ARAYA POV
The Grand Council Hall smelled of old power and fresh blood.
Not literal blood—not yet, anyway. But the scent hung in the air nonetheless, carried by every Alpha who'd gathered to challenge my rule. Thirty lesser Alphas from across Drevalon, each representing their territory, their pack, their wounded pride.
And every single one of them was here because of my son.
"The boy is an abomination." Alpha Corryn of the Northern Reaches stood first, his voice echoing off ancient stone. Gray-bearded and scarred, he carried the weight of five decades leading wolves. "Six years old and he commands power that makes my entire bloodline look like cubs playing at dominance."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the chamber. I remained still on my throne—carved from a single piece of moonstone, gift from Ronan after I'd claimed my title—and let them talk. Let them reveal their weakness before I crushed it.
