my belly, nostrils flaring to catch any hint of fertility in my scent.

I closed my eyes. Drew a slow breath through my nose.

Two winters ago, Howl and I had visited the Healer's Den for testing.

His seed-count was dangerously low—barely twenty percent viability.

The healer had been blunt: natural conception was nearly impossible.

Howl had begged me to keep it quiet.

"I'm a male wolf. I can't lose face like this. The pack would see me as weak."

"If Mother pushes about grandpups, I'll handle it."

I had agreed.

So we told everyone we simply weren't ready for pups yet.

But my bond-mother had decided the fault was mine. And now she was publicly shaming me before the entire gathering.

I looked at Howl.

He kept his head down, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Selene, just... bear with it. Mother's only venting her frustrations."

My brow furrowed.

This was him "handling it"?

My bond-mother picked up a fertility nut from the ceremonial bowl with her claws and held it toward me.

"Selene, eat this seed-blessing."

"Even the flowers in the meadow can reproduce. But apparently, some wolves cannot."

"Tell me—was your scent a little too available when you were young? Ran with too many males and ruined your womb?"

The room went deathly still. I could feel the weight of sixty gazes pressing down on me.

That single accusation ground my dignity and reputation into the dirt beneath the feast table.

And finally, I understood.

From the moment she'd demanded I arrange this Moon-Turn feast, through every passive-aggressive jab since—

It wasn't the ceremonial spread she found fault with—it was me.

I rose from my seat, but Howl stood at the same moment and caught my arm.

He pressed close, his breath warm against my ear, voice low and pleading. "Mother's always been this way... Let's just finish the feast, and then we'll return to our den, alright?"

My claws pressed against my palms as I held his gaze.

His submission made my wolf snarl with frustration.

For his sake, I'd bitten back my pride time and again.

But even an Alpha has her breaking point.

For his mother's name-day, I'd gifted her a bracelet of pure moonsilver. When fever took her, I'd summoned the finest healer in the territory. She craved the admiration of the pack, so I'd commissioned this extravagant eighteen-course ceremonial spread.

And what had I received? Humiliation heaped upon me at every gathering—all because I hadn't yet carried a pup.

What wolf could endure such treatment?

Sensing my genuine fury, Howl hurried to soothe me in hushed tones. "I know you've suffered unfairly. Next moon-turn, we won't come here—we'll celebrate with your birth-pack instead, I swear it."

I felt my hackles lower slightly.

Three years of mating, and I hadn't spent a single Moon-Turn feast with my own kin. Even on the second day of the celebration, I wasn't permitted to visit them.

His mother's words still echoed in my mind: "If you leave, who will distribute the winter gifts to all these pups and pack-kin?"

"You've taken the mating bond—you must uphold this den. Running back to your birth-pack is out of the question."

For the sake of Howl's promise, I told myself: One more time. Just endure it one more time.

At that moment, Jarek Frostclaw lifted his goblet and swayed to his feet.

"Little brother," he slurred, the stench of fermented honey-wine rolling off him, "not to lecture you, but you need to keep your mate under control!"

"Can't carry a pup, but certainly knows how to drain the storehouse dry. Tsk, tsk." He shook his head with exaggerated disapproval. "If she were my bondmate, I'd have put her in her place long ago!"

Beneath the feast table, Joryn kicked him. Her face, however, remained a mask of gentle concern. "You've drunk too much. What nonsense are you howling?"

"I'm not howling nonsense!" Jarek waved her off. "She bonded into the Frostclaw line, so she follows Frostclaw ways. A female running a pack? Out there mingling with who knows which wolves?" He let out a derisive snort. "Probably being mounted by another and doesn't even catch the scent!"

Muffled snickers rippled around the feast table.

Howl kept his head bowed. Silent.

I fixed Jarek with an unwavering stare. "Elder brother, who secured your position in the howl-network? Without me 'out there mingling,' where would you be right now?"

Jarek's face flushed dark as old blood. He jabbed a claw in my direction. "You—!"

"Me what? Did I speak anything but truth?"

I held his gaze without flinching.

Howl immediately seized my arm. "Selene, that's enough—he's my blood-brother!"

My eyes burned with sudden heat.

When others attacked me, he went mute.

When I defended myself, he held me back.

I'd never feared the fangs and claws of the outside world. But betrayal from the one closest to me? That I couldn't bear.

Dahlia Crowmire suddenly turned to her daughter. "You work within Selene's pack—how much of the resource share does she grant you?"

Alyra Crowmire blinked, caught off guard, then answered honestly. "Three hundred silver-weight base, plus a hundred in performance shares."

"What?" Dahlia slammed down her eating knife. "You completed your youngling training, and she's granting you three or four hundred? She's cheating her own bond-kin!"

Alyra rushed to explain. "Mother, I only finished my training this season. That's actually quite generous—"

Dahlia struck the table with her palm. "Selene, you spent eighteen hundred silver-weight on a single feast, but you're this miserly with your own relatives? I won't accept it—you will increase her share. Six hundred minimum!"

That opened the floodgates. Several relatives who held positions within my pack couldn't stay quiet any longer.

"Yes, Selene, what about me? I've served the pack for two seasons now—isn't it time for a larger portion?"

"Exactly! My sire handles your supply runs—that's the dirtiest, hardest labor there is. You can't show favoritism!"

I turned to Howl, my gaze burning.

Every single one of these relatives had found their way into my pack through him.