Sylra's POV
The Blackmaw delegation moved forward, and I watched them approach my father's throne with the detached interest of someone observing insects crawl across marble.
Lady Vela led the procession, her silver gown trailing behind her, chin lifted with the practiced grace of a woman who had spent decades perfecting the art of superiority. Neressa flanked her right side, eyes darting between me and the assembled nobles with barely concealed fury. Rovan walked behind them, Elene's arm threaded through his, though I noticed he hadn't looked at her once since my entrance.
His eyes were fixed on me. Burning. Desperate. I let my gaze slide past him without acknowledgment.
"Your Majesty," Lady Vela began, dropping into a curtsy so deep it bordered on theatrical. "House Blackmaw seeks formal recognition of the alliance forged between our pack and House Redfang through the sacred mating bond of Alpha Rovan Dareth and Lady Elene."
My father said nothing. His fingers drummed slowly against the arm of his throne, each tap echoing through the silent hall.
"The union strengthens both territories," Lady Vela continued, her voice tightening at the edges. "And brings prosperity to all packs under your rule. We humbly request your blessing."
Still, the King remained silent. I could see sweat beginning to bead at Neressa's hairline, could see the way Elene's grip on Rovan's arm had turned white-knuckled. Good. Let them squirm.
My father leaned forward, mouth opening to speak.
Something fell from the rafters.
It hit the marble floor with a wet, heavy thud that silenced every breath in the chamber. Black feathers scattered across the red carpet, and the stench of death rolled through the hall in a putrid wave.
A raven. Throat slashed open, blood still wet and glistening. A scroll of yellowed parchment was tied to its leg with crimson thread.
The hall erupted.
Guards drew their swords with a metallic chorus, forming protective barriers around the throne. Nobles screamed, pressing back against the walls. Somewhere behind me, a woman fainted, her body hitting the floor with a dull crack.
"Secure the doors!" my father commanded, rising from his throne. "Search the rafters! Find whoever did this!"
I stood frozen, my pulse hammering against my throat, but my eyes were not on the dead bird. They were on the Blackmaw delegation.
Lady Vela had stumbled backward, hand pressed to her chest, eyes wide with horror. Too wide. Too perfect. Her shock was a mask painted on with expert precision, every line of her body screaming the terror she wanted us to see.
Rovan's face had drained of color. His hand had instinctively moved toward his sword, and his jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. Whatever this was, he hadn't expected it. His horror was raw, unpolished, real.
And Elene. Beautiful, poised Elene. For just a heartbeat, something flickered across her features before she could smooth it away. Not shock. Not fear. Something calculating. Something cold.
Then it was gone, replaced by the appropriate expression of distressed nobility.
"Princess." Rovan's voice cut through the chaos, and suddenly he was moving toward me, pushing past guards who tried to stop him. "Sylra, please. I need to speak with you."
Two of my father's personal guard stepped between us, swords raised. Rovan stopped short, chest heaving, eyes wild.
"Stand down, Alpha Dareth," one guard commanded.
"I'm not a threat," Rovan said, holding his hands up. His gaze never left my face. "Sylra, there are things you need to know. Things I should have told you before. Please, just give me a moment alone."
I tilted my head, studying him. The desperation etched into every line of his face. The crack in his voice that I'd never heard before, not even when I'd severed our bond. Three years of cold silences, of being pushed aside, of watching him choose everyone and everything over me.
Now he wanted to talk.
"No."
The word dropped between us, sharp and final.
"Sylra." He took another step forward, and the guards' blades pressed against his chest. "Please. I'm begging you."
"You're begging me." I let out a breath that might have been a laugh in another life. "That's new. Usually you just make announcements and expect me to fall in line."
"I was wrong." His voice cracked, actually cracked, and something deep in my chest twisted at the sound. "About everything. About Elene, about the alliance, about you. Let me explain."
Behind him, Elene's face had gone rigid. Lady Vela was watching us with an expression I couldn't read, her earlier performance of shock abandoned entirely.
"Guards," I said, keeping my voice steady even as my heart threatened to beat out of my chest. "Please escort the Blackmaw delegation to the border. Their audience with the Crown is concluded."
"Sylra, don't do this." Rovan fought against the guards who seized his arms, his eyes never leaving mine. "Whatever you think you know, whatever they've told you, there's more. So much more."
"There always is with you," I replied. "Unfortunately, I'm no longer interested in your secrets."
They dragged him backward. He kept fighting, kept calling my name, until the great doors slammed shut and cut off his voice mid-plea.
The silence that followed was deafening.
I stood motionless, staring at those closed doors, willing my hands to stop trembling. Willing my traitorous heart to stop aching at the sound of his voice breaking on my name.
"Leave us," my father commanded.
The remaining nobles filed out in hushed whispers, casting glances between me and the dead raven still bleeding onto the marble. When the last of them had gone, the doors sealed with an echoing boom.
My father descended from the throne, his footsteps slow and measured. He stopped beside the raven, staring down at it with an expression carved from stone.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked quietly.
"A dead bird with a flair for dramatic timing."
His mouth twitched, but no smile formed. "This is a Corvus Mortis. An ancient death warrant used by the old bloodlines." He crouched, carefully untying the parchment from the bird's leg. "Before written treaties, before formal declarations of war, this was how noble houses announced their intention to end a royal line."
The blood in my veins turned to ice. "Someone just declared war? Here? In your own throne room?"
"Someone just declared their intention to kill you." He straightened, the parchment clutched in his fist. "Specifically you. Your name is written here, in blood."
I swallowed hard. "Lady Vela's performance was impressive. Very convincing shock."
"You noticed." He nodded slowly. "Lady Vela is not a woman who accepts defeat gracefully. She spent three years trying to destroy you as Luna. Now you've risen beyond anything she could have imagined, and her son publicly humiliated himself begging for your attention."
"You think she sent the raven."
My father turned to face me, and for the first time since I'd arrived at this palace, I saw something other than regal composure in his eyes. I saw fear.
"What I think," he said quietly, "is that this was a message. A warning shot across the bow." He reached out, gripping my shoulder with surprising strength. "The raven was meant to frighten you. The next one will be a blade."