Free Web NovelChapter 388: Chapter 388 Crowned At Last
Allison POV
Weeks pass in a way that feels earned rather than rushed, the kind of time that lets a place settle back into itself after being torn open, and Blue Ridge does exactly that, not by pretending nothing happened, but by moving forward with it carried openly, woven into routine instead of hidden from it. And I move with it.
Most mornings begin early, before the packhouse fully wakes, when the halls are quiet and the air still holds that soft in-between space, and I find Luna Ella in the garden more often than not, her presence no longer bound to a schedule or a role she has already laid down, but chosen, relaxed, and entirely her own.
She is different now, not diminished, not uncertain but free.
We sit together on the low stone bench beneath the old oak where she used to hold formal audiences, and the difference is almost disorienting, because now she leans back with one leg tucked beneath her, fingers tracing idle patterns along the stone as if she has all the time in the world.
"You’re thinking too much again," she says one morning, her tone warm rather than corrective.
"I always think too much," I answer, letting my shoulder brush lightly against hers, because that is something we have grown into, closeness without permission needing to be asked.
"Yes," she replies, glancing at me with a small smile, "but now you’re thinking like someone who believes she has to be perfect, and I would very much like you to stop doing that before it becomes a habit."
I let out a quiet breath, watching the way light filters through the leaves above us, shifting gold across the ground.
"I don’t want to get it wrong," I admit, because it is easier to say that here than it would be anywhere else.
Ella’s expression softens further, and she reaches out without hesitation, her fingers brushing lightly over the back of my hand in a gesture that is entirely personal, nothing like the formal touch she once offered as Luna.
"You will," she says gently, and when I glance at her, there is no judgment in her gaze, only certainty, "you will get things wrong, you will misjudge people, you will choose one path when another might have been easier or safer, and that is not failure, Allison, that is leadership."
The words settle into me, not as something new, but as something finally allowed to take root. She exhales slowly, her gaze drifting toward the far end of the garden where pack members move through their day.
"I loved him," she adds quietly, and she doesn’t have to say Jack’s name for it to sit between us, "but loving someone does not mean you follow them into every decision they make, and it does not mean you carry the consequences of choices they refused to change." I don’t interrupt, I just let her speak. "I saw what he was becoming," she continues, her voice steady even as it lowers, "and I told myself it would correct itself, that time or pressure or something external would force him back into balance, and that was my mistake, not yours."
She turns back to me then, her expression clear and open.
"So no, I do not blame you," she says, and there is no hesitation in it, no hidden edge, "not for his death, not for the end of what he chose to become, because that path was his long before you ever stepped into it."
Something in my chest loosens, not all at once, but enough that I can breathe a little deeper.
"I’m still sorry," I say quietly. freewebnøvel.coɱ
"I know," she replies, and this time her smile is softer, almost fond, "and that is why you will be a good Luna."
We sit there a while longer, not speaking, just sharing the space in a way that feels simple and solid, and by the time we rise to go back inside, I feel steadier than I did when I came out.
The days leading to the ceremony pass quickly after that, filled with preparation that is both structured and fluid, lessons with Abigail that lean more toward strategy than etiquette, conversations with Kiara that cut straight through any hesitation I might still hold, and moments with the pack that ground everything else in reality.
By the time the day arrives, I am not calm. But I am ready.
Daniel finds me before I can fully sink into my own thoughts, leaning against the wall outside my room with the kind of patience that suggests he has been there longer than he intends to admit, his posture relaxed but his attention sharp. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ
"You’re pacing in your head again," he says as I step out.
"I’m standing still," I counter, adjusting the fall of my sleeve, though the movement is more habit than necessity.
"Your body is," he replies, pushing off the wall and offering his arm, "the rest of you is rewriting the ceremony at least three different ways." I huff a quiet breath, but I take his arm anyway.
"Walk," he adds, not unkindly.
We move through the packhouse together, the usual noise replaced by a quieter anticipation, and when the doors open and we step into the garden, everything expands.
It’s been transformed.
Lights thread through every branch overhead, warm and golden, flowers woven into arches and lining the paths in careful bursts of color, and at the center, a clear aisle stretches forward, framed by gathered pack members and visiting leaders alike.
There are more of them than I expected.
