The halls of Daroonga Palance are covered from top to bottom with priceless works of art. Each section is dedicated to a different monarch, showcasing achievements during their reign. I give a passing glance to testaments to long-ago battles in their heavy burnished bronze- or brass-colored frames. There was a time when I was in awe of the splendor, but these paintings no longer draw my eye. Thus I walk past a depiction of the Battle of Folgar Pass with its writhing mass of werewolves in battle armor, their fangs and jaws stained red with the blood of orcs. Queen Freyja rises above her soldiers on two powerful brown legs, crushing the neck of the orc king in her massive paw.

Heavy double doors of two-inch thick stained oak bar the way to the queen's private wing. A pair of betas armed with swords and pistols stand guard on either side. Steel breastplates, arm guards, and leg braces cover their black and silver livery; a braided cord of red and white drapes over the left shoulder of one of the guards, indicating his captain status.

"Lady Isabel," he rumbles, inclining his head slightly.

The guards click their heels in unison and push open the doors. I nod and glide through, Kaia trailing like a silent shadow behind me.

Unlike the outer halls, Morgana's inner sanctum features no portraits. After she clawed her way to the top of the packs, she had all of the old queen's paintings removed from the walls and put into storage. Pale squares and rectangles are all that remain under the gas lights that illuminate the hallway. I asked her once what she planned to put up in their stead, but Morgana shrugged and that was the end of that conversation.

A footman stands at the ready outside the dining room. Being an omega, he affords me a deeper bow than the two beta guards and holds open the door.

Morgana promised she would raise my and my parents' status from gamma to beta, but so far, that hasn't happened. I've asked her several times over the last three years, but she always tells me to bring it up later. I don't want to doubt my friend, but I'm starting to wonder if she will ever fulfill that promise.

The dining hall is in a state of renovation. Faded red wallpaper from the last three reigning queens lies in barrels in a corner, leaving pale wooden planks and pipes from the gas lines exposed. Sawhorses, tins of paint, hammers, and nails rest nearby. A crystal chandelier, a gift from an ancient dragon king, hangs from the decorative molded ceiling in the center of the room. Beneath the chandelier is a long polished wooden table; six high-backed chairs ring it, two on either side, one at the end, the other at the head. Omega servants stand in front of sideboards loaded with covered dishes.

"Lady Isabel," a footman murmurs, pulling out my chair at the end of the table. I nod to Kaia and she pivots on one slippered heel, gliding out of the room. She'll eat supper in the servant's hall and then walk with me back to my chamber once the evening is over.

I sit down and arrange my skirts, folding my hands in my lap. A female omega slips up to me and pours a glass of wine. My stomach rumbles; I take a small sip and stare at the open archway at the other end of the room.

Thankfully, I don't have to wait too long. The whisper of slippers on unfinished floors announces the arrival of Morgana and her ladies-in-waiting. The first to enter are the daughters of four of the most powerful alphas in Noctis: Letitia of Clan Rockspring, Elaine of Clan Bloodraven, Petra of Clan Wildwood, and Thara of Clan Goldfire. Two blondes, one with heavy brunette hair like mine, and a redhead. All beautiful and graceful, with impeccable pedigrees—and all four of them detest me with every fiber of their being. Their white and silver court dresses are of a similar cut to mine, except more heavily embroidered. A wealth of precious stones circle their necks, hang from their earlobes, and grace the tops of their heads.

They used to intimidate me.

That is no longer true.

I rise from my chair as Morgana Stormrider, Alpha Queen of Noctis, strides into the room. She wears a long silver gown with a blue corset and overskirt; a mantle of silver and black fox fur hangs from her shoulders. Large pale blue eyes stare ahead with cool detachment. Her long, thick white hair hangs unbound, spilling down her back. Upon her head is the Crown of Noctis, an object of unparalleled beauty and craftsmanship. The crown is equal parts sculpted red enameled roses with wicked gold spikes that jut upward and outward; three massive oval-cut diamonds lay in a triangular setting in the center.

As she approaches her chair, Letitia Rockspring removes the heavy fox fur cloak while Elaine Bloodraven reverently lifts the crown from her head. Two footmen step forward to claim these objects and take them back to the treasury. A twinge of jealousy stabs me in the heart as I watch this well-orchestrated dance. As her best friend, I should be the one to handle these artifacts of state, but a gamma cannot lay a finger on such sacred objects. A fact these daughters of alphas remind me of every time with their tiny smirks and narrowed eyes.

Like right now.

Laying a hand over my corseted stomach, I take a deep breath through my nose and loosen it slowly. I have to remind myself that no gamma has been allowed access to the queen like me. My station is an anomaly, one that the old guard has had difficulty traversing.

Morgana's blue eyes light up when she sees me. "Issa!" she exclaims with delight, dragging her chair back and throwing herself down, much to the chagrin of the gathered servants. "Tell me, how did Lord Kane perform today? Was his cock as large as he promised?"

My eyes cut to the alphas' daughters. They are barely able to hide their disgust at Morgana's frankness, ducking their heads as the footmen pull out their chairs. No one moves to pull out my chair, so I sit and shuffle forward.

"Whore," mouths Thara, turning her attention to the cutlery on the table. Her long, pale fingers push the silverware around, paying particular attention to the knife.

I would be concerned if it wasn't merely the same slander aimed at me for the last three years.

"Not so admirable," I reply, miming the size of Lord Kane's member with my hands. "He did not pass the first test."

Morgana's red lips pout and she takes a sip of wine. "That is disappointing." She taps her long nails on the table, the sound muted by the black and silver cloth draped over it. "My bed has been cold since Lord Valen left to attend the border."

"Aren't we overdue for a ball, Your Majesty?" Petra Wildwood suggests. "I am certain we could find many suitable sons for Isabel to test."

I ignore the obvious insult.

Morgana snorts as the staff begin to circle the table, setting down plates and serving the first course. "Not if the lords of state have anything to say about it," she grumbles. "Did you hear this, Issa?" she asks, staring at me from across the table.

I shake my head.

"Those stuffy old males and bitches want me to marry! That was the whole purpose of our meeting. They told me it was high time for me to choose a mate and produce pups for the throne." She makes a dismissive sound deep in her throat and downs the glass of wine in one gulp. "I told them they were mad and no one could force me to marry against my will. They countered by stating it wouldn't be wise to upset the alphas."

I glance at the other ladies, but their heads are down, fixated on the thin slices of roast beef on their plates.

Morgana suddenly laughs, drawing the attention of the servants. They pause in their orchestrated dance, staring at the queen. "I asked if that was a threat? Did they not remember how I took the throne in the first place?" She chuckles darkly and shakes her head, stabbing a slice of beef so hard the fork pierces straight through and scrapes across the plate with a screech.

I was there. I remember.

I remember Morgana standing in a circle of alpha offspring, their blood staining her white-silver fur crimson. I remember her ferocity, her eyes blazing amber as she took the Crown of Noctis and set it upon her head.

No one believed a twenty-year-old girl from a small pack could best the most powerful scions in Noctis, but Morgana did.

"I remember," I tell her somberly.

Morgana laughs harshly and pounds the table, causing glasses to shake and silverware to rattle. "See?" she exclaims, eyes cutting across the other ladies. "Issa knows." Her eyes flash amber as she straightens. "I think we will hold that ball after all. You ladies can manage the details, correct?"

The stunned expressions on the alphas' daughters shift into simpering approval. "Yes, of course, Your Majesty," Letitia blurts out. "We would be honored."

Across the table, Morgana smiles at me and lifts her glass. Worry curls in my belly, but I keep a tight hold on my expression as I return the queen's toast. I want to warn her against mocking the alphas and remind her that her counselors possess the wit and wisdom to guide her, but I hold my tongue. Now is not the time for lectures, especially when she just left one.

But it worries me that she believes she can single-handedly beat dozens of packs into submission as easily as she bested a dozen of their scions.

I drain my glass of wine and signal a footman to refill it.