The throne room is packed. Nobles line the walls, their faces ranging from contemptuous to calculating. They know exactly why they’re here. Their stares press down on my shoulders like a physical weight.
This is a spectacle, and I’m the entertainment.
Kieran stands beside me, his presence a solid anchor in the chaos. His hand hovers near mine, not quite touching, but close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. The mate bond thrums between us, a constant reminder that I’m not alone.
The delegation from the Snow Mountain Pack stands behind us. Warriors with shoulders like mountains and eyes that haveseen centuries of survival. They’re ready for a fight. Tension coils in their shoulders, and their hands rest near their weapons.
And then, there’s Astra.
My heart clenches when I see her. She shouldn’t be here. She should be resting, safe in her chambers with Lucian hovering over her like the overprotective mate he is. But she’s here anyway, seated beside Lucian’s throne, her hand resting protectively on her swollen belly.
She looks tired. Dark circles beneath her lashes, a pallor to her skin that makes my chest tight with worry. But anger burns in her gaze, a fury that makes the air around her crackle from the power she is restraining.
She catches my eye and gives me a slight nod. I’m here. I’m with you.
The gesture relieves a small fraction of my tension.
Lucian lounges in his throne, deceptively casual. But I’ve known him long enough to recognize the predator lurking beneath that relaxed posture. Nothing misses his sharp gaze.
And then, I see her.
Celeste.
She stands with the Umbra Council, her father—Lord Theodore—beside her. She is dressed in pale blue, virginal and delicate, with her golden hair arranged in elaborate braids. She looks like a victim. Fragile. Innocent.
When our eyes meet, she smiles. It’s a triumphant smile. Smug. Self-satisfied.
My hands curl into fists. Kieran shifts closer, his shoulder brushing mine. The contact grounds me, pulls me back from the edge of my building rage.
Lord Theodore steps forward, his chin lifted, expression grave. He’s a tall man with the kind of bearing that comes from generations of nobility. His graying hair is swept back from aface that might have been handsome once, before arrogance carved harsh lines into his features.
“Your Majesty,” he begins, his voice carrying across the throne room. “I come before you today seeking justice for a heinous crime committed against my daughter.”
I want to laugh. Or scream. Maybe both.
“My daughter,” Theodore continues, his tone growing heavier with each word, “was attacked by a common soldier. A jealous, spiteful creature who could not accept that she would never rise above her station.”
Heat floods my face. I open my mouth to speak, to defend myself, but Kieran’s hand closes around my wrist. Gentle, but firm.
I glance at him. His expression is unreadable, his focus fixed on Theodore. But I sense his fury through our connection: a cold, controlled rage that makes my own anger seem like a candle’s flame beside a wildfire.
Wait, the touch says. Let him show his hand first.
I force myself to breathe. To stay silent.
Theodore’s voice rises, gaining momentum like a boulder rolling downhill. “Celeste was attacked in her private chambers. My mate heard the commotion and saw this…soldier”—he spits the word like it’s poison—“fleeing the scene.”
My jaw clenches so hard, it aches.
“I demand justice,” Theodore declares, turning to face Lucian directly. “How dare a common soldier commit such an act of treason? How dare she raise her hand against a member of a noble family?”
Before Lucian can respond, before anyone can speak, Astra snarls. The sound cuts through the throne room like the crack of a whip.
“And what about when your daughter attacked my guard with wolfsbane?”
Every head in the room turns toward her. She’s gripping the armrest of her chair, knuckles white, blazing with wrath that makes her look every inch the queen she is.
“Because that’s what Daciana is,” Astra continues, her voice ringing with authority. “My personal, private guard. So, perhaps you should explain why your daughter felt entitled to poison the Queen’s guard before you start making accusations.”
