The King summoned them to the Midnight Crest war room. The war room wasn’t meant for brides. Celine had never been inside it before. Few in the pack had. It was a place of maps and metal, of strategy and silence—not candlelight and wedding gowns. Yet here she stood, trailing lace and silk behind her like a ghost that had wandered into the wrong story.
The heavy oak doors closed with a deep thud, sealing her in with power.
The King sat at the head of the long table, his posture regal but relaxed, a hand resting loosely over a silver-ringed goblet. To his left and right were his chosen ministers—quiet men and women in dark robes, their gazes sharp, silent, and assessing.
Leon was at her side, tall and stiff as stone. His jaw was tight, his shoulders locked. More tense than she had ever seen him—even in battle.
Helga stood just behind him, ever-loyal, her gaze flicking from the ministers to the King with cool calculation. The Beta had said nothing since they entered, but Celine could feel her watching everything.
No one was speaking.
Everyone was too polite.
Celine tried to swallow, her throat suddenly dry. Her dress felt wrong here—too soft, too open. Her veil had been left behind, somewhere on the polished floor of the ceremonial hall, forgotten the moment those doors had burst open.
Her wedding day.
Was it even a wedding now?
Had the vows been finished? Had they been bound? No one had said it. No one had pronounced them.
She looked to Leon. He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the King.
Celine turned to the monarch, trying to piece together the moment—what had shifted, what had cracked beneath the surface of their sudden royal visit.
“Your Majesty,” she said carefully, her voice quiet but even. “Why are we here?”
The King didn’t answer right away. He sipped his wine—slow, measured—and then set the goblet down.
“It’s your wolf,” he said at last.
Celine blinked. “My… wolf?”
A chill ran down her spine.
“I understand that the White Wolf is rare,” she continued, cautious. “I know it hasn’t been seen in generations. But I thought—I mean, it’s just a shift. A form.”
“Is it?” the King asked.
His eyes—amber and ancient—met hers. And in them, Celine didn’t see cruelty. She saw weight.
He leaned forward slightly. “There are things your Alpha cannot tell you,” he said, voice lowering. “Things your parents chose to forget. But I will not let the past repeat itself.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, heartbeat starting to pick up. “What does this have to do with me?”
The King didn’t answer right away.
He just looked at her—really looked—and the room seemed to lean in closer.
And then, finally, he said, “Because you need to know what you really are.”