The echoes of the pack's howls still lingered in the mountains when Seraphina collapsed into Dominic's arms that night. Her throat ached, raw from the trial, and every breath felt like fire. Yet her heart was steady, her spirit unbroken. She had stood against them all and had not faltered.
Dominic carried her to their chambers, his chest heaving with the weight of both pride and fury. He laid her gently upon the bed, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead. His wolf still prowled beneath his skin, unwilling to rest.
"You should not have had to endure that," he whispered fiercely. "They should have bent knee without demanding blood."
Seraphina reached for his hand, her voice hoarse. "I wanted them to see. To understand. If they won't believe words, they'll believe strength."
His jaw clenched. "Strength they had no right to demand of you."
But she only shook her head, exhaustion softening her eyes. "No… it was needed. Now they know I won't shatter."
Dominic bent his forehead to hers, his breath ragged. "You are more than they deserve."
For a moment, silence wrapped them, broken only by the crackle of the fire. And in that fragile peace, Dominic kissed her—desperate, reverent, a man both claiming and begging at once.
---
Yet peace in the fortress was fleeting. By morning, the whispers had changed shape, not vanished.
"She bewitched them."
"No wolf should fall to song."
"It is trickery, not strength."
Seraphina heard them as she walked the corridors, each word like a dagger sliding between her ribs. Even victory could not silence doubt.
Worse still, Dominic's council had begun to fracture openly. Elder Kael grew bolder, his voice carrying sharper barbs during each gathering. Captains who once pledged loyalty now shifted uneasily, avoiding their Alpha's gaze. And through it all, Lyanna moved like a shadow draped in silk, smiling, consoling, weaving her poison into eager ears.
Dominic saw it too. One evening, as they sat over untouched food, his fist struck the table hard enough to splinter wood. "I should kill her where she stands."
Seraphina startled, her spoon clattering. "Lyanna?"
His eyes blazed. "She undermines me with every breath. If I tear out her throat before the court, the whispers will stop."
But Seraphina shook her head quickly. "No. That will not end it. Kill her, and she becomes a martyr. They'll say you silenced truth with blood."
Dominic's lips peeled back from his teeth. "And if I don't, she rots us from within."
Seraphina's pulse raced, fear curling in her chest. Not fear of Dominic—but of the dangerous truth in his words. Lyanna was patient, cunning. She would not strike openly when she could unravel a kingdom thread by thread.
---
Days later, the first strike came.
A patrol was ambushed near the northern ridge. Wolves slaughtered, their bodies displayed as warning. The killers vanished like smoke, but symbols carved into the rocks marked their allegiance—an old rival pack long thought extinguished.
Dominic's fury was unmatched. He ordered double patrols, scouts sweeping every valley. Yet whispers again turned, this time sharper.
"Enemies rise because the Alpha is distracted."
"He courts a sea witch while our borders bleed."
"This is weakness dressed as love."
Lyanna fanned the flames with soft sighs and veiled sorrow. She was seen comforting widows, offering food to the hungry, whispering promises of strength if only the pack would open its eyes.
Seraphina watched it unfold, powerless. No matter what she did, Lyanna twisted it. Strength became trickery, kindness became manipulation. And slowly, painfully, Seraphina realized—this was not simply jealousy. This was strategy.
Lyanna was building a court within the court.
---
The fracture became chasm during the Harvest Feast. It was tradition, a night when every wolf gathered under the full moon, pledging loyalty anew to their Alpha. Music, fire, and blood bound them together.
Dominic entered with Seraphina at his side, his hand firm at her waist. But as they moved through the hall, silence met them where once there had been cheers. Wolves lowered their eyes, their bows shallow.
And then Lyanna stepped forward.
Clad in crimson silk, she carried a golden chalice high. "A toast," she declared, her voice sweet as honey. "To strength. To loyalty. To the future of our pack."
She offered the cup to Dominic. He stared at it, nostrils flaring. Every instinct in him screamed warning. Yet the eyes of the court burned into his back, demanding a show of unity. Slowly, he took it.
But before he could drink, Seraphina's hand shot out, seizing his wrist. Her voice sliced the air. "Do not."
Gasps rippled through the hall.
Dominic froze. His eyes met hers, questioning, but she shook her head fiercely. Her song had whispered to her, subtle as a breeze—the faintest hum of wrongness in the chalice's contents.
She turned, fixing Lyanna with a gaze sharp enough to cut. "You'd poison your Alpha?"
The hall erupted in chaos. Wolves shouted, tables overturned. Lyanna only laughed, soft and mocking. "How convenient. Every slight, every shadow, always falls upon me. Tell me, is that your witch's gift? To see guilt where none exists?"
Dominic snarled, flinging the chalice to the ground. Wine spilled across the stone, sizzling faintly where it touched the runes. Not wine at all.
The court fell silent, horror etched across every face.
Dominic's roar shook the rafters. "You dare betray me in my own hall?"
But Lyanna did not cower. She lifted her chin, eyes blazing with defiance. "No. You betrayed us. You chose an outsider, cursed and strange, over the blood of your own. You doom us with weakness. And I will not watch you drag us to ruin."
Her words struck like arrows. Wolves wavered, torn between outrage and doubt. Some shouted for her death, others for her freedom. The hall splintered in an instant, loyalty unraveling into open division.
Dominic leapt forward, seizing her throat, his claws pricking skin. "I should end you now."
But Seraphina's voice cut through, raw and desperate. "Don't!"
Dominic froze, his chest heaving. He wanted her blood, but Seraphina saw the trap. Kill Lyanna here, and the pack would fracture beyond repair. Spare her, and she would scheme again.
It was no longer a rivalry. It was war.
---
That night, Dominic and Seraphina stood at the tower's edge, the fortress below trembling with unrest.
"She's split them," Seraphina whispered, staring at the fires burning in the courtyards as wolves argued, fought, chose sides. "Half follow you. Half follow her. If this continues…"
Dominic's hand tightened around the stone rail until it cracked. "Then I'll burn her court to ash."
Seraphina touched his arm, her voice trembling. "And what of the pack left behind? You'll rule ashes and bones. That is what she wants."
He turned to her, eyes wild, wolf close to the surface. "Then tell me what to do, Seraphina. Because every moment I spare her, more of my people turn against me. I will not lose you. I will not lose my crown."
Her heart clenched. She had no answer, no easy path. Only one truth remained clear—Lyanna would not stop until one of them lay dead.
And as the moon bled silver over the fortress, Seraphina realized the crown itself was poisoned. To claim it meant to destroy or be destroyed.