The council chamber had never felt colder.
The letter had been read aloud with deliberate slowness, every word laced with accusation. A noble gasped. Another turned to their neighbor, whispering urgently. Dain's jaw tightened as he turned to Ruvan, who looked as though he'd swallowed fire. The council splintered in murmurs and shock.
And still, Thornak said nothing.
He sat as stone, his face unreadable, his eyes distant, but sharp.
Watching. Listening.
She meant to plant the seed of doubt. Just enough.
Maravelle turned to him with carefully measured concern. "Your Majesty. This must be investigated swiftly. For the good of the kingdom. I think perhaps… a temporary confinement until the matter is fully explored."
Still, Thornak said nothing.
His hands rested on the carved arms of his throne, fingers motionless. His eyes, unreadable, remained fixed on the center of the room, giving no indication whether he believed the words or not.
Lord Edrion stood first, his voice smooth and loud enough to be heard across the chamber. "It's a grave accusation," he said, glancing towards the King. "But if the letter is real, we cannot ignore it. No one, not even the King's… companion, should be above scrutiny."
"Is this what we've allowed into our court?" one of the elders muttered, rising from his seat. "A traitor hidden beneath our very roof?"
"No seal, no signature," Kael countered sharply. "That letter could've been penned by anyone."
"But it was found in her room!" a younger noble insisted. "Are we meant to believe such a damning message just appeared there?"
Maravelle folded the letter with dainty precision. "The facts remain. It is her chamber."
A younger noble, a sharp-eyed Lord snorted. "If the enemy has her loyalty, what does that say about our defenses?"
Across the room, Lady Brynne of the Eastern Marches raised her chin. "This feels too neat," she said quietly. "Too convenient. A letter appears in her chambers with perfect timing while the King is away? I smell something… orchestrated."
"She's been in the palace," Lord Vaelen countered, his voice rough with age. "If she were a spy, she's had access to sensitive conversations for weeks. It is folly to think this should be ignored."
A few murmured in agreement, others shifted uncomfortably.
Lord Casmir, always a cautious man, cleared his throat. "Let us not forget who would benefit most from the lady leaving."
Eyes flicked toward Queen Maravelle.
She only smiled.
"I ask for fairness," she said, hands spread in innocence. "Not punishment. Confinement ensures her safety… and ours, as we investigate this matter."
Then Thornak rose from his seat, tall and unshakable, his voice steady as stone splitting open:
"I invoke the Trial of Loyalty."
Shock surged through the chamber. Even the fire in the hearth seemed to falter.
Maravelle's eyes flashed. "What?"
"You heard me," he said, turning toward the council. "The Trial of Loyalty. She will face the Silverflame. It will judge what we cannot."
"That rite is for Lycans," Maravelle snapped, her composure slipping. "She isn't even one of us! She has no claim to that ancient right."
"She has every claim," Thornak said, eyes blazing. "She is my mate."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Maravelle looked as if he'd struck her. "You dare..."
"I don't need permission," Thornak said, voice low and final. "The mate of the Lycan King holds standing equal to the crown itself. The Silverflame will speak. And when it does, there will be no further whispers."
"You would invoke an ancient rite for her?" she asked, each word laced with disdain. "A girl with no wolf. A stranger to our kind. What if the flame destroys her? What if it reveals what she truly is?"
Thornak did not flinch. "Then the flame will speak truth. That is the purpose of the rite, is it not?"
"You would stake your crown on this?" she snapped. "Your throne, your legacy?"
Thornak's gaze burned bright golden color now. "I already have."
Silence clamped down on the room like a vice. No one moved. No one spoke.
Then the high priest of the kingdom, an old Lycan with hair like silver moonlight, stood slowly. "The rite has been invoked," he said. "It cannot be undone."
Maravelle's fury trembled at the corners of her mouth, but she held her tongue.
Thornak turned away from the queen without another glance, his voice cold and commanding.
"Prepare for at dawn we go to the silver seers temple to begin the Trial of Loyalty."
And with that, he left the chamber.
Leaving behind a queen seething, a council silenced, and a kingdom teetering on the edge of fate.
....
The sun had begun its descent, casting long golden shafts through the arched windows of Lara's chamber.
The weight of silence hung heavily, broken only by the soft, steady breaths of Liam as he slept curled on her bed. He hadn't rested all night, and Lara had no intention of waking him.
Jasmine stepped in quietly, her presence as composed as ever, her calm demeanor wrapped tightly around her like a cloak. But Lara could see the tension beneath it, the faint tightness in her jaw, the flicker in her eyes.
"Lara," Jasmine's voice was soft, but her expression was grave.
Iris followed behind her, gentler still, her eyes shimmering with something Lara couldn't quite name, pride, worry, hope.
"What is it?" Lara asked, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest.
Jasmine approached. "The council met. Queen Maravelle read the letter."
Lara's blood ran cold. "And?"
Jasmine hesitated. "Thornak invoked the Trial of Loyalty."
Lara blinked. "The what?"
"He stood up," Iris said gently. "In front of everyone. He invoked an ancient rite not used in generations. The Silverflame will judge your heart. If it finds you true, no one can speak against you again."
"It's not just a trial," Jasmine said softly. "It's an ancient rite, older than the throne, older than the Lycans themselves. It's bound in magic the court barely understands anymore. They say it came from the time when truth had weight, and flame could speak it."
Lara frowned. "Flame?"
"Yes," Jasmine said. "The Silverflame. It burns in a circle, pure silver fire, enchanted and alive. They keep it deep within the Silver Seers' Temple, carved into the mountainside. That's where it happens. Where Ninzu, the sorceress and last of the Silver Seers presides."
"She is bound to truth," Jasmine continued, her voice tighter now. "And the flame is her blade. To stand in it is to be judged not by people, but by the magic itself."
Lara sat down slowly, the weight of it sinking in. "So I just… walk into fire?"
"The Silverflame doesn't burn skin. It burns lies. Hidden betrayal. Doubt. Deception, even the kind you don't know you carry." Iris told her.
Iris stepped forward then, eyes wide but sure. "And if you pass, no one can say another word against you. Not Maravelle. Not the nobles. No council. The flame is final."
Lara shook her head slowly. "And if I fail?"
Jasmine looked down. "The fire doesn't kill quickly. It burns truth into flesh. It leaves nothing hidden. And some…" she hesitated, "some have been consumed."
"Well I have nothing to hide," she said firmly.
Iris moved closer to Lara and touched her arm. "Thornak believes in you. That's why he invoked it. He wouldn't have risked this if he didn't."
Lara smiled.
....
The moon hung low and veiled that night, casting no light through the towering windows of the Silver Seers' Temple. The grand hall lay still, save for the flicker of sacred candles circling the ancient brazier at the center of the ritual chamber, the cradle of the Silverflame.
But not all was still.
A figure cloaked in grey slipped through the narrow servant's passage, hood drawn low, footsteps silent on marble. Their hands were gloved, but still bore the faint shimmer of arcane ink, sigils that pulsed like veins with each heartbeat.
They moved with purpose.
Reaching the base of the flame's pedestal, the figure knelt and withdrew a slender vial. Inside, the liquid sloshed dark and thick, blood, bound by sorcery, harvested from a creature no seer would name aloud.
With a murmur in an ancient tongue, the figure uncorked the vial. The blood hissed as it met the cold stone, crawling like a living thing toward the brazier. As it touched the rim, the flame flickered, once, then again, burning blue for the briefest moment before settling into its usual pale shimmer.
The figure leaned in, whispering some chants into the base.
They did not linger.
By the time the temple priestesses resumed their rotation, nothing remained but the faint scent of burnt copper in the air, and a single sigil, etched in blood, now hidden beneath the brazier's base.
....
The Lycan ran beneath the shroud of night, a massive shadow slipping between trees like smoke on the wind.
By the time the great stone palace of Vargorath rose from the cliffs, the sky had begun to bleed with morning. Guards at the eastern gate only stepped aside, watching the great black beast pass with narrowed eyes but no protest.
Within moments, he was in the side halls of the eastern wing, fur melting to skin as he shifted mid-stride into his humanoid form, breathless but precise. A dark cloak materialized around his shoulders as he approached the Queen's private salon.
The corridor smelled of lavender and cold iron.
He knocked twice, short, sharp.
The chamberlain opened the door a crack, eyes gleaming with unslept worry. "She's waiting."
Inside, Queen Maravelle stood like a statue in flowing silk, framed by candlelight and the first gold of dawn. She did not turn as he entered, she only extended one gloved hand, fingers expectant.
"Well?" she asked, cold and sure.
"It is done," the Lycan said. "The priestess has bound the Circle with blood magic. The Silverflame will flicker. Truth will be twisted."
Maravelle's eyes flashed. "Good. Let Thornak gamble her life in fire. When she falls, there will be no one left to defend her. No cause to question me."