The letter arrived just after dawn.
No guards. No messengers. Just a raven, silent and obsidian-eyed, perched outside Kael’s window with a scroll tied to its leg.
He untied it carefully, heart already sinking as he recognized the wax seal pressed into the parchment.
Council red. The mark of summons.
Kael read the words twice.
Then again.
And a fourth time, hoping they’d change.
They didn’t.
You are hereby commanded to appear before the United Council of Packs. Your presence is required within three nights. Absence will be taken as a forfeiture of title and breach of ancestral duty.
He set the letter down.
Aria entered the room moments later, Elara balanced on her hip. She saw his face and stilled.
“What happened?”
Kael didn’t answer immediately. He took Elara from her gently, pressing his lips to their daughter’s soft hair. Then handed Aria the scroll.
Her eyes narrowed as she read.
“They’re calling you in?” she said. “Now?”
He nodded.
“This is retaliation,” she said. “They want to punish you for siding with me. With truth.”
“They’re playing their last cards,” Kael muttered. “But they still have the deck.”
Aria’s mind was already racing. “If you go, they’ll try to trap you. Corner you. Discredit your name in front of every pack Alpha still on the fence.”
“And if I don’t go, they strip me of the title.”
“Let them,” she snapped.
But Kael shook his head. “It’s not just about me. My bloodline, my position… it’s tied to SilverCrest’s stability. If I walk away now, our enemies claim I fled guilt.”
“They’ll claim that anyway,” Aria said.
Kael’s jaw clenched. “Then I’d rather face them. Let them say it to my face.”
Aria looked away, angry. Not at him—at the game they were still forced to play.
“I’m coming with you.”
Kael raised a brow. “You think they’ll even let you speak?”
“No,” she said. “But I’ll be there when they try to silence you.”
The council gathered in the high city of Lunaris, where silver towers scraped the clouds and every step echoed with ancient judgment.
Kael arrived on the second night, flanked by Zara and two guards of his choosing. Aria rode at his side—not as his Luna, but as SilverCrest’s emissary.
The hall of verdicts was colder than she remembered. Polished obsidian floor. Crescent windows filtering moonlight onto the central dais.
Twelve elders sat around a curved bench. Only three she recognized. The rest were new, younger. Hungrier.
Thorne was absent.
Good.
Or bad.
Elder Myria spoke first, her voice like stone dipped in honey.
“Alpha Kael Draven. You stand before this council accused not of treason, but of misconduct.”
Aria’s fingers curled at her side.
Myria continued, “You harbored a known traitor—Evelyn of Greenwood. You failed to disclose her infiltration. You permitted her influence over council votes. And you concealed her actions until forced by external confession.”
Kael stepped forward. “I did not harbor her. I was misled. As were you.”
Myria didn’t blink. “You did not investigate her ties. You defended her against accusations brought forth by your rightful mate.”
Aria’s eyes flared.
Kael’s voice stayed calm. “Because I was blind. And wrong. I admit that freely. But the moment I learned the truth, I acted.”
Myria tilted her head. “Too late.”
An elder beside her—Weldon, sharp-jawed and ambitious—cut in.
“Is it not true that the child born of your former mate was conceived during your bond with Evelyn?”
A ripple of shock moved through the court.
Kael didn’t flinch.
“It is true,” he said.
Weldon leaned forward. “Then by law, your daughter’s claim to lineage is compromised.”
Aria stepped forward, storm-gray eyes like lightning.
“Say her name.”
The court stilled.
Weldon blinked. “Pardon?”
“My daughter,” Aria said. “Say her name if you’re going to try and erase her.”
Weldon hesitated.
“Elara Vale Draven,” Aria said, her voice cutting like a blade. “Born of blood and bond. She carries the mark. You all saw it.”
Myria’s tone sharpened. “You are not here to speak.”
“I am SilverCrest,” Aria growled. “And if this court pretends otherwise, then it is no longer a court of wolves—but of cowards.”
The words fell like fire on dry brush.
Myria stood slowly. “You insult the council.”
“No,” Kael said. “She reminds it of its failure.”
He turned to the ring of elders. “I will answer for my mistakes. But I won’t let you erase a child. Or a mother. To cover your shame.”
Silence.
Then—shockingly—Verdan stood.
“I vote against revoking his title,” he said.
Myria’s eyes narrowed. “You what?”
“I vote against it,” he repeated. “Because the law is about restoration. Not revenge.”
One by one, the others cast their votes.
Six to keep.
Five to strip.
One abstained.
Kael remained Alpha.
Barely.
But it was enough.
Back in their quarters, Kael collapsed into a chair, every muscle tight.
Aria stood beside the fire, arms folded.
“That was too close.”
He nodded.
“They’re afraid of you,” she said.
“They should be.”
Then, after a beat: “Thank you.”
Aria turned to him. “For what?”
“For staying.”
She looked away. “You’d have done the same.”
He smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t have done it as well.”
