Page 61 of Sun's Roar

“But, yes,” Claire added, “it starts with some ceremony. Tradition matters to the Sunflare pack.”

Sol guided Helena away from the pool with gentle insistence. “Don’t worry. I’ve arranged everything. Deina is waiting in the east wing suite to help you prepare.”

As they walked through the castle’s stone corridors, Helena felt the weight of what was about to happen. Tonight, she would officially become Luna to hundreds of shifters—creatures she hadn’t known existed a week ago.

“You’re thinking way too hard,” Sol murmured, stopping at an ornate door carved with intricate wolves and flames. “I can practically hear the gears turning.”

“Just thinking how fast everything happened.” Helena twisted her fingers together. “Less than a week ago, I was just Helena the chef. Now I’m supposed to be some kind of wolf queen?”

Sol tipped her chin up with one finger, his green eyes blazing with intensity. “You’re not ‘supposed to be’ anything. You already are the Luna. Tonight just makes it official to everyone else.”

The confidence in his voice steadied her racing pulse. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin.

“Deina will help you get ready. I’ll meet you at the grand staircase at quarter to eight.”

The suite Sol led her to was breathtaking—a sitting room flowing into a bedroom larger than her entire house, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the forested estate. Deina waited inside with an array of beauty products and, hanging on anornate wardrobe door, the most stunning gown Helena had ever seen.

“Is that for me?” she breathed, approaching the emerald creation. The silk caught the light like liquid fire.

“Custom made for the Luna,” Deina confirmed with a proud smile. “The Prince commissioned it the day after he met you.”

Helena’s heart skipped. “He was that certain?”

“Alpha wolves always know their mates,” Deina said simply as if that explained everything. Maybe it did.

The next hour passed in a flurry of preparations. Helena soaked in a scented bath before Deina styled her red hair in an elegant updo with tendrils framing her face. The emerald gown fit as if created by magic, hugging her curves before flaring gracefully at her hips. The color made her hazel eyes seem brighter and complemented her pale skin perfectly.

When Deina fastened a delicate diamond and emerald necklace around her throat, Helena barely recognized the woman in the mirror—regal, confident, and powerful.

“You look every inch the Luna,” Deina whispered, a hint of awe in her voice.

Helena took a deep breath and smoothed her hands over the silk. “I just hope I don’t trip down these stairs.”

At precisely quarter to eight, Helena approached the grand staircase. The castle buzzed with activity below, voices and laughter echoing through the halls.

Then she saw Sol.

He stood at the base of the stairs, a dark statue of masculine perfection in his black tuxedo. His hair was brushed back, emphasizing his strong jaw and the neat trim of his beard. When he looked up and saw her, his expression transformed from polite waiting to raw hunger.

Helena’s heart hammered as she descended one step at a time, careful not to catch her heel in the gown’s flowing train.Sol’s eyes never left her face, even as others began to notice and whisper.

“You are stunning,” he said when she reached him, his voice a husky growl that sent shivers racing down her spine. He lifted her hand to his lips, his eyes still locked with hers. “Every man will envy me tonight. Every woman will wish she were you.”

“I doubt that.” Helena’s cheeks flushed. “But thank you for the gown. It’s beautiful.”

“You’re what makes it beautiful.” Sol placed her hand on his arm. “Ready to meet your pack, Luna?”

With a deep breath, Helena nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

Sol guided Helena through the massive double doors of the royal ballroom, his hand warm and possessive around hers. The vast room opened before them, glittering with crystal chandeliers that cast rainbow prisms across the polished marble floor. Helena let out a small gasp at the sheer number of people—shifters—waiting inside.

Hundreds of faces turned toward them, conversations dying mid-sentence as every eye in the room fixed on her. Helena felt a momentary panic rise in her chest, the instinct to flee almost overwhelming. Sol must have sensed her tension because his grip on her hand tightened slightly, anchoring her in this moment.

“They’re staring,” she whispered, fighting the urge to fidget with her gown.

“Of course, they are.” Sol’s voice was low, meant only for her ears. “They’ve waited centuries for you.”

As they walked forward, the crowd parted like water, creating a path to a raised dais at the front of the room. Helena kept her chin high despite the butterflies in her stomach. A week ago, the most intimidating audience she’d faced had been a restaurant full of food critics. Now she was walking through a sea of supernatural creatures who expected her to be their queen.

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