The Capital was quiet at dusk, cloaked in gold and deep shadow. From the highest tower of the palace, the Lycan King stood alone, watching the sun sink behind the spires of his city. Below, the world moved—courtiers, advisors, warriors, all flowing like veins beneath him.
But his thoughts were not here. They were in the north, with her. Celine.
He had meant to intimidate, to observe. To remind Leon who held the real power. But instead, something had shifted the moment Celine had turned to face him, white gown trailing behind her, silver eyes steady. She hadn’t flinched. She hadn’t groveled. She had looked back.
And now, he couldn’t get the image out of his head.
His ministers entered quietly behind him, laying scrolls across the long war table. He turned without ceremony, eyes scanning the reports.
"Speak," he ordered.
One of the senior advisors, a silver-haired wolf named Varros, stepped forward. “As requested. Celine of Midnight Crest. Born to Alpha Roman and Luna Eleanor. Older twin. Unshifted until recently. Publicly deemed a failure in her original pack.”
The King’s eyes narrowed.
“Leon brought her into Crimson Fang, a pack known for killing rogues. She advanced rapidly. Gained his attention. She shifted under his watch and revealed herself as the White Wolf.”
“She wasn’t hidden,” the King murmured. “She was buried. Until Leon pulled her out.”
“Precisely,” Varros replied. “He acted before anyone else could notice what she was.”
The King moved to the edge of the table, his finger running slowly along Celine’s sealed profile page.
“He knew,” he said darkly. “He saw the potential and claimed it. Bonded with her. Secured her loyalty. Secured the pack’sloyalty.”
“And now?” another advisor asked softly.
“Now she is beloved,” the King said. “And bound to the Alpha of a pack powerful enough to resist a royal order if pushed.”
He turned back toward the window, brow furrowed. “If I move against her, I risk open rebellion.”
“But if you do nothing,” Varros added, “you risk the prophecy coming true. Ruin before salvation.”
The King’s voice dropped. “Either I lose her to Leon… or to fate.”
No one spoke.
He lingered a moment longer in thought. “I have no Queen. No heir. No mate to bind my line to legacy. And now power blooms elsewhere.”
He looked down at Celine’s image.
A soft knock came from the door. A royal guard entered, head bowed. “Pardon, sire. An Alpha seeks audience. From the south.”
The King turned. “Name?”
“Alpha Roman and Luna Eleanor. Midnight Crest.”
The King smiled—sharp and slow. “Send them in.”