The question—"Tell me, who was your mother, child?"—hit me like a physical blow.
The air in the small council chamber, already thick with Alpha tension, suddenly crackled with a silent, terrifying intensity.
The King's golden eyes, usually distant and cold, now bored into me with a calculating, desperate intelligence.
Behind him, Rhys and Crown remained motionless, but their scents—Rhys's stabilizing mountain air, Crown's commanding storm—were warring fiercely, radiating their frustration with the King's decree.
Kain, standing closest to me, was a statue of contained power. His red eyes flickered once, a silent, deadly warning: Lie.
I swallowed, forcing myself to look straight into the King's gaze.
I had to use the fabrication I'd known since childhood, the convenient myth that had kept me safe for nineteen years.
"Your Majesty," I replied, keeping my voice steady and meek, exactly as Kain had advised.
"My parents died many years ago in a hunting accident, before I was old enough to remember them."
I lowered my eyes
"I was raised by my grandmother, a simple herbalist who lived next to us. She passed away two years ago. I know nothing of my lineage, only that I am human and was found by your son, Alpha Rhys."
The King's expression did not soften. It hardened, growing dangerously cold.
"A convenient story," he rumbled, the sound echoing in the silent room.
"A blank slate, chosen by fate to bond with the most potent Alpha bloodline in history. I find it difficult to believe the Goddess is so sloppy with destiny."
The pressure from the King's scrutiny was immense. The Moonfire power, fresh from its psychic violation by the three Alphas in the dream, began to react.
It wasn't a visible flash, but an internal combustion.
The gold heat in my core became volatile, spiking wildly, mixing dangerously with the cold, hungry energy of the serpent mark on my wrist.
I fought desperately to contain it.
The surge was too strong. The air around me suddenly grew thick, smelling faintly of ozone and burning sage.
A visible flicker—a brief, unstable pulse of gold light—erupted from the bruises on my wrist before I slammed my fist behind my back to hide it.
The King saw it.
His golden eyes widened, and he leaned back slowly in his chair. He glanced at Kain, whose red eyes were now blazing, not with hunger, but with fierce alarm.
"Containment is clearly insufficient," the King whispered, his voice dangerously low.
"The bond is not fading; it is accelerating. It is consuming her. If she is indeed the Heir, that power must be controlled before it consumes my sons as well."
He slammed his fist on the table, the action sharp and final.
"I rescind the order of banishment."
A wave of relief washed over me, immediately followed by a wave of crushing dread.
Banishment was dangerous, but what he commanded next would be far worse.
The King stood, towering over the table.
"Until the Prophecy chooses the Alpha, the Heir will not be separated from the Alpha line. She will be placed under a regime of constant, joint custody and surveillance."
He looked at Rhys, then Crown, then Kain, his gaze holding no love, only cold, political necessity.
"From this moment forward, you three will share her chamber. You will share her meals. You will oversee her training. You will not let her out of your sight for a single second. The bond is volatile; only the constant, competing presence of all three of you can keep the Moonfire stable."
His words hit me like a physical chain, binding me not to one master, but to three, in permanent, intimate confinement.
The shame of the public claim rushed back, magnified a thousand times by the terrifying reality of this new decree.
Crown broke the silence, his voice a dominant rumble layered with satisfaction.
"Your command is accepted, Father. We will stabilize the Heir." His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile that promised private retribution for my lie.
Rhys stepped in, his touch less aggressive but equally firm, taking my other arm.
"We will begin your stabilization immediately. And we will ensure you do not try to run."
Kain positioned himself directly in front of me, his gaze cold and absolute.
"Your lies cease now. You belong to the rivalry. The price for your safety is your absolute submission."
The air was heavy, charged with the volatile energy of three dominant males who now had legitimate, mandated access to my every waking and sleeping moment.
The containment decree was not protection; it was institutionalized servitude and psychological torture.