~Kael~
The Elders Hall keeps our steps close under a low domed roof. Thick doors shut the yard away. Narrow windows slice thin light across the stone floor. It smells of old smoke, tallow, damp wool, cold ash, and men who have waited too long.
I walk in with Orla beside me, the Gamma on my other side, and three guards behind us. The passage is not silent.
We pass the way to the council chamber. Near the third pillar, the underground arch yawns open. That is where they force my mate into a cell the size of a grave. That is where they want her to stay for a while and never return alive.
I turn there before I can stop myself. The others stop with me. No one questions it. They know.
Even without seeing her, the pull between us strikes me hard. It burns. My wolf snarls inside my chest.
"This is dangerous," he says.
"We cannot lose our mate."
I press a hand to my chest. It feels as if something inside me is trying to claw out. I feel her fear through the bond. I feel her doubt too. She is waiting for judgment, and the waiting hurts more than the shouting from the council chamber.
"My Alpha, are you all right?" Orla asks.
"Yes," I say, and keep moving. I need to be the Alpha they expect.
When we step inside the council chamber, everyone rises and bows their heads before taking their seats.
That is the Alpha I am.
I take the center seat. Orla sits on my right. The Gamma sits on my left.
I stay still and watch them.
The curved stone seats are filled by rank. The High Elder and his vice face me from the far side. On their right sit the High Moon-Seer and the other Moon-Seers. On their left sit the Law Elder, the Healer Elder, and the War Elder.
The Huntmaster, the Speaker of the People, and the Keeper of Children fill the remaining seats.
Elite warriors stand along the walls. More than twenty of them. Their jaws are tight. Their faces are hard.
This room is never this full. Today every seat is taken. Even those who rarely come have come.
The room is silent.
No one speaks.
They are waiting.
I can feel it already. The division. It is not hidden. It is sharp. It sits in the room like a blade laid across the table.
High Elder Zepharion rises from the highest seat. His voice carries without effort.
"The ritual has been witnessed," he says. "Twice."
A murmur moves through the chamber.
"Twice," Dravion repeats, like the word itself offends him.
I say nothing.
Zepharion goes on. "And yet what it shows cannot be accepted blindly."
A few nods. Others stay rigid.
"She gravely injured our men," one elite warrior says from the wall. "We all saw it. It is an unforgivable sin."
"Evra is dead," another says. "Others still suffer. She did the same when she was a child. There is no more forgiveness."
The murmur grows louder. My jaw tightens. I don't look at them yet.
"The law is clear," the Law Elder says. "Blood must answer blood."
He lets the silence hang for a breath, then adds, colder, "No ritual erases that."
Silence falls again. Heavy.
I exhale once.
"She did not act by will," I say. My voice stays calm by force. "She was not in control."
The Law Elder lifts his chin. "She acted. That is enough. If you refuse her execution, you may fracture the pack beyond repair."
"And the next time?" an elite warrior interrupts. Rage roughens his voice. "Will she not kill again?"
My gaze finds him. I hold it.
"There was no next time."
He slams a fist against his shield. The sound cracks through the chamber.
"Until there is," he says. "If you refuse Aethelia's death, we will withdraw our allegiance."
At once, most of the other warriors beat their chests. The sound rolls through the room. Several elders nod as if they planned this.
The room shifts. Not toward reason. Toward fear.
"The ritual has spoken," the Huntmaster says from the far side.
All heads turn to him.
Moon-Seer Thalia leans forward. "If the bond is true, then she is Luna."
A few nods. More shake their heads.
"Then the ritual is flawed," Dravion snaps.
"That is not a claim we make lightly," Thalia says.
"Then explain it," Dravion says. "Explain how a girl who turns her own kin to dust is meant to lead this pack."
No one answers. Because no one can.
My chest tightens.
It is not only that they reject her as Luna. They hate her enough that they want her dead. The thought lands hard.
Dravion's words drag Evra back into my mind. Her blood. The way she turned to sand. My hands curl, then unclench.
"If she is truly my mate," I say slowly, "then there is a reason."
The room reacts at once.
"A reason?" a warrior repeats. "Is that what we call death now?"
"It was not her choice," I say. "It was her hands."
The words land hard.
I look away for one breath, and the Law Elder catches it.
"You hesitate," he says, smiling thinly.
My eyes go back to him. Cold.
I do not answer at once.
Because the truth is simple.
I do.
That doubt has been there since the ritual. Since her name rose in the circle. Since the bond woke in me.
If she is my mate, why does loving her feel like betrayal?
I shove that thought down.
"My doubt does not change what the ritual showed," I say finally.
"No," the Law Elder says. "But it may change what you are willing to do about it."
The chamber goes still again.
"The council will decide," he says.
No one argues. They came for this. A final answer. Clean. Certain. Irreversible.
"She has taken a life," he adds. "She threatens more. Curse or design, it changes nothing."
Voices rise at once.
"The pack cannot stand on uncertainty."
"We cannot gamble our survival."
"The law exists for a reason."
Each voice adds weight. It presses in around me.
"And what of prophecy?" Moon-Seer Valtheron asks.
No one answers him. They have already chosen their side.
High Elder Zepharion lifts a hand.
"Those in favor of execution," he says, "step forward."
The chamber shifts.
Warriors move first. Then elders. More than half of the room comes forward.
Orla stands motionless beside me. Her jaw tightens.The Gamma shifts beside her. For a moment he looks ready to step forward with the others. Then his eyes meet mine. He stops.
I do not move.
I count without wanting to. Too many.
Zepharion turns his hand.
"Those opposed."
Only a few steps forward.
Orla moves first. After a short pause, the Gamma follows her.
Much fewer.
The choice is already made.
Zepharion lowers his hand. "It is decided."
His voice is final.
"Aethelia will be executed before the moon leaves the sky."
The words echo through the chamber.
No one speaks after. They do not need to. It is done.
I stand still. I hear it. I understand it.
I do not accept it. But I know what has been said.
Voices rise low and tense. I stay where I am, alone in the center.
This is the law. This is what I was raised to uphold. This is what keeps the pack alive.
My chest tightens all at once.
The bond surges. Pain cuts through me, deep and sudden. I grip the edge of the stone table beside me.
No one notices at first. Or they choose not to.
My jaw clenches.
Why now?
Another surge hits harder. My breath catches. My sight blurs.
And I know Aethelia feels it too, wherever they keep her below us.
My head turns toward the holding cells. The pain does not fade. It only pulls harder.
If I abandon her—
The thought comes before I can stop it.
My grip tightens until the stone bites my palm.
No.
I force myself upright. I force the pain down. I force the thought away.
The council is watching me now. Waiting for me to agree. Waiting for me to make their choice feel safe.
I look from face to face.
Fear. Certainty. Expectation.
They think I will stand with them because I always have. Because that is who I am.
My jaw tightens again. I give the smallest nod. Not agreement. Not refusal. Just enough.
They take it as acceptance. That is their mistake.
I turn without another word. I do not ask permission. I do not explain.
I walk out of the chamber. The doors close behind me. The noise fades.
The pain does not. It stays low and constant, pulling me toward her.
This is not over.
Not yet.