Leon stood at the head of the packhouse, reading the invitation like it was of little importance.
“Midnight Crest has called for us.” His voice was steady. The warriors lining the walls straightened. Nobles perked up. Even the servants listened more closely. No one ignored Midnight Crest.
Leon barely glanced at the letter as he continued, “Alpha Roman’s daughter Lilith Quinn is to be mated.”
A hush fell over the room. Celine forced herself to keep breathing.
“She will be mated to Luke Arden,” Leon finished.
The words landed like a fist to the ribs. Celine had known—of course she had known. Lilith had won. Lilith always gets what she wants. But she hadn’t expected it to happen this quickly. Had they rushed the wedding because of her? Had Lilith sensed that Celine was still alive, still breathing?
Her stomach twisted.
Leon continued as if nothing had happened. “The ceremony will take place in three days. Since this is a political event, Midnight Crest has requested the presence of our warriors and nobility.”
This wasn’t just a wedding. It was the sealing of an alliance—one that would ripple through every pack and power structure in the realm.
Leon stood near the center, his presence commanding, eyes moving deliberately across the assembled wolves. Celine stood at his side, every sense alert.
His voice cut cleanly through the air. “Helga will remain behind to act as Alpha in our absence.”
There was no reaction. That part had been expected—Helga was loyal, respected, and strong enough to keep Crimson Fang steady while its leaders were away.
Then came the names.
“Felix.”
The tracker stepped forward with a short nod, a satisfied grunt escaping his throat. He looked proud, already bracing himself for whatever came next.
“Sasha. Reese.”
Sasha lifted her chin with a smug little smile, her expression carved from polished stone. She barely glanced at Celine, as if victory had already been claimed. Reese, standing just behind her, didn’t smile at all. There was a flicker in his eyes—something darker. Not quite anger. Not quite fear. But close.
Then, Leon turned his attention to the lower ranks, the servants.
The room quieted just a little more, breath hitching at the edges, as the lines between rank and power grew thinner.
Celine stilled, her pulse pounded.
Don’t pick me.
Leon’s gaze found her across the room—sharp and unreadable.
Celine held still. Not even a breath stirred in her lungs.
She gave the faintest shake of her head. Barely a movement. A silent plea. Don’t. Not here. Not like this.
But his expression didn’t change. Not even a flicker of hesitation.
“Celine,” he said, voice low but clear enough to silence half the room. “You’re coming with me.”
The words dropped like a stone in water.
All conversation ceased.
A hush rippled through the packhouse. Confused glances were exchanged, brows lifted in quiet disbelief. This wasn’t protocol. This wasn’t expected.
Why her?
Celine’s heartbeat pounded against her ribs, loud in her ears.
But Leon just kept looking at her—calm, steady, final.