(Third Person).
The grand council chamber was heavy with the scent of incense and polished oak, its circular table surrounded by the most powerful werewolves in the kingdom.
Sunlight stread through the arched windows, casting a rat over the silver-plated crests of each pack that adorned the high walls.
The four Royal Alphas;
Alpha Magnus of the Moonstone Pack sat with his massive arms folded, a stoic wall of muscle and authority.
Alpha Solas of the Bloodfang Pack leaned back lazily in his seat, his sharp eyes never missing a thing.
Alpha Victor of the Silvercrest Pack tapped his fingers lightly on the table in a slow, asured rhythm, while Alpha Uric of the Ashfang Pack sat rigid, as if carved from stone.
The Betas—including Gabriel, redith’s father—were seated along the edges, their positions lower but their voices still valued.
At the end of one table sat Draven, his presence commanding, his expression unreadable. The low hum of conversation stilled as Elder Harrow, a frail but sharp-eyed wolf, cleared his throat.
"Let us conclude from our previous eting," Elder Harrow began, his voice cutting through the quiet. The recap was brief, touching on the agreent about the Great Wall, the war preparations, and the intelligence on the human laboratories.
Finally, a conclusion was drawn which everyone agreed to.
Then suddenly, one of the older Elders, his furrowed face set in disapproval, leaned forward. "And what," he asked slowly, shifting the conversation as his gaze fell on Draven, "do you plan to do about... that woman you married?"
Draven’s eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you an by that?" His tone was calm, but there was steel beneath it.
Another Elder, with a thin mouth and judgntal eyes, spoke next. "As our next King, you should know redith Carter is not fit to rule beside you. She is cursed, wolfless, and a disgrace to the royal line."
Out of the corner of his eye, Draven caught redith’s father, Gabriel tighten his jaw, the older man’s eyes flashing dangerously before he masked it.
Several other Elders chid in, each adding their own disapproval, their voices layering into a chorus of criticism.
Draven gave a quiet, humourless chuckle, leaning back in his chair. His gaze swept over them slowly, a predator’s stare. "It seems so of you still don’t know how to mind your own business."
A few heads turned at his bluntness, but before the silence could settle, Reginald spoke up. His voice was smooth, asured, almost friendly.
"Draven, a few of us here," he began, "already know why you married that woman."
Draven lifted a brow, more out of curiosity than interest. "Oh?"
Reginald’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "We know you married a worthless woman because of the pressures of certain people in this very room—people who wanted their daughters to sit beside you as Queen."
A ripple of murmurs swept through the chamber.
Draven’s gaze sharpened into a cold glare. His mood darkened instantly.
Unfazed, Reginald leaned forward slightly, his tone that of a man offering wise counsel.
"You don’t love redith Carter. She’s nothing but a pawn on your chessboard. But believe , there’s no need for that. As a good friend of your father’s, I advise you not to make foolish mistakes because of a few overly ambitious voices here."
The more Reginald spoke, the more Draven’s jaw tightened. The man’s words didn’t anger him because they were lies—they angered him because they were far too close to the truth.
Very few people knew the real reason he had married redith. And now, sitting here under the eyes of the council, it was all but impossible not to think of the handful who knew: his father, Oscar, Jeffrey... and Dennis.
But given Reginald’s friendship with his father, the suspicion fell naturally, heavily, toward one man.
Reginald kept going, his voice warm, his words dressed as concern, but Draven could sll the ambition beneath them.
"Since the Moon Goddess has not blessed you with a mate," Reginald continued smoothly, "divorce redith. Seek a woman worthy of the title Queen—soone who will rule beside you when King Alderic’s reign ends."
The chamber stirred. Several Elders nodded their heads, murmuring in agreent.
Draven’s gaze swept across the chamber slowly, as if asuring the sanity of every man present.
The set of his jaw tightened.
Had they all gone mad?
Since when did the Council of Elders and a few Alphas believe they had the right to weigh in on his marriage?
Who had given them permission to decide whether his wife was fit to be Queen—or even to question her place at all?
The murmur of voices grew until it beca an irritating drone.
A sharp clearing of the throat cut through the noise.
King Alderic, seated on his carved high-backed chair at the other end of the table, commanded the room without raising his voice. His eyes, cold and ageless, swept the table.
"That’s enough," he said, the low tone carrying the weight of absolute authority. "This eting was not called to discuss Draven’s spouse. His household is his concern, not yours."
The room shifted into silence—montarily.
Reginald wore the faintest of smirks as he leaned forward.
"With all due respect, my King, Draven’s case is important. The future leaders of our race must marry wisely and lead by example. The Queen stands beside the King as a symbol of our clan’s pride and unity. If that image falters, it is not just his household—it is the whole kingdom that suffers."
The air in the room changed. Gabriel stiffened like a drawn bowstring. His hand gripped the edge of the table before he abruptly stood, his chair scraping the floor.
"That’s enough from you," Gabriel said, his voice low but brimming with heat. "You and the rest have no right to speak of my daughter that way. Even if what you say had a speck of truth, it is not for you to say it."
Gasps rippled through the room.
Draven’s brow twitched—Gabriel defending redith? Now that was a rare sight.
Gabriel’s gaze locked on Reginald like a predator’s. "She is my blood. If anyone will speak ill of her, it will be her family. Not you. Not anyone else."
Reviews
All reviews (0)