The palace did not sleep that night.
Lanterns burned through the corridors as healers moved in hurried silence, their expressions grim. The once-grand dining hall now felt hollow, stripped of laughter and false civility. What had begun as a gesture of peace had ended in blood, betrayal, and consequence.
Iolde lay pale against silk sheets, her breathing shallow, her hand clutched tightly in her father's grasp.
Elder Malrec's jaw was set, his eyes dark with fury and something far more dangerous—fear.
"She is stable," the healer finally said, voice careful. "But the child… the poison was too strong. The womb could not be saved."
The words fell like a blade.
Iolde let out a broken sob, her fingers tightening. "No… no, that's not possible. I was meant to be Luna. That child was meant to—"
Her voice cracked.
Malrec stood slowly, rage rolling off him in waves. His gaze lifted—not to his daughter, but toward the doorway, where Kael Draven stood unmoving.
The Alpha had not spoken.
He had watched.
Amber eyes unreadable. Wolf silent but alert.
"This poison," Malrec said at last, voice dangerously calm, "was meant for another."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Yes."
Silence stretched between them.
"I demanded this union for the sake of the pack," Malrec continued. "I staked my bloodline on it. And now—" His hand clenched. "Now my daughter has paid the price for another woman's malice."
Kael stepped forward. "Your daughter was not the target."
"That does not matter," Malrec snapped. "The result does."
Outside the chamber, whispers spread like wildfire. Servants bowed their heads. Concubines huddled together, fear replacing ambition. They all felt it now—the shift. The fracture.
And deeper still, beneath stone and blood, the pack stirred.
Not for Iolde.
For Lyria.
Lyria sat in her chambers, hands resting unconsciously over her abdomen, breath shallow. Something inside her felt… wrong. Heavy. Awake.
Kael entered quietly, closing the door behind him.
"You feel it too," he said.
She nodded. "It's like… like the air is listening."
Kael crossed the room in three strides and knelt before her, placing his palm over hers. The contact sent a steady warmth through her body, grounding her.
"You are not alone," he said softly. "Whatever comes next, I stand with you."
Her eyes lifted to his. "Even if the whole kingdom turns?"
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. "Then I will remind them who their Alpha is."
Before dawn, the great council bell rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
A summons no one dared ignore.
The council chamber filled quickly—elders in heavy robes, warriors lining the walls, concubines standing stiff and silent. Iolde was absent. So was Lyria.
Malrec stood at the center, staff in hand.
"My daughter has lost her child," he announced. "Through treachery."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
Kael stepped forward. "And the one responsible?"
Malrec's gaze cut sharply toward Serina.
She stiffened.
"This poison did not come from my daughter's table," Malrec said. "It came from ambition. From envy. From a woman who believed the Alpha's favor could be stolen."
Serina's voice trembled. "I—I only wished to protect the pack."
"Lies," Riven said coldly.
Malrec raised his staff. "Enough. The truth is clear. And so is the future."
The chamber fell silent.
"Alpha Kael already has a mate," Malrec continued. "And a wife bound to him by fate, not decree. The concubine system has only bred chaos. It ends now."
Gasps echoed.
"All concubines will be sent home," Malrec declared. "With honor, protection, and provision. The pack will no longer tolerate division within the Alpha's walls."
Serina's breath came sharp. "You cannot—"
"You will be punished," Malrec said, turning fully to her. "Stripped of title. Confined until judgment is passed."
Serina screamed as guards stepped forward.
Kael did not look away.
"And Lyria?" one elder asked carefully.
Kael's voice rang through the chamber, steady and unyielding.
"She carries my child. She is my mate. And she will be my Luna."
The pack answered before the elders could.
A low hum. A ripple of acknowledgment.
The bond had been recognized.
Not by decree.
By instinct.
Far from the chamber, unseen by all, a candle flared violently in a forest shrine.
A woman lifted her head, dark eyes narrowing.
"Impossible…" she murmured.
Magic trembled in her veins.
The witch had felt it.
And soon—
She would come.