The council chamber was already alive with tension when Kael entered.
Stone pillars rose toward the domed ceiling, carved with the sigils of past Alphas—men who had ruled, mated, and passed their bloodlines without resistance. Kael felt their presence like judgment pressing down on his shoulders.
Elders lined the crescent table, faces grim, robes heavy with authority.
Riven walked half a step behind him. Darian, Thorne, and Kieran took their positions at the chamber doors, expressions unreadable, hands resting near their weapons.
Elder Corvath struck his staff against the stone floor.
"Alpha Kael Draven," he announced, "this council is now in session."
Kael remained standing.
His wolf stirred uneasily, sensing confrontation.
"You summoned me," Kael said coolly. "Speak."
Elder Malrec leaned forward, fingers steepled. "The matter of succession has reached its limit. The pack whispers. The borders weaken when certainty fades."
Kael's lips curved into a humorless smile. "My rule has never faltered."
"No," Elder Corvath replied, "but your lineage has."
The word landed like a blade.
Kael's eyes flashed amber for a heartbeat. A low growl rippled through the chamber before he forced it down. "Choose your next words carefully."
Elder Selran exhaled slowly. "We have."
Silence stretched.
Then Corvath said it.
"You will take another wife."
The chamber erupted.
Murmurs. Sharp intakes of breath. Disbelief.
Kael laughed—once. Short. Cold. "I already have twenty."
"And none have produced an heir," Selran said, unflinching. "This union is… strategic."
Kael's hands curled into fists. "You think another woman will undo a curse laid before I could even shift?"
"This is not a request, Alpha," Corvath replied. "It is a decree."
The word snapped something inside him.
"My bed is not a council table," Kael growled. "You do not barter my body to soothe your fears."
Riven shifted subtly behind him, tension coiled tight.
Malrec cleared his throat. "The woman has already been chosen."
Kael stilled.
Slowly, dangerously, he asked, "Chosen by whom?"
Malrec's gaze flicked—just briefly—toward the chamber doors.
"They enter now."
The doors opened.
And the palace breathed in as one.
She stepped forward with practiced grace, silk whispering against stone. Dark hair framed a face too composed, too aware of the effect she carried. Her eyes—sharp, calculating—lifted to Kael's without hesitation.
Lady Isolde Veyra.
Daughter of Elder Malrec.
A ripple of unease passed through the room.
Kael's wolf surged—not with desire, but irritation. Possession twisted into something sour in his chest.
So this is the game, he thought. Power wrapped in silk.
Isolde curtsied slowly, deliberately, her gaze never leaving his. "Alpha Kael," she said, voice smooth as honey. "I am honored."
Honor.
The word tasted bitter.
"You planned this," Kael said, eyes locked on Malrec. "From the beginning."
Malrec met his stare. "I secured the future of this pack."
"No," Kael snapped. "You secured your bloodline."
The tension snapped tight as wire.
Around the palace, news spread like wildfire.
Servants whispered angrily in corridors. Concubines raged behind closed doors. Warriors muttered in the barracks. Even the guards stiffened, sensing the unrest bleeding into the stone walls.
A forced marriage.
Another woman.
Another reminder of failure.
Lyria heard the news while carrying linens through the eastern hall.
"She's already chosen," one maid whispered.
"An elder's daughter," another hissed.
"The Alpha didn't even agree."
Lyria's chest tightened.
She shouldn't care.
Yet her hands trembled, fabric slipping slightly from her grasp.
Why does this hurt? she wondered, startled by the sudden ache. He is not mine. He never could be.
Still… the thought of another woman standing at his side sent an unfamiliar heat and sorrow twisting together in her chest.
Back in the council chamber, Isolde stepped closer to Kael.
Too close.
"I will serve you well," she said softly, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "In every way required."
Her scent brushed his senses—perfumed, deliberate.
Kael's jaw clenched.
There was no pull.
No confusion.
Only restraint.
"You will serve the pack," he replied coldly. "Do not mistake proximity for power."
Isolde smiled anyway.
Behind her, Malrec watched—calculating, patient.
The game had begun.
And Kael Draven, Lycan Alpha, stood at the center of a web he had never consented to enter.
As the council adjourned, Kael felt it again—that strange, unexplainable awareness—not toward the woman chosen for him, but toward a presence somewhere else in the palace.
Watching.
Waiting.
And unaware that forces far greater than desire had already begun to move.