Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Daciana
I don’t want to be here.
The thought pulses through my mind as I stand in the throne room, spine rigid, hands clenched. All I want to do is grieve my family in peace, but it seems that’s not going to happen. I have to face the Umbra Council and defend myself against these false charges.
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 have seen 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 a face 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.”
Theodore’s lip curls. He looks at Astra the way someone might look at a stray dog that has wandered into a banquet hall.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” the title drips with condescension as he looks down his nose at her, “the only reason that common soldier was able to climb the ranks to be the Queen’s guard is because of her friendship with you.
” He pauses, his smile turning cruel. “We all know you have a…fondness for elevating those of lowly birth. Perhaps it reminds you of your own humble beginnings.”
The temperature in the room drops.
Lucian doesn’t move. Doesn’t straighten from his lounging position. But something shifts in the air around him, dark and dangerous, raising the hair on the back of my neck.
“It seems,” Lucian says softly, his voice like silk over steel, “that you don’t want to keep your tongue any longer, Lord Theodore.”
Theodore’s face pales.
“Because why else,” Lucian continues, still in that same deadly quiet tone, “would you attempt to insult my mate?”
“Th–that was not my intention, Your Majesty,” Theodore stammers, some of his arrogance crumbling. “I merely meant to point out—”
“You should remember where you are,” Lucian interrupts him, a faint amber glow in his gaze. “Or I will have no problem leaving you unable to speak. Permanently.”
Theodore swallows hard, his throat working. For a moment, he looks genuinely afraid. Then, he turns his attention back to me, and the fear is replaced by malice.
“Regardless,” he says, his voice not quite steady, “we are here to discuss the attack on my daughter. Daciana claims wolfsbane was used on her, but there is no evidence to support this.”
“And where is the evidence that your mate saw Daciana in your daughter’s room?” Kieran’s voice is calm, almost pleasant. But steel lies beneath it.
Theodore sneers. “I am from a noble family. Our word cannot be questioned.”
Kieran tilts his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“So, if you were to say you saw Queen Astra exiting your daughter’s room, we’re supposed to believe that, as well?”
“Of course not—”
“That’s what it sounds like,” Kieran cuts him off smoothly. “It is surprising to me that the noble families are above the law. At least, that is what it looks like, from how this complaint is being presented.”
He shifts his stance, moving slightly in front of me. The gesture is subtle, but unmistakable. Protective.
“In any case,” Kieran says, hardening, “Daciana is my mate. My fated mate. And I am not going to tolerate anyone pinning the blame for this supposed attack on her.”
My heart stutters. Our bond flares, bright and warm.
“I have witnesses,” Kieran continues, “regarding your daughter’s use of wolfsbane on Daciana.”
“I doubt their credibility,” Theodore sneers.
Kieran takes another step forward. It’s not a large movement, but something about it makes Theodore take an involuntary step back.
“Do you doubt my credibility?” Kieran asks softly. “Because I witnessed the attack.”
The throne room goes silent.
“Unless you want to start a war with my pack, Lord Theodore,” Kieran says, nothing pleasant in his tone now, “do not point your finger at my mate.”
He pauses, letting the words sink in.
“Besides, Daciana would have no reason to harm your daughter. I made it clear to Celeste, in Daciana’s presence, that I had no interest in her.”
Theodore bristles, his face flushing red. “You—”
“Your daughter is as useful as a flower in a garden, Lord Theodore.” Kieran’s smile is cold and sharp. “I have no interest in useless things.”
Fierce satisfaction surges through me at the look on Celeste’s face. She’s gone pale, opening and closing her mouth like a fish.
Theodore’s hands clench into fists. “You had better watch your tongue—”
“Or what?” Kieran’s eyebrow arches.
Theodore takes another step back, then stops. His expression shifts, calculation replacing anger. When he speaks again, there’s a smugness to his tone that makes my stomach drop.
“You may have marked your mate,” he says slowly, “but she is still a suspect. And we do not accept her as your mate.”
My blood runs cold.
“You are to pick a mate that will prove your loyalty to the Kingdom,” Theodore continues, “and build alliances with other packs. Your mate does not fit the criteria.”
“Nobody can tell me who my mate can be.” Kieran’s soft voice carries through the entire room. “I don’t know how things work in your world, but in mine, mates are chosen by instinct, not for political connections.”
The other nobles are murmuring now, nodding. One of them steps forward. Lord Garrett, I think his name is.
“Theodore is right,” Garrett says. “The alliance must be considered. Daciana is not suitable. He must take a different mate.”
My head starts to spin.
Theodore’s smile widens. “We are willing to forgive Daciana’s transgression if Alpha Kieran takes Celeste as his primary mate and demotes Daciana to a pleasure slave. Then, we can put this unpleasantness behind us.”
The words don’t make sense at first. They can’t. A pleasure slave? That practice was outlawed decades ago, banished to the dark corners of history where it belongs.
I sense Kieran’s rage building through our connection. It’s like standing next to a volcano about to erupt, all that fury contained beneath a surface of perfect, terrifying calm.