The Luna Queen's Rebirth (Ellie and Dominic) novel Chapter 537

Chapter 537

Ellie’s POV

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Dominic kept a steadying hand on my back as we climbed the steps, Bastian already waiting at the podium with his notecards squared and three cloth-draped easels standing behind him. Below us, the lanterns were being lit one by one, and five hundred faces turned up toward the stage, glowing gold in the dusk.

Five hundred. I swallowed hard and found my spot beside my mate, hands folded over my belly.

Bastian leaned into the microphone.

“A thousand years ago,” he began, “there was a civilization in the northern mountains.”

I’d heard the speech four times today. It didn’t matter. Listening to my brother tell the world about the labyrinth, the sealed doors, the tomb-it still raised the hairs on my arms. He didn’t tell them everything. Some things stayed ours. But he told them enough.

The photograph beneath the cloth on the first easel was enormous. It depicted the library in a way I hadn’t seen it before, lit up all warm and golden, the shelves practically climbing out of the frame.

The silence that followed stretched so long that my palms began to sweat. In the front row, Edmund had both hands pressed over his mouth. Another historian sat frozen with her pen hovering above her notepad, eyes wide.

Dominic stepped up next. He kept it short. Goldenveil would open its gates this summer, providing guided tours of the ruins, the archives, the living culture of the Lycans, kept alive by the families who never left.

And next year, right here, we would break ground on a Lycan Heritage Museum of our own.

“From this day forward, our two packs will move as one,” he said, pulling the sheet off the second easel. An infographic on the two packs, intertwined, allies till the end-whenever that may be. “Twin Packs.”

Applause erupted. I grinned, pride swelling in my chest. Dominic turned to me and handed me the mic. My turn.

I stepped up to the podium. I hadn’t rehearsed, insisting that I didn’t need to, but now, staring out at that sea of expectant faces, I was beginning to regret that decision.

Who was I to speak for a thousand years of the dead?

But then the baby shifted under my hands. A tiny foot kicked out, as if saying, “Say it for me, Mom.”

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