Ronan did not launch his attack. Not yet. His sword remained sheathed, his army waiting in silence beyond the Northcrest borders. The storm he promised lingered on the horizon, but instead of steel, he sent scrolls. Petitions. Challenges. Legal warfare.
Northcrest’s legal advisors descended upon the High Council chambers with ancient tomes and forgotten laws. Their argument was simple—and infuriating. According to one of the oldest werewolf codes, any children born from a bonded Luna belonged to the father’s bloodline. Regardless of separation. Regardless of exile.
The petition went further. It claimed Mira herself was still bound by law to Ronan. There had been no annulment. No public severance. In the eyes of tradition, she was still his.
The court buzzed with scandal. Elders leaned in over scrolls and whispered behind raised hands. Some seemed intrigued. Others disgusted. Legal scholars debated the origin of the law, some insisting it was obsolete, others warning it had never been repealed.
Mira sat in the council wing, fists clenched on her lap. Her voice was low but furious.
“He couldn’t win by force, so he’s trying to buy it with paper.”
Alaric stood behind her, hands clasped behind his back. “He’s trying to manipulate a broken system. But we will not let it stand.”
“He’s using laws written before I was even born,” she snapped. “Laws written by males who never imagined a woman could leave.”
Alaric’s tone hardened. “And now one has. And she won’t be silenced.”
A councilor approached, face tight with discomfort. “Princess, you must prepare a formal response. The chamber expects your stance within the day. The legal counter must come directly from your mouth.”
Mira stood slowly. Her voice cut like ice. “Then they’ll hear me. All of them.”
Later, in the throne hall, Mira faced a full chamber. Nobles, elders, advisors—all watching.
“Northcrest claims that my children are not mine,” she said clearly. “That I belong to a male who discarded me. That my bond was more sacred than my pain. I reject it.”
Some gasped. Others whispered. “I broke no law,” she continued. “I survived. I bled. I gave life to two sons under threat and alone. If the council chooses to see only the bond and not the betrayal, then you’re as guilty as he is.”
Elder Kess stood. “Princess, no one questions your suffering. But the law—”
“Must evolve,” Mira interrupted. “Or be broken.”
Alaric stepped forward, the silence in the room thickening.
“If he won’t fight in the open, then he will answer to law.” He turned to the clerk. “Issue the summons.”
The document was signed that night. Royal ink. Royal seal. The edges shimmered with spellbound wax to prevent tampering. It traveled with a hawk, arriving at the Northcrest gates by dawn.
Three days later, the capital gates opened. Mira stood at the balcony overlooking the courtyard, her heart like thunder. Her breath caught when she saw the horses lined at the entry.
“He’s here,” the guard whispered.
Ronan rode through the gates in silence. Cloaked in black, his posture regal, his expression smug. He dismounted slowly, his boots crunching over the stone.
He glanced at the crowd without fear. His smile curved, smooth and sharp. He walked through the capital like a king already home.