The wind carried the scent of fire, blood, and victory.
Golden flags with the Lycan symbol waved above the dark stone walls of Auralis, the capital of the Moonfang Empire. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of burning wood. Torches lit up the streets, throwing dancing shadows across shining armor and tall marble pillars.
At the center of the celebration rode Queen Eleanor—strong, beautiful, and feared by all.
Her long golden hair flowed like sunlight behind her, untouched by age or time. Her bright blue eyes were sharp, full of power, and cold like ice. She sat proudly on the back of Astryx, her giant white wolf. Though she was one hundred and twenty years old, she looked no older than thirty. Her Lycan blood kept her young, her beauty frozen in time, her body shaped by war and worship.
She had returned from battle with the heads of rebel Alphas and slaves in chains.
The people filled the streets, cheering her name.
"Eleanor! Eleanor of the Moon! The Queen Who Does Not Bleed!"
Flowers fell from the balconies. Wolves howled. Children were lifted to see her. Men and women knelt in the dirt. Even the high priests bowed as she passed over the sacred bridge into the palace grounds.
She stepped down from her wolf silently. Her armor still held dust and blood from battle. Her sharp blue eyes searched through the crowd… and found him.
Nathaniel.
He stood at the steps of the palace, just like he always did. Tall and handsome, with black hair that brushed over kind brown eyes. He wore a dark robe with silver edges—no crown. He never needed one. He was her king. Her husband. Her love.
They had been married for twenty years.
She had taken him from a burning village long ago. He had been a young slave boy, trembling as he poured wine for his master. He was too beautiful to kill, so she kept him. At first as her servant. Then as her companion. Slowly… as her lover.
She had fallen for him—harder than she ever expected.
Now, he smiled as she walked toward him. His eyes full of warmth and pride.
"You return, as always, victorious," he said softly, kissing her hand. "But tonight, I have a gift for you. A different kind of victory."
Eleanor raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Planning another war?"
He chuckled. "A surprise. Just for you."
He led her to a private room lit with glowing white lanterns. Gentle music played, though there were no musicians. A feast covered the table—roasted meat, sweet fruits, and silver cups filled with golden mead. In the middle of the table sat a blue glass bottle.
"No guards," Nathaniel said. "No servants. Just us."
She smiled, removing her sword belt. "You've gotten bold while I was away."
He poured two cups and handed one to her. "To twenty years," he said, raising his drink. "To your beauty that never fades."
They toasted.
They laughed.
They kissed.
Eleanor let go of her armor and pride. In his arms, she wasn't a queen or a warrior—just a woman. They made love beneath the soft light, their bodies warm, their hearts open. For a little while, she felt truly at peace.
Afterwards, as she lay in his arms, he poured another drink.
"I made this myself," he said, handing her the cup. "From the southern vines. For you."
She laughed lightly. "You're a winemaker now?"
"I have many secrets," he said, watching her closely.
She drank without thinking.
The taste was sweet—fruity, almost like honey—but something was off.
Her smile faded.
A strange heat crawled up her throat, spreading to her chest. Her heart beat slower. The room tilted. The lights stretched and swirled. Her arms grew heavy. Her breath caught in her lungs.
"Nathaniel?" she asked weakly.
He didn't answer at first.
He just stared at her.
Not with fear.
Not with love.
With… satisfaction.
"I've waited twenty years for this moment," he finally said.
Eleanor blinked, trying to stand. "What… do you mean?"
He took the cup from her shaking hand. "You never fall in battle. I had to find another way."
She tried to rise, but her legs failed. Her body—the body of an immortal queen—was giving up on her.
"Poison?" she hissed. "You think that can kill me?"
He paused, pretending to be surprised, then smiled. "No. But it can slow you down."
Panic rushed through her. She crawled toward the door.
"Nathaniel," she gasped. "I made you. I chose you. I loved you!"
He followed calmly.
Then—pain.
A sharp stab to her back.
Her eyes widened as she collapsed. Blood poured from her side.
Footsteps.
A familiar smell—jasmine and steel.
She turned her head.
"No…" she whispered.
It was Agatha.
Her best friend.
Her closest sister in arms.
Agatha knelt beside her, face calm, eyes full of quiet anger.
"This one," Agatha whispered, twisting the knife, "will finish what the poison started."
Eleanor's tears mixed with blood. "Why?"
"You gave everything to a slave," Agatha said bitterly. "While the rest of us followed you blindly."
Eleanor let out a cry—not of pain, but of fury.
With what little strength she had left, she clawed at Agatha's face, leaving deep marks.
"I'll come back," Eleanor growled. "I'll rip your hearts out. Feed them to the vultures!"
Nathaniel stood above her now, cold and cruel.
"I'll mourn you for three days," he said, "Then marry Agatha and make her my queen."
The full moon shone through the open roof.
Eleanor's vision faded.
But with her last breath, she looked up and whispered, "Moon Goddess… please… just one more chance. I don't care how."
Then everything went black.
---
She woke with a sharp breath.
Choking.
Alive.
But not whole.
Blood soaked her chest. A deep wound, just like before—but she was breathing. Her heart was beating.
She was alive.
She pushed herself up, dirt and leaves sticking to her skin. The world around her had changed. The palace was gone. No guards. No marble.
Only trees.
Tall, dark, ancient trees.
She stumbled toward the sound of water, dragging herself to the river. When she reached it, she fell in, drinking and gasping for air.
Then she looked up.
And froze.
The water showed a face.
But not hers.
Brown hair. Pale green eyes. A thinner face. Different skin.
Not Eleanor.
Not the Queen.
She touched her cheek.
So did the woman in the river.
She let out a shaky breath. "No…"
She wasn't in her body.
She had returned.
But not as herself.
Not as the powerful queen with armies at her feet.
Now… she was someone else. A stranger. Weak. Alone. Without a wolf.
Then a voice echoed inside her head.
Soft.
Old.
Strong.
"You asked for a second chance… Queen. Welcome back."