The large circular room hummed with a silent tension, its eight cloaked figures radiating an aura of immense power. They were the Council, the bedrock upon which the entire wolf world rested. Though their origins lay in disparate packs, the moment they ascended to this chamber, their allegiance shifted. They were now bound to the Red Maid Wolf Queen, whoever she might be.
Encased in towering glass wolves, the Council sat in a space of stark clarity. Behind them, a formidable castle stood sentinel, a sanctuary accessible only to the Red Queen. For fifty long years since the last monarch had fallen, this castle remained dormant.
This interregnum was a rare indulgence for the Council, a taste of unchecked authority. While the laws laid down by past Queens and their consorts still held sway, the absence of a ruling monarch allowed them a significant degree of autonomy. In this time of searching, they were, in essence, the closest thing to royalty.
Most of these figures had occupied their seats for over a century, their extended lifespans dwarfing even that of the Red Maid Queen, whose reign was comparatively brief. This inherent longevity ensured the Council's enduring influence. The Queen would rise and fall, but their power would inevitably return, a cyclical certainty they understood intimately.
"Has it ever taken this long before?"
The question came from Philip Junior, a newcomer to the Council. Their infrequent gatherings made his inexperience stark. His father, the previous representative for Greenland, Iceland, and the surrounding territories, had recently passed. As the firstborn, Philip had inherited the seat, a dominion that instilled in him a heady sense of power. He oversaw these lands, the wolves within them subject to his pronouncements, their lives subtly shaped by his decrees. It was a power of influence, of distance, for while he couldn't directly punish, he could certainly make life arduous.
Marcus, a wolf who had already lived two centuries and witnessed the rise and fall of numerous Queens, shot the younger council member a look of barely concealed irritation. Philip Junior, barely forty, was a mere pup in comparison. Marcus chafed at the hereditary nature of the Council. Worthiness, not lineage, should dictate who held such power. His own mate had borne him two sons, neither of whom he currently deemed fit for this chamber. He envisioned a different future, one where his progeny occupied other seats, granting him a decisive voting bloc. His decisions were just, well-considered; he didn't need the interference of others. Fewer voices meant clearer paths.
"It takes however long the Goddess decides," Marina, a senior member, answered with a measured gentleness.
Marcus considered her weak, her concern for appearances a constant cloud on her judgment. Yet, he couldn't deny her power, not just in raw strength, but in the subtle currents of influence she commanded. She played a delicate game, and she played it well. Her carefully cultivated empathy drew others to her, making their voting power nearly equal. He, however, believed in the inherent correctness of his views, his understanding of the wolves' needs. That was all that truly mattered.
"Are we not here to speak about the missing?"
A soft, almost timid voice broke the subtle tension. Carly, the youngest member, felt a familiar knot of anxiety tighten in her chest. Her mother's sudden death the previous year had thrust her into this formidable world, this only being her second meeting. Her mother's parting words echoed in her mind: make your decision, leave swiftly, and trust no one. Friendship offered no advantage here.
Seven pairs of eyes, some ancient and assessing, others merely impatient, fixed on her. At eighteen, her life was a mere blink compared to the others in the room. In this chamber, respect flowed uphill, and she was precariously perched at the base. Each time she spoke, the summit seemed impossibly distant.
Marina, however, softened her gaze. She recognized the young girl's eagerness, her desire to contribute. Carly shared responsibility for the coveted North American territories with Marcus, their domains cleaved in half. Marina saw Carly's inexperience as a vulnerability, and Marcus's ambition as a looming threat. She knew he would slowly encroach upon Carly's lands, upsetting the delicate balance of power. While each council member held a single vote, those governing larger territories and more wolves wielded greater influence, especially in this interim period where enforcing the Queen's law was a more delicate dance. With Carly's mother gone, her voice carried significant weight, a counterweight to Marcus's growing dominance. Marina saw Marcus open his mouth, a familiar gesture of control.
"Please explain the situation in your territory," Marina interjected smoothly, a subtle smile playing on her lips as Carly began to speak, effectively silencing Marcus.
"One wolf in the northwest region has gone missing. A rogue. Which on its own isn't unusual. But it hasn't been sighted in any other territory. Along with the rogue, five of the exiled have also vanished." Carly's nervousness was palpable. Rogues and exiles disappearing was unprecedented. Even though rogues were outlaws, the Council maintained a loose surveillance. Movement between territories was rare, practically suicidal. The exiled, though outcasts, were stronger than humans, not easily eliminated.
"I have also noticed the same incidents in my territory. A pup had nearly been abducted."
A heavy silence descended upon the circular room, each council member lost in thought. The older ones felt a prickle of unease, a disquieting echo of a less peaceful past, a time when suspicion bred chaos between species.
"The exiled aren't exactly under our protection. Nor do the rogues desire it. They resent our monitoring," Philip Junior offered, oblivious to the subtle shift in the room's atmosphere. He saw no reason for such concern over outlaws.
Both Marina and Marcus fixed him with a look that bordered on contempt. Abductions were a dangerous omen, a potential resurgence of old conflicts. For all their political maneuvering, the prosperity and longevity of the wolf world remained their paramount concern.
A silent understanding passed between them, a momentary truce forged in the face of a potential threat. Ignoring Philip's dismissive words, Marina's voice rang out, clear and decisive.
"I vote we bring the exiled back to their home packs. All of them. While sending out more patrolling units to monitor rogue numbers."
Marcus disliked the idea of recalling the exiled, banished by the decree of the Seventeenth Queen. But the specter of history repeating itself outweighed his reservations.
Angus, the Council's longest-serving member, a figure who rarely spoke, finally broke the silence. "All those in favor?"
Carly's hand shot up first, her desire to address the unsettling events in her territory immediate and unwavering. All wolves were under the Queen's protection, and their well-being was her responsibility.
Marcus raised his hand, and two others followed suit, their loyalty aligning with his. Marina's hand joined theirs, and two of her allies mirrored her action.
Angus did not raise his hand. Some in the room understood his silent dissent, while others simply assumed he was abstaining. Marcus knew better. Angus had been a trusted advisor to the Seventh Queen, her guide. He would never willingly contradict her decrees, not even after centuries. A wolf's loyalty, Marcus mused, was a dangerous, immutable thing.