The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 230

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 230**

**Finished**

Aysel emerged from the guest chamber of the Shadowbane Estate, a faint yet satisfied smile gracing her lips. There was a lightness to her step, almost as if she were gliding through the corridor adorned with ancestral totems representing the illustrious Sanchez lineage. The air was thick with the weight of history, and she felt a connection to those who had walked these halls before her.

Ahead, she spotted two house attendants—both low-ranking omegas of the Shadowbane Pack—who froze in their tracks upon catching sight of her. The panic was palpable, their wolf-like ears twitching nervously, betraying their fear.

With a casual wave of her hand, Aysel greeted them as if they were merely startled pups. “Ulric Sanchez and his consort Ivy just injured each other in a fight,” she declared, her tone sweet and melodic. “They don’t want to see anyone right now. Give them a little time before you go in to clean up. I’ll take care of informing the others.”

The attendants’ eyes widened in disbelief, their expressions reflecting a mixture of shock and confusion, the scent of their surprise wafting through the air like a chilling mist. Aysel merely hummed to herself, her steps light and carefree as she made her way toward the banquet hall, her movements almost musical in their grace.

**The Birthday Feast of Bastien Sanchez**

Inside the grand hall, Bastien Sanchez—Alpha-Emeritus of the Shadowbane Pack—stood before a towering ceremonial mooncake, surrounded by a throng of children, grandchildren, and dignitaries from allied clans. The atmosphere was festive, filled with laughter and chatter, as he prepared to make the first cut into the lavish dessert.

As he raised the ceremonial blade, he surveyed the crowd, his eyes narrowing as he searched for a familiar face. “Where’s that one?” he muttered, squinting toward Magnus’s usual spot, a mixture of irritation and concern crossing his features.

Magnus, the strongest Alpha on the continent, allowed a small, indulgent smile to grace his lips, the warmth in his eyes softening his otherwise intimidating presence. “She went to play,” he replied, amusement dancing in his voice.

Bastien clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Hmph. No sense of restraint,” he grumbled under his breath, recalling how she had insisted earlier that she needed to stay and witness him cut the cake. The girl was nowhere to be seen, yet an unsettling feeling prickled along the old wolf’s spine, a sense of foreboding that something was amiss.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a bright, ringing voice echoed from the entrance, bursting forth with uncontainable excitement. “Grandfather!”

Every head in the hall turned in unison, the festive atmosphere momentarily shattered. Bastien’s heart plummeted, sinking a full octave. His hand trembled as the blade he held descended, landing squarely on the decorative calligraphy that read “Blessed Birth.” A perfect stroke, yet it severed the character for “Bless” cleanly in half.

Before anyone could react, Aysel strode in, her presence vibrant and electric, like an ecstatic nightingale bursting into song. “Something big just happened!” she announced, her enthusiasm echoing across the hall like a herald proclaiming a festival.

“Magnus’s father and his stepmother just started fighting!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

A stunned silence erupted into a cacophony of disbelief. Magnus’s father and his stepmother? Surely, that referred to Ulric Sanchez and his wife. Wait—no, his second wife. Aysel’s choice of the term “stepmother” served as a stark reminder: Ivy had risen to her position by clinging to her lineage, replacing the previous Luna. She had, in fact, been notoriously labeled as the “second mate.”

But Ulric and Ivy? One was a frail, refined noblewoman, while the other was a crippled wolf struggling with a ruined leg. How could they possibly engage in a fight?

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