Chapter 37 Before The Throne
Chapter 37– Before the Throne
Aria’s POV
The air changed the moment I stepped back inside the main hall.
It was subtle.
But I felt it.
The warmth from the women’s council still lingered in my chest — their questions, their cautious hope, the beginning of trust. I carried it with me like something fragile and precious.
Then a guard approached.
He bowed low.
“Luna,” he said carefully, “the Elders request your presence.”
Not Alpha and Luna.
Not the pair.
Just me.
My spine straightened.
“Now?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Of course.
Power never waits.
I nodded once. “Lead the way.”
The walk felt different this time.
Heavier.
The meeting hall of the women had been bright, filled with breath and emotion and shared strength. The Elder Chamber was the opposite.
Stone walls.
High ceilings.
Torches instead of sunlight.
The doors opened slowly, as if even they respected what waited inside.
Five elders sat in a semicircle of carved stone chairs. Their silver hair and lined faces carried decades of rule. Their eyes were sharp, calculating. They had seen wars. Betrayals. Failed leaders.
They did not rise when I entered.
Good.
I did not expect them to.
I stepped forward anyway.
“You asked for me,” I said calmly.
One of them — Elder Varron, I remembered — leaned forward slightly.
“We did.”
His voice was deep and slow.
“You addressed the women today.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“And you made promises.”
“I did.”
Silence stretched.
Another elder, thinner, with piercing gray eyes, spoke next.
“You speak well. The pack responded.”
There was no praise in his tone.
“But words are not rule,” he continued. “Emotion is not leadership.”
I met his gaze.
“I agree.”
That seemed to surprise them.
Elder Varron tilted his head.
“Do you?”
“Yes,” I said evenly. “Words mean nothing without action. But silence means even less.”
A faint shift moved through the room.
Barely noticeable.
But there.
The oldest elder — Elder Maelis — finally spoke. Her voice was softer, but it carried the most weight.
“You were not raised for this,” she said plainly. “You were not trained in political alliances. You were not educated in war strategies from childhood. You were not shaped for power.”
Each statement landed carefully. Precisely.
True.
I did not flinch.
“No,” I said.
“Then tell us,” she continued, eyes narrowing slightly, “why we should trust that you can carry the crown.”
The crown.
The weight of it pressed against my shoulders even now.
For a moment, doubt flickered.
They were right.
I had not grown up preparing for this. I had not studied old treaties or border conflicts. I had not been groomed to command rooms with a single glance.
But I had survived.
I had endured.
And I had listened.
I stepped forward one more pace.
“You shouldn’t trust me,” I said quietly.
That caught their attention.
“Trust is not given because of titles,” I continued. “It is earned through consistency.”
I held their gazes, one by one.
“I was not shaped for power,” I admitted. “But I was shaped by hardship. I know what it means to feel unheard. To feel unprotected. To feel small.”
My voice did not shake.
“If I ever forget what that feels like, then I will not deserve this position.”
The chamber grew still.
Elder Varron’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“And when war comes?” he asked.
It wasn’t hypothetical.
It was inevitable.
“When the neighboring packs test our borders? When blood is spilled? When your heart pulls you one direction and duty pulls you another?”
I felt it — the real test.
This wasn’t about speeches.
It was about sacrifice.
“My heart belongs to this pack,” I said.
“Answer carefully, Luna,” the thin elder warned.
“I am,” I replied steadily.
“If my heart and duty ever stand on opposite sides,” I continued, “then my heart will adapt. Because duty protects more than one person. It protects all of them.”
I let the silence sit.
“I will grieve privately if I must. I will break privately if I must. But publicly? I will stand.”
A shift.
Small.
But undeniable.
Elder Maelis studied me for a long moment.
“You speak of standing,” she said. “But standing alone is different from standing when opposed.”
Opposed.
So that was it.
“There are members of this council,” she continued carefully, “who believe the Luna should remain ceremonial. Soft influence. Domestic strength. Not political involvement.”
I understood now.
They were not just testing me.
They were warning me.
“You disagree?” Elder Varron asked.
“Yes,” I answered without hesitation.
The word echoed in the chamber.
Brave.
Dangerous.
“Explain,” he demanded.
I took a breath.
“The women of this pack are warriors. Healers. Strategists. Mothers who raise the next generation of fighters. To reduce the Luna to symbolism is to reduce half the pack’s power.”
The torches flickered.
“My role is not decoration,” I continued. “It is balance. If the Alpha commands strength, the Luna ensures stability. If he leads in battle, I lead in preservation. That is not softness.”
Silence.
Long.
Heavy.
Then —
A faint smile touched Elder Maelis’ lips.
“Careful,” she murmured. “You are stepping into territory not walked in many years.”
“I know,” I replied.
And I did.
Finally, Elder Varron leaned back in his chair.
“You will be tested,” he said plainly.
“Good.”
That surprised him again.
“Pressure reveals fractures,” he continued.
“Then let it,” I said.
The air shifted.
Not full approval.
Not yet.
But something closer to acknowledgment.
Elder Maelis rose slowly.
The others followed.
This time, they bowed.
Not deeply.
But deliberately.
“Very well, Luna,” she said. “We will watch.”
I inclined my head respectfully.
“I expect you to.”
When I stepped out of the chamber, the air felt different against my skin.
Colder.
Sharper.
Real.
Aiden was waiting in the corridor.
Of course he was.
He didn’t ask what happened.
He simply looked at me.
Searching.
“Well?” he said quietly.
I exhaled slowly.
“They won’t interfere,” I replied. “But they won’t shield me either.”
His eyes darkened slightly.
“They tested you.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
I met his gaze.
“I didn’t bend.”
A slow smile touched his mouth.
Not proud.
Not possessive.
Respectful.
“That,” he said softly, “is why you are Luna.”
I stepped closer to him, the weight of the chamber still lingering on my shoulders.
“They will challenge me again,” I murmured.
“They should,” he answered.
I looked up at him.
“And if I fail?”
His hand lifted — not to hold, not to shield — but to rest briefly over my heart.
“Then you will rise sharper.”
I believed him.
Not because he was Alpha.
But because he did not try to carry the weight for me.
He let me carry it.
And that was trust.
As we stood there together, I felt something settle deep inside me.
The crown was heavy.
The council was watching.
Tradition was resisting.
And somewhere beyond our borders, other packs were listening.
Let them.
Because I was no longer the girl who entered this pack uncertain.
I was Luna.
And I would not be reduced.