The great hall of the Northern Realm was always intimidating. Towering columns of black marble stretched toward the vaulted ceiling, and banners of every pack in the kingdom hung like silent sentinels. Today, the air was thick—not with ceremony, but with tension. Every council member had gathered, and every whisper carried the weight of accusation.
Elara walked beside Kael, her head high, her chest aching with the bond still pulsing faintly beneath her skin. He had insisted on accompanying her—part protection, part warning to the council that their usual tricks would no longer work.
The moment they entered, the room grew colder. Eyes flicked to her, sharp and calculating, faces carefully neutral but layered with contempt. Every elder present had participated in her near-execution in her past life.
High Elder Morvain rose, his gray robes rustling. "Lady Nightwind," he began, voice smooth but venomous, "we are surprised to see you at the council today… given your refusal to attend the Mate Ceremony."
Elara didn't flinch. She met his gaze evenly. "I attend when the council speaks to me directly. Not when they try to manipulate my fate."
A murmur ran through the hall. Some of the younger council members shifted uncomfortably. They remembered what had happened in the past—how Elara's lunar magic could turn the smallest insult into catastrophe.
Moirvain's lips thinned. "You dare speak to the council as if we are mere servants to your whims?"
Kael stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on her elbow. His silver eyes gleamed dangerously. "If you intend to strike at her, Elder, you will strike at me first."
The hall went silent. The words weren't a threat—they were a promise.
Moirvain's gaze flicked to Kael. "Alpha King Blackthorn, this is not about you. The council is concerned for the safety of the realm."
"Safety," Kael said, voice low, "is never achieved by murdering your queen-to-be in secret."
A gasp ran through the chamber. The younger councilors exchanged looks of unease, but Morvain's smile remained fixed, cruel. "You misunderstand. This is a matter of containment. The Lady Nightwind's powers are… unstable. A danger not just to the realm, but to herself."
Elara's jaw tightened. "Unstable because you've never taught me to control them. Unstable because you've spent generations trying to suppress the Moon Goddess' gift. Unstable because you fear what you cannot dominate."
Moirvain froze. His eyes narrowed, but the room had shifted. Whispers became louder—some council members exchanging subtle nods, others gripping the arms of their seats.
Kael's voice cut through like a blade. "If you attack her, you attack me, and the bond between us is not something you can manipulate."
The word bond resonated unnaturally in the hall. Everyone felt it, even the skeptics—the subtle pull of the mate bond reacting to Elara's defiance, sending waves of tension through the air.
Moirvain's smile faltered, and he stepped back slightly. "You presume to understand forces beyond your years, Blackthorn. You presume to wield power you cannot control. You forget who grants authority in this hall."
Elara raised her hand slightly, the faintest shimmer of silver energy curling around her fingers. The air snapped with tension. She didn't intend to strike anyone—not yet. But she wanted them to remember.
Kael's gaze sharpened. "She's not yours to command," he said, stepping closer so that his presence shielded her from the council. "And you will not frighten her into submission."
The air between them flared. The bond pulsed, sending a subtle thrum of pain through both of their bodies—pain that was neither punishment nor accident. It was a reminder. A tether.
Elara's eyes met Kael's. No words were spoken, but a silent agreement passed between them. This time, they would act together. This time, the council would not dictate her death, nor his.
Moirvain's face hardened. "Then we have no choice but to enforce containment."
Before the words fully left his lips, the chamber shook violently. Lunar energy burst from Elara in controlled but terrifying arcs, striking the floor and walls with enough force to crack marble. The younger councilors screamed and ducked instinctively; the older ones froze in awe and fear.
Kael stepped in front of her immediately, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Control it," he said softly, voice cutting through the chaos. "You don't have to fight alone."
The bond responded. Pain flared, then steadied. Elara exhaled, grounding herself, drawing on Kael's steady presence. Her power no longer screamed uncontrollably—it hummed, bright and fierce, dangerous but precise.
The council watched in stunned silence as the energy around Elara pulsed like a heartbeat. Every shadow in the room seemed to bend toward her, every candle flame trembled as if bowing to her will.
Finally, Kael released her shoulders and took a step back. "You will speak to me first before any action is taken," he said to the council. "Or you will deal with me."
Moirvain swallowed, his arrogance faltering. "Very well," he said finally, voice tight. "The council will convene… with your… input."
Elara's gaze didn't waver. She allowed herself the faintest smirk. The hall was silent for a long moment, tension coiled like a living thing.
Then Kael leaned slightly closer to her. His voice was low, private, meant only for her. "Not everyone will survive this, you know."
"I don't intend to," she replied softly, letting her silver glow dim. "But I intend to make them regret underestimating me."
He nodded, eyes dark and unreadable. The bond between them pulsed once more, subtle but unbroken, as if acknowledging that the fight ahead was not theirs alone—but together.
Outside, the palace corridors were quiet again. Inside, Elara and Kael were no longer just queen-to-be and king—they were allies, partners, and, whether they liked it or not, bound by a force older than both of them.
And somewhere deep in the Northern Realm, the council realized too late that the game had changed.