The letter for Celine came by royal courier.
Not a scroll. Not a simple parchment. But a sealed black envelope, its edges trimmed in silver, the wax crest of the Lycan King pressed so deeply into the seal that it had torn slightly upon closing.
It was addressed to Celine. Not Luna of Crimson Fang. Not wife of Alpha Leon. Just her name. No title. Just the target.
She read the contents in silence. One line.
You are summoned to the Capital. Come alone. Her heart dropped.
The room was too quiet. The air too still. The heat of the fire behind her did nothing to ease the chill spreading through her chest.
Leon stood across the room, arms crossed, watching her read. When her hands started to tremble, he crossed the space in seconds.
“What is it?”
She handed him the letter. He read it, once. Then twice. His expression didn’t change—but she felt the tension roll off him like a rising storm.
“No,” he said flatly.
“Leon—”
“No.” His voice sharpened. “He wants you alone, so he can isolate you. Corner you. Control the narrative.”
She tried to speak, but he was already moving—pacing now, hands curling into fists at his sides.
“This isn’t a conversation, Celine. This is a trap wrapped in protocol.”
“I know that,” she whispered. “But if I refuse—”
“He’ll come after you. I know.”
She turned to face him, stepping into his path. “That’s why I have to go.”
“And that’s why I’m coming with you.”
She opened her mouth to argue—but something about the look in his eyes silenced her. Not anger. Not even fear.
Conviction.
“You’re not walking into that palace alone,” he said. “Not while I’m breathing.”
“You saw the letter,” she said gently. “He said alone.”
“Let him try to stop me.” His voice was low, lethal. “I’m your mate, your Alpha, and your husband. If he wants to question you, he’ll do it with me beside you.”
Celine stared up at him. His body was tense, his jaw locked, but his eyes—his eyes were steady.
“I can’t promise he won’t retaliate,” she said.
Leon stepped closer, cupping her face. “And I can’t promise I’ll let him leave the room with his throat intact if he threatens you.”
She exhaled, leaning into his touch.
“I’m scared,” she admitted.
“So am I,” he said. “But I’d rather face that fear beside you than live with myself for letting you go without me.”
She nodded once, slowly.
“Then we go together,” she whispered.
He kissed her forehead, his hand never leaving her waist.
“Let the King try to separate us,” he murmured. “Let him dare.”