Maeron sat alone in the war chamber. The fire behind him had burned low, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. Outside, wind beat against the windows, and the storm rolling over the Capital made the shutters groan. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
He had known the truth the moment Celine stepped between them.
It wasn’t just the way she spoke, or the courage it took to stand between two alphas on the edge of shifting. It was the silence that followed. The weight in her voice. The way even Leon had stopped breathing for a second.
Everything clicked into place.
The poison. The timing. The fear in the court. The way Lilith hadn’t looked surprised.
It was her.
She had motive. Access. Enough bitterness in her to act without hesitation. She wouldn’t want Celine dead—only broken. Ruined. Out of the way.
And the poison used had been rare. Expensive. The kind meant to cause long-term damage without drawing immediate suspicion.
Maeron’s hand curled around the edge of the table, knuckles going white. He had once thought Lilith sharp, maybe even useful. But now, all he saw was recklessness.
He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t call for his council. He turned to the nearest guard and said simply, “Bring her to me.”
She didn’t come quietly.
They found her in her chambers, already half-dressed for travel. A bag sat open on the bed, silver coins sewn into the lining. The fire burned low in the hearth, bits of scorched parchment still curling in the flames. She’d been trying to run.
When the guards stepped in, she fought them. Nails, teeth, curses—none of it stopped them.
By the time she reached the throne room, her wrists were bound in iron. Her dress torn. Hair wild and tangled. Fury burned in her eyes, but her breathing was ragged.
Maeron didn’t rise. He didn’t shout. He simply watched as she was dragged forward, his face unreadable.
Lilith struggled against the guards’ grip, her voice sharp. “You dare humiliate me like this? In front of your court?”
“You humiliated yourself the moment you tried to sabotage my guest,” Maeron said, his voice flat. “My White Wolf.”
Her jaw clenched. “I didn’t touch her.”
“No,” he said, not blinking. “You paid someone else to do it.”
She let out a short, bitter laugh, but it faltered. “This is about her. Because you want her.”
Maeron stood, his steps slow as he descended the dais. He stopped just in front of her.
“You mistook what I wanted,” he said, voice low. “And took it as permission.”
He held her stare, long and hard, before turning to the guards.
“Take her below.”
Lilith thrashed in their hold. She called his name, screamed that she was loyal, that she was right. But the chains held, and the guards didn’t stop.
Maeron didn’t flinch. He watched her dragged from the hall without a word, something cold settling deep in his chest and locking in place.