The silence that followed the King’s suggestion stretched too long. It wasn’t a pause for thought—it was a measure of control. A trap, waiting to be triggered by the wrong move or the wrong word.
Leon didn’t speak.
Celine did.
She stepped forward without waiting, the sound of her boots crisp against the polished stone floor. Her silver cloak followed behind her in a smooth line, catching the light like the edge of a blade. She didn’t look to Leon for approval. She didn’t hesitate.
She stopped at the center of the throne room, her voice clear and calm. “I am not a guest here anymore.”
The atmosphere shifted like someone had drawn a blade in a room full of warriors. Heads turned. Movement slowed. Even the guards posted along the walls went still.
“I am Celine of Crimson Fang,” she continued, her gaze fixed on the King. “Luna of our most powerful bloodline. The White Wolf of prophecy. And I am a mated she-wolf with no intention of being kept like a trinket in someone else’s palace.”
Maeron tilted his head, his brows lifting slightly. A faint curve touched his lips—amused, but not surprised. “Is that so?”
“I demand our release,” Celine said, standing taller. “You have no charges. No proof. No cause to hold us here. We came in peace. We showed respect. And now we’re leaving.”
She didn’t shout. She didn’t plead. She simply told the truth, and it landed with force.
Leon remained where he was, but his gaze stayed on her. The pride in his eyes was unmistakable, even if the rest of him remained still as carved stone.
The King rose slowly from his throne. His robes shifted with the motion, heavy fabric trailing behind him as he descended a single step. The sound of it barely whispered across the floor.
“You demand,” he repeated, his tone thoughtful, as though tasting the word. “That’s bold. Especially for someone still under investigation.”
“I’m not under anything,” Celine replied, her voice sharper now. “You just didn’t expect me to speak.”
Maeron’s eyes caught a gleam of light as they narrowed slightly. His smile returned, small and edged.
“Clever,” he said. “Sharp. Strong. No wonder your mate bleeds for you. But strength without restraint, Luna, tends to end badly.”
“Then end it,” Celine said, her chin lifted. “Do it here. In front of everyone.”
A ripple moved through the court—whispers, stiffened spines, the edge of fear carried from one advisor to another.
Leon stepped forward at last, coming to stand at Celine’s side. His presence was steady, but the warning in his voice was unmistakable.
“You were hoping it would come to that,” he said, eyes locked on Maeron. “You wanted me to challenge you. Wanted a reason to strike first.”
The King didn’t deny it. He studied them both—unmoving, unreadable. For the briefest moment, his expression shifted. The smile slipped. Just for a second.
Then he exhaled softly and turned away.
“I admire fire,” he said, casually climbing the dais once more. “Especially when it burns this brightly.”
He reached the throne, then turned, voice light as if none of the heat in the room had touched him. “Very well. You may return to your pack.”
The court didn’t move. The news landed like a dropped stone. Eyes darted between the King and the couple standing at the center of the room.
“But,” Maeron added, the smile returning to his voice, “the investigation remains open. And should the court require your presence again—your cooperation will be expected.”
“We’ll answer,” Celine said, her tone unwavering. “But we’ll do it as equals. Not prisoners.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Maeron laughed—a single, sharp sound that cut through the tension like a knife. It wasn’t joyful. It was knowing.
“Then run back to your den, Luna,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers. “But don’t forget... every prophecy circles back to the crown.”