His Cursed Luna

5. A Trial

Penelope could feel their eyes pressing against her, scrutinizing her every move, every breath. The moment the stranger announced her as the Crown Princess, the grand hall erupted into murmurs. It was not the announcement itself that unsettled them — it was her.

The lost heir.

She could hear them, the whispers slithering through the air like tendrils of doubt and curiosity.

"Is she truly Lycan King Nicholas’s daughter?"

"She must be reaching the age of maturity soon."

"She doesn’t look weak."

"I thought she was just a formality — a relic of the past."

Penelope kept her expression neutral, her icy blue eyes scanning the sea of faces before her. The nobles, warriors, and elders of the Goldenrealm stood in hushed anticipation, their stares ranging from intrigue to skepticism.

She was no stranger to this kind of attention.

But this time, it felt different.

In her past life, this moment had played out far differently. The gathering had been a formality, a cruel spectacle where she had been humiliated before the Ancients had begrudgingly declared her the Crown Princess. Her uncle, King William, had masterfully orchestrated the scene — his favored candidate, Isabella, had been hailed as the ideal heir, while Penelope had been reduced to little more than a weak shadow, tolerated only because of her bloodline.

That was the way it should have gone.

Yet now, the course had shifted. She was being acknowledged too soon, too boldly. This was not how history had unfolded before.

Her chest tightened as her gaze flickered across the room, seeking the one figure that had ignited this shift—the stranger who had named her before the entire court.

But he was gone.

Vanished, like a phantom slipping into the shadows.

Her heart pounded. Who are you?

She hadn’t even seen his face, but something about him had unsettled her. He had changed something, disrupted the delicate balance of events she had once lived through. And now, she was in uncharted territory.

A sharp voice cut through the thick silence of the hall, making the whispers die down at once.

“William, have you already crowned Princess Penelope as the rightful successor of Goldenrealm?”

Ancient Gerald’s words were not a mere question — they were a demand.

The elder’s presence was commanding, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of wisdom. The Ancient Lycans were the highest authority in their world. Even a king had no choice but to tread carefully when answering them.

The air in the hall grew tense, the weight of the moment pressing on everyone present.

Her uncle hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, but Penelope caught it.

His mind was working furiously. He had not planned for this.

Finally, he offered a carefully measured response.

“She has not yet reached the age of maturity, my supreme,” William said, his voice smooth, practiced. A perfect deflection— one that bought him time.

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. It was true. She was not yet of age.

Ancient Gerald, however, was not so easily swayed.

“But she will soon, will she not?” the elder countered, his piercing gaze unrelenting. “It is time you fulfill your duty, William. The blood of Lycan King Nicholas runs through her veins. By all rights, she is his firstborn and the true heir to Goldenrealm.”

The words struck like a hammer against a stone.

Penelope held her breath. This is where it should have ended.

This was the moment in her past life where she had been officially named Crown Princess—reluctantly, begrudgingly. The moment her uncle had yielded to the Ancients' will, only to set her up for failure later.

But William was too clever to be cornered so easily.

His expression remained calm, but she saw the flicker of calculation in his eyes. And then, as she had expected, he gave his next move.

“True,” the King conceded, nodding as though in agreement. “But I believe the Crown Princess should not be chosen only by bloodline.”

His gaze shifted, settling on her like a hunter studying his prey.

And for the first time, Penelope felt something unexpected.

Amusement.

In her past life, she had stood silent at that moment, allowing fate to shape her future. She had been nothing more than a pawn, forced to endure whatever choices were made for her.

But this time?

This time, she was the one in control.

A slow, knowing smirk touched her lips as she finally spoke, her voice ringing clear through the hall.

“I agree with my uncle, Ancient Gerald.”

A hushed gasp echoed in the hall.

All eyes snapped at her. Even William’s fingers twitched slightly, a rare sign of his composure wavering.

Penelope continued, her voice strong, unwavering.

“The Queen of Goldenrealm must be more than just her lineage. She must protect the kingdom, serve as its shield against the darkness. If the future ruler is to be tested, let there be no doubt in the choice.”

Her gaze, cold and calculating, locked onto William’s.

“I propose a trial.”

The room erupted into murmurs, louder this time—shocked, intrigued.

William had planned to use the trial to weaken her. To push her into an impossible challenge.

But by proposing it herself, she had seized control of the game.

For the first time, it was he who had been caught off guard.

A slow silence stretched between them, thick with tension.

And then, Ancient Maya’s voice broke through.

“You already have the aura of a true ruler, Princess Penelope.”

The sorceress’s voice was warm, her dark eyes holding Penelope’s with something almost like recognition.

Penelope’s breath hitched.

She’s still here.

For a moment, everything else faded—the murmurs of the court, the weight of their gazes, even the challenge she had just issued. The only thing that mattered was the woman standing before her.

Ancient Maya.

The years had not dimmed the regal presence she carried, nor the warmth in her dark, all-seeing eyes. Her silver-streaked hair, woven with delicate golden threads, was pulled back into intricate braids that spoke of her high status among the Ancients. The long, flowing robes draped over her frame seemed almost untouched by time, the embroidered runes shimmering faintly under the glow of the grand chandeliers.

Penelope had not seen her in so long.

The last time had been at Maya’s lowest—when grief had hollowed her out, when the weight of injustice had bowed her once-proud shoulders.

In her past life, Maya had lost everything.

Her beloved granddaughter, Helen, had been taken—dragged before the court on fabricated charges. A black magic practitioner. A traitor to the realm. A stain on the honor of the Ancient bloodline.

It had been a lie.

A cruel, calculated scheme orchestrated by none other than Elijah.

Penelope could still hear Helen’s screams as she was burned alive at the stake. She could still see the look in Maya’s eyes when the flames consumed the last piece of her heart.

No one had listened.

No one had cared.

Not even Penelope.

Not because she hadn’t believed in Helen’s innocence, but because at the time, she had been powerless—too weak, too uncertain, too trapped in the web of politics that dictated her every move. She had been a pawn, just as Helen had been. And by the time she had begun to fight back, it had been far too late.

Ancient Maya had withdrawn from the world after that, her once-powerful voice fading into silence.

And soon after, she had vanished.

But here she stood—alive, untouched by grief, still holding the wisdom and strength that had once made her an unshakable force in the court.

Penelope’s hands curled into fists at her sides.

This time, she would not let Maya fall.

This time, Helen would not die in vain.

A pulse of determination surged through her veins, electrifying her senses.

She clenched her jaw, drawing a slow, steady breath, forcing her expression to remain composed despite the storm raging inside her. The court could not know what this moment meant to her. They could not suspect how deeply the sight of Ancient Maya had shaken her.

But then—

A heavy hand fell onto her shoulder, yanking her back to reality.

The force was deliberate. Not quite rough, but firm enough to remind her who it belonged to.

William.

Her uncle’s fingers dug into her shoulder, just enough to be a warning. A silent claim of authority, of ownership.

She forced herself not to flinch.

The warmth of the moment turned ice-cold as she turned to face him, her expression unreadable. His golden eyes were sharp, calculating, scanning her face for any sign of weakness.

“I have raised you well, Penny.”

His voice was honeyed with false warmth, but she could hear the steel beneath it.

The unspoken threat. The reminder that he still believed he was in control.

She only smiled.

He thought this trial would be her downfall.

He had no idea it was his own.

Ancient Gerald turned to Isabella. “Do you accept the proposition?”

For a brief moment, Isabella hesitated. But then, her lips curled into a confident smile, her wolf bristling against Penelope’s presence.

“Yes, my supreme.”

“Very well,” Ancient Gerald declared. “The trial will be held on the next full moon.”

The decision was made.

But as Penelope cast one last glance across the hall, her gaze searching once more for the mysterious Lycan, she could feel it—

A presence watching her.

And she knew, without a doubt, that this was only the beginning.