Crescent (Book 1)

+ 17 +

"Lady Brenna."

Moira's voice tells me that it's finally starting. Pearls adorn her hair, and her lace dress tells me that it's really here: Ceth's birthday- marking officially a month since I've been here. She looks at me, seemingly pleased by my sterling dress. I find myself wanting to ask about Nic, about Ceth, about her, but I know now isn't the time.

We descend the servants' stairs, our heels echoing off the halls as we stroll down the candle-lit corridors. My heart races when I hear the hum of voices first. Music swallows up the space as we walk between the two arms of the grand staircase, directly into the heart of the party. Gowns twinkle in the warm candlelight.

The crowd mingling around the dance floor is composed of more werewolves than I've ever seen in my life. I can sense their power and the unnatural strength in every sweep of an arm as they dance. They move with such inhuman grace. Stillness- something I only notice now that I'm in a room surrounded by my kind.

My throat feels tight. I keep my head low as I examine the crowd. The servants wear black though the soldiers wear their own distinct charcoal uniform. The purebloods, I realize, are the most finely dressed of them all. The women wear gowns of mulberry silk and the men dress in finely decorated tunics, each hand-stitched with the same deep flaming red I recognize from Ceth's sigil. My sigil.

The servants look so lifeless in comparison. Something about it just feels so- wrong. The servants are the half-bloods, the lessers. The purebloods, so very few, are the elites. Moira makes her way into the crowd, but I desperately grip her hand, begging her not to leave me with these people. I'm one mistake away from being found out. They'll know who I am. They'll know why I'm here. Liar.

"Please," I whisper as a woman with stark-white hair smiles wickedly in passing. I don't smile back. Moira stiffens at the exchange, bowing her chin, but I'm grateful she stays by my side as I watch it all from a distance. "Who are all these people?"

Moira brushes away a strand of hair that falls over her shoulder. "People from nearby estates," she whispers as if someone might hear us. "Your court." I follow her gaze up the stairs that are covered in a velvet as dark. Nic stands at the top, smiling down at the crowd as he takes a swig from a glass of wine. He downs the last of his drink before melting into the party. Moira's gaze then locks on the lone table barely visible over the balcony. Ceth's four-tiered cake sits atop it, but she isn't looking at it. She's looking at Ceth who stands alone, eyeing the party over a glass of champagne. A crown circles his head, flashing silver in the light as he gazes down at us. At me.

That damn smirk seems ever-plastered on his face, and I want nothing more than to wipe it clean off.

He must see the thought as it crosses my mind because he chuckles before stepping up to the edge of the balcony and clearing his throat. Silence falls over the hall. "Good evening!" he calls and everyone turns to face him. "I'd like to welcome you all to my two hundred and fifteenth birthday," he surveys the mass of people as he downs another sip of champagne. "Tonight is about more than just a celebration."

Every candle in the room flares to life, illuminating the velvet stairs like water glistening in moonlight. "Tonight, I have the honor... of naming the new lady of Vervale." He holds out his hand to me, and like a spotlight has found me on a stage, everyone turns. Moira squeezes my hand, reminding me of the part I have to play if I want to see my family again. I wonder if anyone else can see the web we're spinning. One lie after the other, each a gossamer strand. One wrong move and the whole thing collapses. I stand tall, stepping out of the crowd to ascend the staircase as he continues:

"As you all know, I'm hosting the Embassy Gala this year." I climb the sum of steps carefully. My ankles are glass- and I'm mere seconds from breaking. I just hope I pull it off. I reach the last step just feet away from him. "What better time to introduce her to you all?" My smile is tight as he meets me in the middle, gripping my hand gently. His fingers are like ice. I accept the spare champagne flute from him.