His Cursed Luna

7. Princess Trial

The ceremonial grounds were dressed in deception, masked beneath a veneer of elegance. White roses—gleaming like polished bone—twined around towering marble pillars, their delicate petals concealing thorns sharp enough to draw blood. Pearls adorned the stage, shimmering like the teeth of a predator waiting to sink into its prey. The scent of evening primrose and jasmine thickened the air, but it was cloying, suffocating, a perfume meant to disguise the stench of treachery.

Above, the sun bled into the horizon, smearing the sky with strokes of crimson and gold, as if the heavens themselves foresaw the car.na.ge yet to unfold. The last remnants of daylight clawed at the edges of the world before finally succumbing, plunging the kingdom into the embrace of twilight. Shadows stretched long and foreboding across the garden, their dark fingers creeping toward the two princesses standing at the center of it all—two pawns in a game where only one would walk away victorious.

Noble lords and ladies, draped in their finery, stood motionless, their gazes fixed upon the sisters who would soon battle for the right to rule. Their expressions were carefully composed, masks of feigned civility that barely concealed the hunger lurking beneath. This was more than a contest of strength and wit. It was a spectacle—a performance orchestrated for the amusement of those who feasted on the struggles of others.

Then, the air shifted.

The brilliant red-orange sky was swallowed whole, devoured by an eerie blackness. Silence gripped the garden, strangling even the softest of whispers. Then, like a sliver of a blade cutting through the dark, the silver moon rose high above the castle, its cold glow casting an ominous light over the gathering.

A single, sharp blast of the herald’s horn shattered the stillness.

“All rise for the Ancient Assembly!”

A tremor passed through the crowd as eyes turned upward, drawn by an unseen force. Even the most seasoned warriors and noble-born rulers stiffened, their bravado faltering under the weight of an ancient presence. The air grew heavier, thick with power, as five figures emerged from the shadows.

They moved with unnatural grace, their forms shrouded in ethereal robes that seemed to shift and ripple like liquid moonlight. Their faces— if they could be called that— were aged beyond time, their eyes burning with knowledge that no mortal could comprehend. These were not mere Lycans, nor were they bound by the laws of men. The Ancient Assembly had arrived, and with them came judgment.

As they took their seats, the garden held its breath.

Then, King William stepped forward.

The Lycan King stood tall, draped in ceremonial robes lined with silver thread that shimmered under the moon’s glow. He was the very image of power, his voice a deep, resounding force that commanded obedience. Yet, beneath the grandeur of his presence, there was something else—a slithering malice, a hunger for control.

“Welcome,” his voice rang out, slicing through the silence. “Ancient Assembly, my fellow rulers across the Lycan realm, and the noble houses of Goldenrealm, I thank you for traveling from the far corners of our lands to witness this most crucial of events.”

His words were smooth, rehearsed. But to those who truly listened, there was poison laced between them.

“Tonight,” he continued, “we gather not just to celebrate but to determine the future of our great kingdom. The trial before us will decide the Crowned Princess and, in time, the future Queen of Goldenrealm. A test of wit and strength, of endurance and will.”

A slow smile spread across his lips, calculated and cruel.

“The contenders shall enter the Old Maze, an ancient labyrinth that has long stood as the ultimate trial of worthiness. Within it lie a series of obstacles—some demanding brute strength, others requiring cunning and intelligence. Only the one who proves herself most capable shall emerge victorious.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. The Old Maze. The stories of what lurked within were whispered in hushed voices, tales of those who had entered and never returned. This was no simple contest. This was a battle for survival.

William let the weight of his words settle before he spoke again.

“And now, I present to you the challengers.” He stretched out his arms as though he were offering the gods a sacrifice.

His voice carried through the night like a dagger laced with honey.

“I give you my beloved niece, Princess Penelope Nicholas Adalbert, first of her name, daughter of the Late Lycan King Nicholas Adalbert…”

A pause. A moment of silence.

“…and my beloved daughter, Princess Isabella William Adalbert.”

The crowd erupted into applause, a thunderous wave of sound that echoed through the vast ceremonial grounds. Nobles and warriors alike watched in rapt attention as the two young princesses stepped forward, their spines straight, their heads held high. The very air around them crackled with tension, an unspoken challenge hanging thick between them.

Princess Isabella moved with effortless grace, the golden embroidery of her gown glinting under the moon’s silver gaze. Her beauty was unquestionable—elegant, regal, a creature sculpted by power and privilege. Yet, as her gaze flickered toward her cousin, a cold sliver of unease crept down her spine.

Penelope stood unwavering, her stance poised but unyielding, as if she were carved from the very bones of the earth. There was something unnerving about her presence—a quiet, impenetrable strength that set her apart from the trembling girl Isabella once knew. The timid, easily-bullied mutt from their childhood was gone, replaced by a woman whose gaze was as unreadable as the abyss itself.

A chill ghosted over Isabella’s skin.

‘When did she become like this?’ she thought, her fingers twitching ever so slightly at her side. ‘That scared little thing used to cower in my shadow, afraid to even look me in the eye. And now…’

For the first time in years, uncertainty flickered in Isabella’s heart. She was one of the strongest Royal Warriors in the kingdom, trained in combat since childhood, feared even among seasoned soldiers. And yet—somehow—standing beside her cousin, she felt as though she were the weaker one.

The realization burned. Her nails dug into the fabric of her gown, her jaw tightening as she masked her unease behind a carefully crafted smirk. No. I will not let her intimidate me. She was Isabella William Adalbert, daughter of the Lycan King, the future Queen. She would not falter now.

Yet, across from her, Penelope merely tilted her head, a soft chuckle humming in her mind as she drank in the subtle signs of Isabella’s discomfort. The widening of her pupils, the slight hesitation in her breath—so minute, so expertly hidden, but Penelope saw it.

Felt it.

Her lips curled ever so slightly—not in arrogance, but in quiet amusement.

You’re afraid of me, aren’t you, Isabella?

The old Penelope would have shuddered to receive all the gaze on her, but she had changed over the years as she had to deal with several matters every day. Elijah depended on her in many ways and probably wouldn’t have made it to the crown without her help.

The thought sent a pulse of satisfaction through her veins. It wasn’t always like this. Once, Penelope had been the lesser one, the forgotten one, the princess who was always overshadowed by her cousin’s brilliance. But time had reshaped her, molding her into something unbreakable.

Penelope exhaled softly. The true test was about to begin.

“Now the Princesses of Goldenrealm will enter the Maze. The Ancients have placed several obstacles in the maze, and whoever reaches the other side of the maze first, conquering all the obstacles, will be named the Crowned Princess,” the Lycan king declared.

A smile appeared on her lips as she knew it would be a piece of cake for her. She knew the maze as the back of her hand as well as she could remember clearly the obstacles waiting for them.

“Let the quest begin,” the Lycan King declared.

Penelope smiled innocently, keeping her thoughts to herself as she peeped at Princess Isabella. She softly put her palm on her shoulder as she spoke, “I wish you the best, Izzy. Hopefully, you will return from the maze unharmed.”

Isabella stared at Penelope blankly. Though her tone was innocent, it brought down a shiver in her spine. Her wolf wasn’t at ease either. Beads of sweat covered her forehead as she smiled nervously. The princess didn’t wait for her answer. A royal guard walked them to two separate entrances of the maze, and Penelope walked inside with pride and confidence, whereas Isabella couldn’t shake off her discomfort.